“There it is in black an' white. Who comes next? Frank M'Carroll. He's a farmer. I'll put down a spade an' a harrow. Well, that's done—two tumblers.”
“I won't mistake that, aither. It's clear enough.”
“Bartle Gorman's of Cargah. Bartle's a little lame, an' uses a staff wid a cross on the end that he houlds in his hand. I'll put down a staff wid a cross on it.”
“Would there be no danger of me mistakin' that for the priest's cudgel?”
“Divil the slightest. I'll pledge my knowledge of geography, they're two very different weapons.”
“Well, put it down—I'll know it.”
“Roger M'Gaugy of Nurchasy. What for him? Roger's a pig-driver. I'll put down pig. You'll comprehend that?”
“I ought; for many a pig I sould in my day. Put down the pig; an' if you could put two black spots upon his back, I'd know it to be one I sould him about four years agone—the fattest ever was in the country—it had to be brought home on a car, for it wasn't able to walk wid fat.”
“Very good; the spots are on it. The last is Owen Smith of Lisbuy. Now, do you see that I've drawn a line from place to place, so that you have nothing to do only to keep to it as you go. What for Owen?”
“Owen! Let me see—Owen! Pooh! What's come over me, that I've nothin' for Owen? Ah! I have it. He's a horse-jockey: put down a gray mare I sould him about five years agone.”