"_He_ can't do it."

"Can't! wait, a-cushla, till I tell you, or, what's better, show you.
Come now, you devils. Look at the heels (Rasper's and Scrub's) of them
ponies! Did ever you see anything like them!--look at the cutting
there--Tony Dowlan never had the knack o' that tasty work in his dirty
finger and thumb--and who done that? Why Mikey Brian--didn't I see him
myself; and isn't he the boy that can 'bang Bannaker' at anything! Oh!
he'll cut us elegant!--he'll do the squad for a fi'penny--and then,
lads, there's them five others will be just one a-piece to buy gut and
flies! Come on, you Hessians!"

No sooner proposed than acceded to--off we set, for the eulogised
"Bannaker banging Mikey Brian."

A stout, handsome boy he was--rising four-and-twenty--a fighting,
kissing, rollicking, ball-playing, dancing vagabone, as you'd see in a
day's march--such a fellow as you only meet in Ireland--a bit of a
gardener, a bit of a groom, a bit of a futboy, and a bit of a
horse-docthor.

We reached the stables by the back way, and there, in his own peculiar
loft, was Mikey Brian, brushing a somewhat faded livery, in which to
wait upon the coming quality.

Bob stated the case, as far as the want of our locks' curtailment went,
but made no mention of the delay which occasioned our coming to Mikey;
on the contrary, he attributed the preference solely to our conviction
of his superior abilities, and the wish to give him a chance, as he
felt convinced, if he had fair play, he'd be engaged miles round,