n don't think of it, alanna.

DORAN. There was Patsy Farrll in the back sate wi dhe pig between
his knees, n me bould English boyoh in front at the machinery, n
Larry Doyle in the road startin the injine wid a bed winch. At
the first puff of it the pig lep out of its skin and bled Patsy's
nose wi dhe ring in its snout. [Roars of laughter: Keegan glares
at them]. Before Broadbint knew hwere he was, the pig was up his
back and over into his lap; and bedad the poor baste did credit
to Corny's thrainin of it; for it put in the fourth speed wid its
right crubeen as if it was enthered for the Gordn Bennett.

NORA [reproachfully]. And Larry in front of it and all! It's
nothn to laugh at, Mr Doran.

DORAN. Bedad, Miss Reilly, Larry cleared six yards backwards at
wan jump if he cleared an inch; and he'd a cleared seven if
Doolan's granmother hadn't cotch him in her apern widhout
intindin to. [Immense merriment].

AUNT JUDY, Ah, for shame, Barney! the poor old woman! An she was
hurt before, too, when she slipped on the stairs.

DORAN. Bedad, ma'am, she's hurt behind now; for Larry bouled her
over like a skittle. [General delight at this typical stroke of
Irish Rabelaisianism].

NORA. It's well the lad wasn't killed.

DORAN. Faith it wasn't o Larry we were thinkin jus dhen, wi dhe
pig takin the main sthreet o Rosscullen on market day at a mile a
minnit. Dh ony thing Broadbint could get at wi dhe pig in front
of him was a fut brake; n the pig's tail was undher dhat; so that
whin he thought he was putn non the brake he was ony squeezin the
life out o the pig's tail. The more he put the brake on the more
the pig squealed n the fasther he dhruv.

AUNT JUDY. Why couldn't he throw the pig out into the road?

DORAN. Sure he couldn't stand up to it, because he was
spanchelled-like between his seat and dhat thing like a wheel on
top of a stick between his knees.

AUNT JUDY. Lord have mercy on us!

NORA. I don't know how you can laugh. Do you, Mr Keegan?

KEEGAN [grimly]. Why not? There is danger, destruction, torment!
What more do we want to make us merry? Go on, Barney: the last
drops of joy are not squeezed from the story yet. Tell us again
how our brother was torn asunder.

DORAN [puzzled]. Whose bruddher?

KEEGAN. Mine.

NORA. He means the pig, Mr Doran. You know his way.

DORAN [rising gallantly to the occasion]. Bedad I'm sorry for
your poor bruddher, Misther Keegan; but I recommend you to thry
him wid a couple