The Crock of Gold | Page 8

great knowledge of the properties of this material."
"Why shouldn't they, to be sure?" said Meehawl MacMurrachu. "Have you got a match, sir?"
"I have not," said the Philosopher. "Sparrows, again, are a highly acute and reasonable folk. They use water to quench thirst, but when they are dirty they take a dust bath and are at once cleansed. Of course, birds are often seen in the water, but they go there to catch fish and not to wash. I have often fancied that fish are a dirty, sly, and unintelligent people--this is due to their staying so much in the water, and it has been observed that on being removed from this element they at once expire through sheer ecstasy at escaping from their prolonged wash- ing."
"I have seen them doing it myself," said Meehawl. "Did you ever hear, sir, about the fish that Paudeen MacLoughlin caught in the policeman's hat."
"I did not," said the Philosopher. "The first person who washed was possibly a person seeking a cheap no- toriety. Any fool can wash himself, but every wise man knows that it is an unnecessary labour,for nature will quickly reduce him to a natural and healthy dirtiness again. We should seek, therefore, not how to make our- selves clean, but how to attain a more unique and splendid dirtiness, and perhaps the accumulated layers of matter might, by ordinary geologic compulsion, become incorpo- rated with the human cuticle and so render clothing un- necessary--"
"About that washboard," said Meehawl, "I was just going to say--"
"It doesn't matter," said the Philosopher. "In its proper place I admit the necessity for water. As a thing to sail a ship on it can scarcely be surpassed (not, you will understand, that I entirely approve of ships, they tend to create and perpetuate international curiosity and the smaller vermin of different latitudes). As an element wherewith to put out a fire, or brew tea, or make a slide in winter it is useful, but in a tin basin it has a repulsive and meagre aspect.--Now as to your wife's washboard--"
"Good luck to your honour," said Meehawl.
"Your wife says that either the fairies or a woman with a goat's leg has it."
"It's her whiskers," said Meehawl.
"They are lame," said the Philosopher sternly.
"Have it your own way, sir, I'm not certain now how the creature is afflicted."
"You say that this unhealthy woman has not got your wife's washboard. It remains, therefore, that the fairies have it."
"It looks that way," said Meehawl.
"There are six clans of fairies living in this neighbour- hood; but the process of elimination, which has shaped the world to a globe, the ant to its environment, and man to the captaincy of the vertebrates, will not fail in this instance either."
"Did you ever see anything like the way wasps have increased this season?" said Meehawl; "faith, you can't sit down anywhere but your breeches--"
"I did not," said the Philosopher. "Did you leave out a pan of milk on last Tuesday?"
"I did then."
"Do you take off your hat when you meet a dust twirl?"
"I wouldn't neglect that," said Meehawl.
"Did you cut down a thorn bush recently?" "I'd sooner cut my eye out," said Meehawl, "and go about as wall-eyed as Lorcan O'Nualain's ass: I would that. Did you ever see his ass, sir? It--"
"I did not," said the Philosopher. "Did you kill a robin redbreast?"
"Never,'" said Meehawl. "By the pipers," he added, "that old skinny cat of mine caught a bird on the roof yesterday."
"Hah!'' cried the Philosopher, moving, if it were pos- sible, even closer to his client, "now we have it. It is the Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca Mora took your wash- board. Go to the Gort at once. There is a hole under a tree in the south-east of the field. Try what you will find in that hole."
"I'll do that," said Meehawl. "Did you ever-"
"I did not," said the Philosopher.
So Meehawl MacMurrachu went away and did as he had been bidden, and underneath the tree of Gort na Cloca Mora he found a little crock of gold.
"There's a power of washboards in that," said he.
By reason of this incident the fame of the Philosopher became even greater than it had been before, and also by reason of it many singular events were to happen with which you shall duly become acquainted.
CHAPTER IV
IT SO happened that the Leprecauns of Gort na Cloca Mora were not thankful to the Philosopher for having sent Meehawl MacMurrachu to their field. In stealing Meehawl's property they were quite within their rights because their bird had undoubtedly been slain by his cat. Not alone, therefore, was their righteous vengeance nullified, but the crock of gold which had taken their community many thousands of years to amass was stolen. A Leprecaun without a pot of gold is like