Humbug and flummery! Sir,' cried Toole, most unexpectedly incensed, and quite scarlet.
'D'ye mane I'm a liar, Sir?
Is that what you mane ?' demanded Dirty Davy, suddenly, like the doctor, getting rid of his ceremonious politeness.
'I mane what I mane, and that's what I mane,' thundered Toole, diplomatically.
'Then, tell your _friend_ to prepare for consequences,' retorted Dirty Davy, with a grin.
'And make my compliments to your client, or conjuror, or wife, or whatever she is, and tell her that whenever she wants her dirty work done, there's plenty of other Dublin blackguards to be got to do it, without coming to Docther Thomas Toole, or the Rev.Father Roach.' Which sarcasm he delivered with killing significance, but Dirty Davy had survived worse thrusts than that.
'She's a conjuror, is she?
I thank you, Sir.' 'You're easily obliged, Sir,' says Toole.
'We all know what that manes.

And these documents _sworn_ to by my client and myself, is a pack o' lies! Betther and betther! I thank ye again, Sir.' 'You're welcome, my honey,' rejoined Toole, affectionately.
'An' you live round the corner.

I know your hall-door, Sir--a light brown, wid a brass knocker.' 'Which is a fine likeness iv your own handsome face, Sir,' retorted Toole.
'An' them two documents, Sir, is a fabrication and a forgery, backed up wid false affidavits ?' continued Mr.O'Reegan.
'Mind that, Larry,' says the doctor, with a sudden inspiration addressing the waiter, who had peeped in; 'he admits that them two documents you see there, is forgeries, backed up with false affidavits; you heard him say so, and I'll call you to prove it.' '_You lie!_' said Dirty Davy, precipitately, for he was quite disconcerted at finding his own sophistical weapons so unexpectedly turned against him.
'You scum o' the airth!' cried Toole, hitting him, with his clenched fist, right upon the nose, so vigorous a thump, that his erudite head with a sonorous crash hopped off the wainscot behind it; 'you lying scullion!' roared the doctor, instantaneously repeating the blow, and down went Davy, and down went the table with dreadful din, and the incensed doctor bestrode his prostrate foe with clenched fists and flaming face, and his grand wig all awry, and he panting and scowling.
'Murdher, murdher, _murdher!_' screamed Dirty Davy, who was not much of a Spartan, and relished nothing of an assault and battery but the costs and damages.
'You--you--you' 'Murdher--help--help--murdher--murdher!' 'Say it again, you cowardly, sneaking, spying viper; say it _again_, can't you ?' It was a fine tableau, and a noble study of countenance and attitude.
'Sich a bloody nose I never seen before,' grinned Larry rubbing his hands over the exquisite remembrance.

'If you only seed him, flat on his back, the great ould shnake, wid his knees and his hands up bawling murdher; an' his big white face and his bloody nose in the middle, like nothin' in nature, bedad, but the ace iv hearts in a dirty pack.' How they were separated, and who the particular persons that interposed, what restoratives were resorted to, how the feature looked half an hour afterwards, and what was the subsequent demeanour of Doctor Toole, upon the field of battle, I am not instructed; my letters stop short at the catastrophe, and run off to other matters.
Doctor Toole's agitations upon such encounters did not last long.

They blew off in a few thundering claps of bravado and defiance in the second parlour of the Phoenix, where he washed his hands and readjusted his wig and ruffles, and strutted forth, squaring his elbows, and nodding and winking at the sympathising waiters in the inn hall; and with a half grin at Larry-- 'Well, Larry, I think I showed him Chapelizod, hey ?' said the doctor, buoyantly, to that functionary, and marched diagonally across the broad street toward Sturk's house, with a gait and a countenance that might have overawed an army..