―Breen, says Alf. He was in John Henry Menton’s and then he went round to Collis and Ward’s and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff’s for a lark. O God, I’ve a pain laughing. U. p. : up. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green Street to look for a G. man.
―When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? says Joe.
―Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Is that Alf Bergan?
―Yes, says Alf. Hanging? Wait till I show you. Here, Terry, give us a pony. That bloody old fool! Ten thousand pounds. You should have seen long John’s eye. U. p …
And he started laughing.
―Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. Is that Bergan?
―Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.
Terence O’Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cup full of the foaming ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of deathless Leda. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat.
Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals.
But he, the young chief of the O’Bergan’s, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the