“Sorry the bit, Mrs. Nolan; he’s as cross as two sticks. It’s walk up an’ down the floor wid him I’ve been doin’ all the God’s blessed night. Scure till the wink av slape I’ve had since I opened me two eyes at half after foive yisterday mornin’.” “Poor sowl! Yez shud git him a rubber ring till cut his teeth on; it’s an illigant t’ing for childer’, I’m towld.” Contractor McGlory’s stables and cart sheds stood on the opposite side of the court. A young man sat on a feed-box in the doorway polishing a set of light harness; a group of dirty children were playing under an up-tilted cart, and a brace of starving curs fought savagely up the alley over a mouldy bone. Mrs. Nolan called to the young man: “An’ sure, is it out drivin’ yez’ed be goin’ so arly on Sunday mornin’, Jerry?” “On’y a little spin,” said the youth. “I want to try out a new skate what the old gent bought at the bazar.” He rubbed away in industrious silence for a moment and then, nodding toward a clean-looking brick house at the end of the court, inquired: “Did youse see Johnnie Kerrigan go in?” “Is it young Kerrigan go intill Murphy’s!” Mrs. Nolan seemed dumbfounded. “Not the saloon-keeper’s son that do be at the ’torneyin’!” cried Mrs. Burns. “That’s the guy,” said Jerry. “He went in a couple o’ minutes ago.” Mrs. Nolan looked at her neighbour, and the latter lady returned the look with interest. “I declare till God!” said the former, “Iv that don’t bate all I iver heerd since the day I wur born. Sure an’ his father an’ owld Larry have been bitter at wan another for years.” “It’s forgivin’ his enemies he’ll be doin’ now that the breath do be lavin’ him,” said Mrs. Burns. “Divil the fear av him forgivin’ me the bit av rint I owes him, though,” she added bitterly. “There’s worse than old Murphy,” said Jerry. “Kelly’s got his net out after the court, an’ if he lands it, it won’t be long before youse find it out, either.” But Mrs. Burns could only think of the crusty old harpy who went from door to door down the court on the first day of the month, the skinny old claw that reached out so graspingly for the rent, the leathery old face frowning blackly upon delay, of the bitter tongue that spat venom into the faces of all not ready to pay. And for the life of her, the good woman could think of none worse than old Larry Murphy to deal with. “Faix an’ he’d take the bit av bread out av the children’s mouths,” declared she. A flock of grimy sparrows suddenly lit upon the roof of the stable, chattering, fluttering and fighting madly; one of the quarrelling dogs had been defeated and licked his wounds and howled dolefully; a drunken man, passing the end of the court, pitched into the gutter and lay there. “Mother av Heaven!” exclaimed Mrs. Nolan with a suddenness that caused her neighbour to jump. She was pointing toward the house spoken of as Murphy’s. “Look there!”