"We have a quare proverb here, Misther Black," said one of the worthy
burghers, "that, be my sowl, may be you never heard!"
"Tehee! tehee! agh! What is that?" said the Boxer, showing his white
teeth and blubber lips in a furious grin, whilst the eyes which he
fastened on the poor burgher blazed up once more, as if he was about to
annihilate him.
"What is it, sar?"
"Faith," said the burgher, making towards the door, "I'll tell you
that when I'm the safe side o' the room--devil a ha'porth bar-rin' that
neither you nor any man ought to reckon your chickens before they
are hatched. Make money of that;" and after having discharged this
pleasantry at the black, the worthy burgher made a hasty exit down
stairs, followed at a more dignified pace by his companions.
The Dead Boxer, in preparing for battle, observed a series of forms
peculiar to himself, which were certainly of an appalling character. As
a proof that the challenge was accepted, he ordered a black flag,
which he carried about with him, to wave from a window of the inn, a
circumstance which thrilled all who saw it with an awful certainty of
Lamh Laudher's death. He then gave order for the drums to be beaten,
and a dead march to be played before him, whilst he walked slowly up
the town and back, conversing occasionally with some of those who
immediately surrounded him.
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