“Durin' der lives,” repeated Phats, who had evidently been pondering over Hycy's promised gift to the Hogans;—“throth,” he observed with a grin, “dere may be something under dat too. Ay! an' she wishes Bryan M'Mahon well,” he exclaimed, raising his red eyebrows.
“Shiss,” replied Hycy, mimicking him, “her does.”
“But you must have de still-house nowhere but in Ahadarra for alls dat.”
“For alls dats” replied the other. “Dat will do den,” said Phats, composedly. “Enough of this,” said Hycy. “Now, Phats, have you examined and pitched upon the place?”
“Well, then,” replied Phats, speaking in his natural manner, “I have; an' a betther spot isn't in Europe than there is undher the hip of Cullamore. But do you know how Roger Cooke sarved Adam Blakely of Glencuil?”
“Perfectly well,” replied Hycy, “he ruined him.”
“But we don't know it,” said Ned; “how was it, Teddy?”
“Why, he set up a still on his property—an' you know Adam owns the whole townland, jist as Bryan M'Mahon does Ahadarra—an' afther three or four runnin she gets a bloody scoundrel to inform upon Adam, as if it was him an' not himself that had the still. Clinton the gauger—may the devil break his neck at any rate!—an' the redcoats—came and found all right, Still, Head, and Worm.”
“Well,” said Bat, “an' how did that ruin him?”
“Why, by the present law,” returned Phats, “it's the townland that must pay the fine. Poor Adam wasn't to say very rich; he had to pay the fine, however, and now he's a beggar—root an' branch, chick an' child out of it. Do you undherstand that, Misther Hycy?”