"McGonigle bein' an agreeable man be nature, an' his principles bein' far demoralized in drink, agreed to say it. "Had they watched him closer they might have seen that he stopped a little before the last word. "But, after all, McGonigle was a good neighbor, and, barrin' the Seventeenth of March an' the Twelvth of July, a good friend. Along with that, he was the only journeyman farrier in the town. I misdoubt they were only too glad to have him say it any way at all, and be rid of him. "When McGonigle came down past the drawn sword into the sunshine he was thirsty, for water. He went down to the lough, thinkin' to drink at least the half of it. "In the middle of the first dhrink, the Divil leapt down to the brink of the lough and stood forninst McGonigle. "'A word with you, Misther McGonigle,' says the Divil, polite, but firm. "McGonigle lifted one eye from his dhrinkin' and saw the Divil confrontin him in the shape of a big black horse with saddle and stirrups on him, but no bridle. "'I need me breath for me dhrinkin',' says McGonigle. "'Nevertheless,' says the Divil. "'Gluggle, gluggle, gluggle,' says McGonigle, taking another pull at the lough. "With that, the Divil lost his temper, an' he stamped an' he lepped till he shook the whole town, an' he shook all the impudence out of poor McGonigle. "'Get on me back,' commands the Divil. "An' poor McGonigle, with the courage of the whiskey dead in him, an his belly squishin' full o' lake water, had no more gumption than to do as he was bid. "Then it was that the Divil went bumping through Athlone in standin' lepps, as you've heard. He was tryin' to frighten McGonigle, for he was not sure whether he had him truly in his power. "'Ye said it,' accused the Divil, boundin' high around a sharp corner. "'I said what?' demands McGonigle circumstantial. He knew right well that the Divil would never dare repeat the Orangemen's invocation. For McGonigle in his sober moments was a well read man, and, with a moderate amount of dhrink in him, he was a theologian. "'Come now, Barney me boy,' says the Divil, wheedlin' snarefully, 'ye said it, an' ye know ye said it, an' I know ye said it. So where's the use o' denyin'?' "'I said,' says McGonigle, speakin' careful an' precise--'To be sure I said part of it under me breath, but I said it--I said: 'To hell with the _Anti_-pope'.' "Now the Anti-pope, as you must know," McQuade explained, "the Anti-pope was the Divil himself. "Then there _was_ a too-ru! The Divil was that mad that he stood still and lepped straight up an' down. An' he was so enraged at McGonigle that he got his foot up into the stirrup beside McGonigle's, as though he was tryin' to come up at him. "'Glory be!' says McGonigle, lookin' down between prayers. 'Look at the Omadhon tryin' to get on his own back!'