he has,' says Missis McMurthry. 'Sure hasn't
he the look av a shape-thief on the road to the gallus?'

"'See the haythen vagabone,' says the Widdy Mulligan. 'If I had me tin
fingers on him for five minnits, it's all the satiswhackshun I'd ax. Bad
cess to the hair I'd lave on the head av him or in his whushkers aither.'

"But the Widdy O'Donnell only cried, an' all the wimmin turned their noses
up whin they seen Miss Rooney comin' in.

[Illustration: "OULD ROONEY AN' PADDY BLAGGARDIN' THE CONSTHABLE IVERY FUT
O' THE WAY."]

"OULD ROONEY AN' PADDY BLAGGARDIN' THE CONSTHABLE IVERY FUT O' THE WAY."

"'Look at that owld thing,' says they. 'Phat a power av impidince! Mind
the consate av her to be comin' here wid him. Sure she hasn't the shame av
a shtone monkey,' says they av her.

"'Silence in the coort,' says the shur'f. 'Stop that laughin' be the dure.
Git along down out o' thim windys,' says he to the mob that Dooley an' the
consthable brought wid thim.

"'Misther Dooley,' says the judge, 'I'm axed to b'lave ye're thryin' to
marry four wimmin at wanst, three av the same aforeshed bein' widdys an'
the other wan not. Is it thrue, or do ye plade not guilty?' says he.

"'It's not thrue, yer Lordshap,' says Dooley, shpakin' up, bekase he seen
he was in for it an' put on a bowld face. 'Thim widdys is crazy to get a
husband, an' misconsayved the manin' o' me words,' says he, an' that
minnit you'd think a faymale lunattic ashylum broke loose in the coort.

"They all gabbled at wanst like a field av crows. They said he was a
haythen, a Toork, a vulgar shpalpeen, a lyin' blaggard, a uppresser av the
widdy, a robber av the orphin, he was worse than a nagur, he was, so he
was, an' they niver thought av belavin' him, nor av marryin' him aither
till he axed thim, an' so on.

"The judge was a married man himself an' knewn it was no use thryin' to
shtop the gostherin,' for it was a joke av him to say that the differ
bechuxt a woman an' a book was you cud shut up a book, so he let thim go
on till they were spint an' out o' breath an' shtopped o' thimselves like
an owld clock that's run down.

"'The sintince av this coort, Misther Dooley, is, that ye marry wan av 'em
an' make compinsation to the other wans in a paycoonyary way be payin'
thim siven poun' aitch.'

"'Have marcy, yer Lordshap,' says Dooley, bekase he seen himself shtripped
av all he had. 'Make it five poun', an' that's more than I'