Electronic Resource
E-book The christmas books of mr m.a. titmarsh
I do not know where Ballymulligan is, and never knew anybody who
did. Once I asked the Mulligan the question, when that chieftain
assumed a look of dignity so ferocious, and spoke of "Saxon
curiawsitee" in a tone of such evident displeasure, that, as after
all it can matter very little to me whereabouts lies the Celtic
principality in question, I have never pressed the inquiry any
farther.
I don't know even the Mulligan's town residence. One night, as he
bade us adieu in Oxford Street,--"I live THERE," says he, pointing
down towards Oxbridge, with the big stick he carries--so his abode is in that direction at any rate. He has his letters addressed to
several of his friends' houses, and his parcels, &c. are left for
him at various taverns which he frequents. That pair of checked
trousers, in which you see him attired, he did me the favor of
ordering from my own tailor, who is quite as anxious as anybody to
know the address of the wearer. In like manner my hatter asked me,
"Oo was the Hirish gent as 'ad ordered four 'ats and a sable boar
to be sent to my lodgings?" As I did not know (however I might
guess) the articles have never been sent, and the Mulligan has
withdrawn his custom from the "infernal four-and-nine-penny
scoundthrel," as he calls him. The hatter has not shut up shop in
consequence.
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