“No, it’s not needful,” says Barney, cool as ice; “but in a few minutes I’ll shave every hair from your head, and afther that make a fine Christian out of you. It’s glad and thankful for it you ought to be, you wicious, ugly little pagan scoundhrel!”
Well, the King let a roar out of him: “You bandy-legged villain!” he cried—and then whirled in to abuse the Man without Childher. He insulted him in English, he jeered him in Irish, he thrajooced him in Latin and Roosian, but the most awful crash of blaggarding that was known in Ireland since the world began was when the King used the Chinayse.
Casey looked wonder and admiraytion, but made no answer till the little man was out of breath, when he spoke up like a judge.
“Well, if there’s any crather within the earth’s four corners that needs baptising it’s you, little man. But I’ll not thrajooce you any more, for you’re me own little Romulus or Raymus,” he says, scratching his head. Then of a sudden he broke out excitedly, “Now may four kinds of bad luck fall on your proud head this day, Mrs. Brophy, and four times heavier ones on you, Ann Mulligan, and may the curse of
