aid Mr. Dooley. "Not me, but Hinnissy have. Hinnissy,
th' gay young man; Hinnissy, th' high-hearted, divvle-may-care
sphread-th'-light,--Hinnissy's been skatin' again. May th' Lord give
that man sinse befure he dies! An' he needs it right away. He ain't
got long to live, if me cousin, Misther Justice Dooley, don't appoint
a garjeen f'r him.

"I had no more thought whin I wint over with him that th' silly goat
'd thry his pranks thin I have iv flyin' over this here bar mesilf.
Hinnissy is--let me see how ol' Hinnissy is. He was a good foot taller
thin me th' St. John's night whin th' comet was in th' sky. Let me
see, let me see! Jawn Dorgan was marrid to th' widdy Casey (her that
was Dora O'Brien) in th' spring iv fifty-two, an' Mike Callahan wint
to Austhreelia in th' winter iv sixty. Hinnissy's oldest brother was
too old to inlist in th' army. Six an' thirty is thirty-six. Twict
thirty-six is sivinty-two, less eight is sixty-four, an' nine, carry
wan,--let me see. Well, Hinnissy is ol' enough to know betther.

"We wint to th' pond together, an' passed th' time iv day with our
frinds an' watched th' boys an' girls playin' shinny an' sky-larkin'
hand in hand. They come separate, Jawn; but they go home together,
thim young wans. I see be his face Spoort Hinnissy was growin'
excited. 'Sure,' says he, 'there's nawthin' like it,' he says.
'Martin,' he says, 'I'll challenge ye to race,' he says. 'So ye will,'
says I. 'So ye will,' I says. 'Will ye do it?' says he. 'Hinnissy,'
says I, 'come home,' I says, 'an' don't disgrace ye'er gray hairs
befure th' whole parish,' says I. 'I'll have ye to know,' says he,
'that 'tis not long since I cud cut a double eight with anny wan in
Bridgeport,' he says.

"At that Tom Gallagher's young fly-be-night joined in; an' says he,
'Misther Hinnissy,' he says, 'if ye'll go on,' he says, 'I'll fetch ye
a pair iv skates.' 'Bring thim along,' says Hinnissy. An' he put thim
on. Well, Jawn, he sthud up an' made wan step, an' wan iv his feet
wint that way an' wan this; an' he thrun his hands in th' air, an'
come down on his back. I give him th' merry laugh. He wint clear daft,
an' thried to sthruggle to his feet; an', th' more he thried, th' more
th' skates wint fr'm undher him, till he looked f'r all th' wurruld
like wan iv thim little squirrels that goes roun' on th' wheel in
Schneider's burrud store.

"Gallagher's lad picked him up an' sthud him on his feet; an' says he,
politely, 'Come on,' h