MAHON. And he a poor fellow would get drunk on the smell of a pint. He'd a
queer rotten stomach, I'm telling you, and when I gave him three pulls from my
pipe a while since, he was taken with contortions till I had to send him in
the ass cart to the females' nurse.

WIDOW QUIN -- [clasping her hands.] -- Well, I never till this day heard tell
of a man the like of that!

MAHON. I'd take a mighty oath you didn't surely, and wasn't he the laughing
joke of every female woman where four baronies meet, the way the girls would
stop their weeding if they seen him coming the road to let a roar at him, and
call him the looney of Mahon's.

WIDOW QUIN. I'd give the world and all to see the like of him. What kind was
he?

MAHON. A small low fellow.

WIDOW QUIN. And dark?

MAHON. Dark and dirty.

WIDOW QUIN -- [considering.] I'm thinking I seen him.

MAHON -- [eagerly.] An ugly young blackguard.

WIDOW QUIN. A hideous, fearful villain, and the spit of you.

MAHON. What way is he fled?