It was a good while before
he obtained a hearing, such was the hilarity, so sustained the fire of
ironical compliments, enquiries, and pleasantries, and the general
uproar.
When he did, with hand uplifted, after the manner of a prisoner
arraigned for murder, he pleaded 'a dispensation.' I suppose it was
true, for he backed the allegation with several most religious oaths and
imprecations, and explained how men were not always quite so strong as
they looked; that he might, if he liked it, by permission of his bishop,
eat meat at every meal in the day, and every day in the week; that his
not doing so was a voluntary abstinence--not conscientious, only
expedient--to prevent the 'unreasonable remarks' of his parishioners (a
roar of laughter); that he was, perhaps, rightly served for not having
publicly availed himself of his bishop's dispensation (renewed peals of
merriment). By this foolish delicacy (more of that detestable
horse-laughter), he had got himself into a false position; and so on,
till the _ad misericordiam_ peroration addressed to 'Captain Devereux,
dear,' and 'Toole, my honey.' Well, they quizzed him unmercifully; they
sat down and eat all that was left of the hare-pie, under his wistful
ogle.
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