The Argosy — page 344: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

328 “* Kutlings for his Reverence.” *Tt’s Brian has killed William Wallace, your reverence. Matty’s lamenting, but ’deed it’s small matter, for he was a regular divil.” ‘S Well, where is the corpse? ” ‘¢ Stretched out on the kitchen floor, sir.” ‘Eh! It will go hard with William Wallace, I suppose,” smiled Mr. Williamson. ‘Some more beef, St. John ?” This was more than the guest could bear. ‘ Williamson!” he cried, a murdered man is brought into your house, and laid out on your kitchen floor, and you coolly ask me to have some more beef! This is a shocking country.” The Rector lay back in his chair, and absolutely roared with laughter. ‘* Oh, my side!” he gasped. ‘Oh, St. John, you'll be the death of me! A murdered man! It is you who are the murderer. You will kill me. My side!” and his paroxysms of mirth went nigh to suffocate him. ‘‘ Why, sir, your murdered man is a cat,” and then followed the explanation. But Mr. St. John’s nerves had received a shock, and he did not much enjoy his stay in Tyrone. He asked timid questions as he and his host walked or drove about the parish. ‘Do you see that man yonder, near the hedge? Is that a gun he has?” Mr. Williamson glanced in the direction indicated. “Not at all, my dear fellow—that’s a pitchfork—the man is flourishing his fork about and gossiping and idling instead of working ; more Hibernice, that’s all.” ‘‘T assure you it looked exactly as if he were levelling a gun at you. Have you been fired at often ?” ‘‘Oh, no! About once a month or so—nothing to speak of ! One gets used to everything, you know.” ‘‘ My goodness! You do take things coolly. Thank God, I don’t live in this dreadful, savage country.” Perhaps this little conversation put a mischievous scheme into the Rector’s waggish brain; but at any rate when his guest retired that night, he summoned Ned to the study, and said, with twinkling eyes : ‘‘ Wouldn’t it be a pity to let Mr..St. John leave Ireland without an adventure ?” Ned’s old eyes responded. ‘‘ An innocent sort of an outrage, you know, Ned. Could we put a canny, trustworthy man to lie in wait in some lonely place, and let off my blunderbuss near him, eh?” ‘‘We could, your reverence! Faix an’ troth, we just could.” ‘‘ Not to hit him, of course: only to frighten him, and give him something to say about us when he goes back to England.” ‘‘T understand, sir; we want to gie’ him a wee scare. We'll do it, an’ I’m the boy for ’t!” And the old villain chuckled with delight. The remainder of the conference was whispered. Mr. St. John took leave of Matty next morning with silver tokens of regard, and courteous speeches, and climbed to his place in the ECOMICOOOKS. CO i