“Why that Mr. French, as you call him, split my ear with a black thorn.”
“Oh! you villain!” exclaimed the accused. “Now, Peter, the fellow’s on his oath. Peter, I leave it to you. On the nick of your sowl, as an honest man, don’t I always fight with a sapling?”
“He does, in troth!” responded three charlies in a breath.
“Now, Peter, what do you say to that? Wouldn’t that make a man’s hair stand an end?”
“‘Pon my conscience,” observed Mr. Bradley, “I’m thunderstruck—young man, what’s ye’r name?”
“Sniggs,” said the complainant.
“What are ye?”
“A tailor, to trade,” replied the accuser.
“Then, Sniggs,” returned Mr. Bradley, “the least I can do is to transport ye.”
“Transport me!” exclaimed the astonished tailor: “Arrah, for what? Is it for having my ear split?”