But it
was only a gunpowder glare, swallowed in an instant in darkness, and
down came the black portcullis of his scowl with a chop, while clearing
his voice, and directing his red face and vicious little eyes straight
on simple Dan Loftus he said, rising very erect and square from an
unusually ceremonious bow--
'I don't know, Mr. Loftus, exactly what you mean by a "ring-goat in a
Spanish dress"' (the priest had just smuggled over a wonderful bit of
ecclesiastical toggery from Salamanca): 'and--a--person wearing patches,
you said of--of--patches of concupiscence, I think.' (Father Roach's
housekeeper unfortunately wore patches, though, it is right to add, she
was altogether virtuous, and by no means young); 'but I'm bound to
suppose, by the amusement our friends seem to derive from it, Sir, that
a ring-goat, whatever it means, is a good joke, as well as a
good-natured one.'
'But, by your leave, Sir,' emphatically interposed Puddock, on whose ear
the ecclesiastic's blunder grated like a discord, 'Mr. Loftus sang
nothing about a goat, though kid is not a bad thing: he said, "ringos,"
meaning, I conclude, eringoeous, a delicious preserve or confection.
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