" "To my certain knowledge he does
not," answered Keogh. "How, then, do you account for the
difference in colour between his whiskers and his hair?" asked my
mother. "To the fact that, throughout his life, he has used his
jaw a great deal more than he ever has his brain," retorted Keogh.
Father Healy, most genial and delightful of men, belongs, of
course, to a much later period. I was at the Castle in Lord
Zetland's time, when Father Healy had just returned from a
fortnight's visit to Monte Carlo, where he had been the guest (of
all people in the world!) of Lord Randolph Churchill. "May I ask
how you explained your absence to your flock, Father Healy?" asked
Lady Zetland. "I merely told them that I had been for a
fortnight's retreat to Carlow; I thought it superfluous prefixing
the Monte," answered the priest. Again at a wedding, the late Lord
Morris, the possessor of the hugest brogue ever heard, observed as
the young couple drove off, "I wish that I had an old shoe to
throw after them for luck." "Throw your brogue after them, my dear
fellow; it will do just as well," flashed out Father Healy.
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