it out exactly, though we've heard
something of it--wasn't it leeches you sent to him, telling him he was
a blood-sucking villain?"

A roar of laughter from Murtough followed this question. "Lord, how a
story gets mangled and twisted!" said he, as soon as he could speak.
"Leeches! what an absurdity! No, it was----"

"A bottle of castor oil, wasn't it, by way of a present of noyeau?"
said another of the party, hurrying to the front to put forward _his_
version of the matter.

A second shout of laughter from Murphy greeted this third edition of
the story. "If you will listen to me, I'll give you the genuine
version," said Murtough, "which is better, I promise you, than any
which invention could supply. The fact is, Squire Egan is enraged
against O'Grady, and applied to me to harass him in the parchment line,
swearing he would blister him; and this phrase of blistering occurred
so often, that when I sent him over a bit o' parchment, which he
engaged to have served on my bold O'Grady, I wrote to him, 'Dear
Squire, I send you the blister;' and that most ingenious of all
blunderers, Handy Andy, being the bearer, and calling at M'Garry's shop
on his way home, picked up from the counter a _real_ blister, which was
folded up in an inclosure, something like the process, and left the
law-stinger behind him."

"That's grate!" cried Doyle.

"Oh, but you have not heard the best of it yet," added Murphy. "I am
certain the bit of parchment was sent to O'Grady, for he was hunting
M'Garry this morning through the town, with a cudgel of portentous
dimensions--put that and that together."

"No mistake!" cried Doyle; "and divil pity O'Grady, for he's a
blustering, swaggering, overbearing, ill-tempered----"

"Hillo, hillo, Bill!" interrupted Murphy, "you are too hard on the
adjectives; besides, you'll spoil your appetite if you ruffle your
temper, and that would fret me, for I intend you to dine with me
to-day."

"Faith an' I'll do that same, Murtough, my boy, and glad to be asked,
as the old maid said."

"I'll tell you what it is," said Murphy; "boys, you must all dine with
me to-day, and drink long life to me, since I'm not killed."

"There are seventeen of us," said Durfy; "the little parlour won't hold
us all."

"But isn't there a big room at the inn, Tom?" returned Murphy, "and not
better drink in Ireland than Mrs. Fay's. What do you say, lads--one and
all--will you dine with me?"

"Will a duck swim?" chuckled out Jack