O'Connor simply shook his head, and looked sadly upon his limbs,
now shrouded in a superfluity of garments, somewhat resembling a slender
thread of water in a shallow summer stream, nearly wasted away, and
surrounded by an unproportionate extent of channel.
The fourth month after the marriage arrived. Neal, one day, near its
close, began to dress himself in his best apparel. Even then, when
buttoning his waistcoat, he shook his head after the manner of Mr.
O'Connor, and made observations upon the great extent to which it
over-folded him.
Well, thought he, with a sigh--this waistcoat certainly did fit me to a
T: but it's wondherful to think how--cloth stretches.
"Neal," said the wife, on perceiving him dressed, "where are you bound
for?"
"Faith, for life," replied Neal, with a mitigated swagger; "and I'd as
soon, if it had been the will of Provid--"
He paused.
"Where are you going?" asked the wife, a second time.
"Why," he answered, "only to the dance at Jemmy Connolly's; I'll be back
early."
"Don't go," said the wife. "I'll go," said Neal, "if the whole
counthry was to prevent me. Thunder an' lightnin,' woman, who am I?" he
exclaimed, in a loud but rather infirm voice; "arn't I Neal Malone, that
never met a man who'd fight him! Neal Malone, that was never beat by
man! Why, tare-an-ounze, woman! Whoo! I'll get enraged some time, an'
play the divil? Who's afeard, I say?"
"Don't go," added the wife a third time, giving Neal a significant look
in the face.
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