Darby O’Gill and the Good People/The Banshee’s Comb/Chapter 1

The Diplomacy of Bridget
’Twas the mendin’ of clothes that All Sowls’ afthernoon in Elizabeth Ann Egan’s kitchen that naturally brought up the subject of husbands an’ the best ways to manage them. An’ if there’s one thing more than another that makes me take me hat off to the women, ’tis the owdacious way the most down-throdden of their sex will brag about her blaggard husband.
Not that ayther one or the other of the foive busy-tongued and busy-fingered neighbour women who bint above their sewing or knitting that afthernoon were down-throdden; be no manner of manes; far, far from it. They were so filled with matrimonial con​tintedness that they fairly thrampled down one another to be first in praising the wondherful men of their choice. Every woman proudly claimed to own an’ conthrol the handsomest, loikeliest man that ever throd in brogues.
They talked so fast an’ they talked so loud that ’twas a thryin’ long while before meek-woiced little Margit Doyle could squeege her husband, Dan’l John, sideways into the argyment. An’ even when she did get him to the fore, the other women had appropryated all the hayroic qualifications for their own men, so that there was nothing left for Da

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