"Well, gentlemen, here's the mare Playful. I believe I'm to say all the good I can about her, and upon my word she doesn't want spirit." Here he whispered Gayner, whom he told to bid for themselves conjointly. "Come, gentlemen, what do you offer? people say she's wicked, but she'll not kick you if you don't come in her reach. She can go if she likes, and she can, I suppose, if she likes, stand still; but upon my soul, I never saw her to do so in the field."
"I'll say thirty shillings, Tony," said Bob.
"Five and thirty," said young Brown.
"Two pounds," said Bob.
"I'll not go beyond that," said Brown.
"Two pounds – who'll give more than two pounds for Playful? Gentlemen, the horses are all favourites, and the pool will consequently be a large one. Who'll give more than two pounds? Bob, you've got the mare; hand me two pound, and hand yourself two more."
Then Brickbat and Miss Fidget were sold, both at good prices; for the horse had won the last race at Tuam, and that put him up in the market, in spite of Bob's vile comparison between him and his owner's bullocks; and the mare was a favourite among the Roscommon gentry, who knew little Larry could ride when he meant it.
Kickie-wickie was the next put up, but in spite of all that had been said about her by her gallant owner, she was in very little request, and was purchased cheap.
Thunderer fetched a good price; Galway horses always do; and it was easy to see that Nicholas Blake was in earnest, and Nick was a man that wouldn't come from Loughrea to Carrick-on-Shannon, and lose a day with the Galway dogs for nothing; George Brown made the purchase, for if anything could beat Conqueror it was Thunderer.
Then came Conqueror, and bidding began in earnest. George offered two pound to frighten the field; but both Larry Kelly and McKeon wanted to hedge, and they raised the price against each other by half crowns, till at last little Larry Kelly got the winner, that was to be, for three pound ten, much to Gayner's satisfaction, who felt no such confidence in George Brown's invincibility, and was very glad to see the pool increased by those who did.
When Crom-a-boo was put up – his owner rashly offered five shillings – for which sum he was allowed to retain him. He could not, however, comprehend that, because he had bid five, he was to pay ten – however, he had to do it, and began to find that the pleasures of the turf were not entirely unalloyed.
The Strokestown garron did not create much emulation, but Peter Dillon, knowing that though Pat had only one eye, that one was a good one, and that he wouldn't lose the race for want of hard work and patience, and having little Larry's three pound ten in his pocket to back him, at length doubled Keegan's offer of half-a-crown which he made to keep his own ticket, and Diana was knocked down to him at the same price that Crom-a-boo had fetched.
Then the fun grew fast and furious, and calls for hot water and spirits were loud and incessant.
"By the holy poker, boys, I'm thirsty after that," said McKeon; "you should stand me a bottle of champagne among ye, no less – just to take the dryness out of my throat, before I begin drinking."
"Champagne, indeed, Tony; wouldn't a bucket of brandy and water serve you?"
"Indeed, Fitz, if you're to pay for it yourself, a mouthful of brandy and water wouldn't be a bad thing – for I want something more than ordinary afther that work. Ah! Conner, it was the bidding afther that mare of your's that broke my heart entirely – why, man, you see, every one wanted her."
"Niver mind, Mr. McKeon, niver mind!" said Pat, with his one eye fixed on his punch. "She's a nice, good, easy creature, anyway. I don't have to be sending a boy down through the rack to be cleaning her, as they say you do with the one you're going to start to-morrow – pray God she don't kill any of us, that's all."
"Pray God she don't, Pat, and especially you. Well, Fitz, where's this brandy and water you're talking about?"
"To hear Tony talking," said little Larry, "one would think he didn't drink this week; when he got a sup at every bid that was made, and finished a tumbler as every horse was knocked down; why that was eight tumblers of punch!"
"Water, Larry, all water to clear my throat – ask the waiter else."
"It's little of that cure you take, I'm thinking – waiter, bring some tobacco here."
And now the party began smoking as well as drinking; and an atmosphere was formed, which soon drove the Major out of the room – not, however, before McKeon implored him to stay just for one handicap, as he wanted to challenge the bay gelding he drove under his gig; and as the Major was waiting for his hat, Tony threw a shilling on the table.
"Come, Major, cover that, just for luck; I must have a shy at that gig horse; I want him for Mrs. McKeon's car. Come, I'll tell you every beast I've got, and you may choose from them all, from the mare that's to win to-morrow, down to the flock of turkeys that's in the yard at Drumsna."
But the Major was inexorable; he thought the £40 and the red coat which he had had to buy for to-morrow's use, together with the hard work he had to do, was enough for popularity; and may be he had heard of Tony's celebrity in a knock, and he did not wish to sacrifice his own nag, for a chance selection out of those in McKeon's yard, nor yet for a flock of turkeys.
However, though the Major wouldn't join in a handicap, others would – and McKeon wasn't baulked of his amusement. Men soon had their hands in their pockets, waiting the awards of the arbiter, which were speedily pronounced; and various and detailed were the descriptions given of the brutes which were intended to change hands; but not in general such as made those who got them satisfied with their bargains, when they afterwards became acquainted with their real merits.
Peter Dillon threw away sundry shillings in endeavouring to part with the Mayo colt, but either he had been there before with the same kind of cattle, or he priced him too high; he couldn't get his money for him, either from little Larry Kelly, or his elder brother who was there.
Tony, before the evening was over, gave the Boyle officers two or three most desperate bargains. First, he got the celebrated mare Kickie-wickie for a pair of broken down gig horses, to run tandem: engaged to go quiet and not kick in harness. They couldn't be warranted sound: but then, as Tony said, what horse could? and he was so particular – he would never say a horse was sound, unless he knew it; in fact, he never warranted a horse sound; which was true enough, for Tony knew no one would take his warrant; and then when the Captain was in the first fit of grief for Kickie-wickie, some good-natured friend having told him that the two gig horses weren't worth a feed of oats, Tony gave her back again for a good hack hunter, and a sum of money to boot, about the real value of the mare. Again, late in the evening – when the punch had made further inroads upon the poor warrior's brain – he gave him back his own hunter for the two gig horses and a further sum of money: from all which it will be seen by those who understand the art, that the officer from Boyle could not have made a great deal, and that Tony McKeon could not be much out of pocket.
This fun continued till about two, when half the party were too drunk to care about winning and losing – and the other half, mostly consisting of the married men, too wary to attempt business with those as knowing as themselves. Gayner and Brown had gone home to bed, as they had to be up and walk ten miles before breakfast, with their great coats on; after which, as Gayner had told Mrs. McKeon, he would trouble her for the loan of two feather beds, and three or four buckets of turf; as he thought that after laying between them for an hour or so before a roaring fire, and then being rubbed down with flannels by Tony and his two men, there was little doubt but he'd be able to ride 11 stone 4; and he was to be up at that weight on the next day.
Keegan had become very drunk and talkative, had offered to sing two or three songs, to make two or three speeches, and had ultimately fallen backwards, on his chair being drawn away, from which position he was unable to get up, and little Larry's brother was now amiably engaged painting his face with lampblack. Mrs. Keegan the while was sitting in her cold, dark, little back parlour, meditating the awful punishment to be visited on the delinquent when he did return home.
Vain woman, there she sat till four, while Hyacinth lay happy beneath the table; nor did he return home, till brought on the waiter's back, at eight the next morning.
Pat was winking with his one eye, and nodding on his chair, with his pipe still stuck in his mouth. Little Larry was laughing till he cried at his brother's performance. Peter Dillon and young Fitzpatrick, each with a whiskey bottle in his hand, were guarding the door, at which Stark, the unfortunate owner of Crom-a-boo, was vainly endeavouring to make his exit, which he was assured he should not be allowed to do till he had sung a song standing on the sideboard. And the younger son of Mars, conquered by tobacco and whiskey, was leaning his unfortunate head on the table, and deluging Keegan's feet with the shower which he was unable to restrain.
Ussher was detailing in half drunken glee to his friend Fred Brown, George's brother, his plan for carrying off poor Feemy; and Brown, always as he said, ready to help a friend in necessity, was offering him the loan of his gig to take her as far as Longford, at which place he could arrive in time to catch the mail, if he could manage to take Feemy away from Ballycloran immediately after sunset. "And I'll send a boy to bring the gig back from Longford," added Fred, "so you'll have no trouble at all; and I'll tell you what it is, you're taking the prettiest girl out of County Leitrim with you – so here's her health."
Tony, Nicholas Blake, and Greenough were the only three left who were still able to drink steadily, and they kept at it till about four, when they all agreed, that if they meant to do any good at all to-morrow, they'd better be getting to bed; they consequently took one tumbler more, because it was to be the last, and made towards the door, out of which Stark had at length escaped, after having a bottle of whiskey poured over his head. As they passed the Captain, who was snoring against the wall, McKeon slightly touched his foot with his toe, and said to Blake, "Well; if I was as soft as that fellow, I'd have my head boiled in a pudding-bag. By gad, the Colonel oughtn't to let him out without his nurse."
"You oughtn't to talk then, Tony, for you didn't make a bad thing of him to-night."
"Oh, d – n his money," said McKeon; "I'd much sooner be without such a fellow. I'd sooner by half have a bargain with a man that knew how to take care of himself, than a greenhorn, who'd let you rob him of his eyes without seeing you."
By this time they'd got to the front door, at which was now standing Tony's buggy and servant; Greenough was going to walk to his lodgings, and Blake had come to the door to see his friend off; when they heard a loud shrieking down the street, and they saw the unfortunate Stark running towards the hotel, still followed by Fitzpatrick and Dillon, each with an empty bottle in his hand.
When he had escaped from the inn, his persecutors had followed him, still swearing that he should sing. Stark had run towards his home, but before he got there his pursuers headed him in the street and turned him back, and now as he rushed along, half blinded by the spirits in his eyes, they followed him, whooping and yelling like two insane devils, and were just catching him near the door of the hotel, when poor Stark, striking his foot against the curb stone, fell violently on his face, and Dillon, who was just behind him, stumbled and fell upon him.
"Halloo, Fitzpatrick, is that you?" said Tony, "what in G – d's name are you doing with that poor devil? I believe you and Dillon have killed him."
By this time Dillon had got up; and McKeon and Blake together helped the other man to his feet; his wrath was by this time thoroughly kindled, and he was swearing all manner of vengeance against Fitzpatrick – the other man's name he did not know. They, contented with their sport, carried the decanters, wonderful to relate, unbroken in triumph into the hotel, – and McKeon, bidding the boy to bring the gig after him, helped Stark, whose face was dreadfully bleeding, to his home, trying to console him, and assuring him that the mischief was all owing to Dillon, and that Fitzpatrick, who was a neighbour and friend of Tony's, had had little or nothing to do with it; and having left him at his hall-door, he drove quietly home to his own house, and went soberly to bed.
CHAPTER XVIII
HOW PAT BRADY AND JOE REYNOLDS WERE ELOQUENT IN VAIN
The day after Ussher had obtained Feemy's consent to go off with him, she passed in the same manner as she had that afternoon – sometimes sitting quiet with her eyes fixed on vacancy – sometimes sobbing and crying, as though she must have fallen into an hysterical fit. Once or twice she attempted to make some slight preparation for her visit to Mrs. McKeon's, such as looking through her clothes, mending them, &c., but in fact she did nothing. The next day, Sunday, she spent in the same manner; she omitted going to mass, a thing she had not done for years, unless kept at home by very bad weather, or real illness; she never took up a book, nor spoke a word, except such as she could not possibly avoid, to the servant or her father. Of Thady she saw nothing, except at her meals, and then they took no notice of each other. They had not spoken since the night when Thady had upbraided her whilst walking in the lane with Ussher.
On the Monday morning she was obliged to exert herself, for she had to pack the little trunk that was to carry her ball-room finery to Mrs. McKeon's, and prepare everything that was necessary for her visit.
Biddy, the favourite of the two girls, had once or twice asked her mistress what ailed her, and whether she was ill; but Feemy only answered her crossly that she was bothered with that horrid headache, and the girl could only believe that either this was actually the case, or else that she had quarrelled with her lover; and as it was now three days since he had been at Ballycloran, she at last determined that this was the case.
During these three days, Feemy had frequently made up her mind, or rather she fancied she had made up her mind to give Ussher up, – to go and confess it all to Father John, or to tell it to Mrs. McKeon; and if it had not been for the false pride within her, which would not allow her to own that she had been deceived, and that her lover was unworthy, she would have done so. His present coolness, and his cruelty in not coming to see her, though they did not destroy her love, greatly shook it; and had she had one kind word to assist her in the struggle within herself, she might still have prevented much of the misery which her folly was fated to produce.
When Mrs. McKeon and her daughters came for her about one o'clock on Monday, the small exertion necessary for putting up her clothes, had made her somewhat better – something more able to talk than she had been before, and they did not then observe anything particular about her; but she had been but a very short time at Drumsna, before it was evident to Mrs. McKeon, that something was the matter with her. When she questioned her, Feemy gave the same answer – that she had a racking headache; and though this did very well for a time, before the evening was over, the good lady was certain that something more than a headache afflicted her guest.
The next day, according to his promise, Ussher called, but of course at Mrs. McKeon's house he could not see her alone; that lady and her daughters were present all the time. When he came in, Ussher shook hands with Feemy as he would with anybody else, and began talking gaily to the two other girls. He had regained his presence of mind completely, and however deficient Feemy might be in that respect, he now proved himself a perfect master of hypocrisy. He did not stay long, and as he got up to go away, he merely remarked that he hoped he should meet the ladies that day week on the race-course, and at the ball; and the only thing he said especially to Feemy was, that he should call at Ballycloran on his way to the races, and that when he saw her on the course, he would tell her how her father and brother were; and he remarked that he should not go home that night, as he had been asked to dine and sleep at Brown Hall.
The week passed on, and Feemy remained in the same melancholy desponding way; saying nothing to Mrs. McKeon, and little to the two girls, who, in spite of Feemy's sin in having a lover, did everything in their power to cheer and enliven her.
Father John usually dined at Mrs. McKeon's on Sunday, and she came to the determination of having another talk with him about Feemy. So before dinner on that day, she opened her mind to him, telling him the state in which Feemy had been the whole of the week, and that she thought the sooner she could be made to understand that she must give up all thoughts of Ussher, the better.
Feemy had been at mass with the family, and when she met Father John afterwards, she exerted herself to appear before him as she usually did, and to a certain extent she succeeded. Father John was himself usually cheerful, and he spoke to her good humouredly, and she made an effort to answer him in the same strain; this deceived the priest, and when Mrs. McKeon spoke to him about Feemy's deep melancholy, and suggested the propriety of speaking to her on the subject which they supposed was nearest her heart, he said.
"Better let her alone, Mrs. McKeon; I think you'd better let her alone, and time will cure her. You see Feemy is proud, and perhaps a little too headstrong, and I don't think she'd bear just as quietly as she ought, any one speaking to her about the man now. It isn't only the losing him that vexes her; it isn't only that she has been deceived: but that everyone knows that she has lost him, and has been deceived. It's this that hurts her pride, and talking to her about it will only make her more fretful. If you'll take my advice, you'll just leave her to herself, take no especial notice of her, and let her go to this ball; and when she sees the man paying attention to others, – dancing and philandering with them, and neglecting her – her pride will make her feel that she must at any rate appear to be indifferent; and when she has once enabled herself to appear so, she will soon become really so. Just let her go to the races, and the ball; and your kindness and the girls' society will soon bring her round."
All Monday Feemy spent in bed, but Mrs. McKeon and her girls took no notice of it, except carefully tending her – offering to read to her, and bring her what she wanted. They soon, however, found that she preferred being left alone; and they consequently allowed her to think over her own gloomy prospects in solitude and silence.
Feemy had, however, declared her intention of going both to the races and to the ball. Ussher had desired her to do so, and she feared to disobey him; besides, at one of these places he had to give her final instructions as to their departure. She was, therefore, dressed for starting on the Tuesday morning, when the other girls were ready; and though her eyes and nose were somewhat red, and her cheeks somewhat pale, and though she did not now deserve the compliment that Fred Brown had paid her, when he told Ussher that he was going to carry off the prettiest girl in County Leitrim, still she did not look unwell, and Mrs. McKeon kindly comforted herself by the reflection, that as she was both able and willing to dress herself for amusement, there could not be much really the matter with her.
In the meantime Thady had been honestly firm to the promise he had made to Father John, not to join the Mulreadyites. His sister's absence from Ballycloran at the present time had been a relief to him; and on the morning after his visit to the priest he had returned to his work, not certainly with much happiness or satisfaction, but still with his mind made up to struggle on in the best way he could – to do nothing which he knew to be wrong, and come what come might, to leave Reynolds and his associates to their own schemes and villanies. He felt determined, if he could not protect himself and his family from his enemies by honest means, to leave it to circumstances to protect him; and though he could not shake off a deep desponding as to the future, still there was a kind of contentment in the feeling that he knew he had to suffer, and that he had made up his mind to do so firmly and bravely.
On the Saturday morning, Pat Brady had again come to his master, informing him that all the boys were to be on that evening at the whiskey shop, and using all his powers of oratory to induce him to come down; but Thady was firm, and he not only refused to come then, but plainly told Pat that he had entirely altered his mind, and that he did not intend to go down to them at all. He advised Pat also to give them up, hinting that if he did not, they two, viz., Pat Brady and Thady Macdermot, would probably soon have to part company.
This was a threat, however, for which Pat did not much care; for he knew that there was little more to be made by his old master; and, like a wise man, he had already provided himself with a new one, and a more prosperous and wealthy one than him he was going to leave. Rats always leave a falling house, and Brady was a real rat.
Still, however, though he did not expect to get much more from his service with Thady, he was, for his own reasons, anxious that his present master should not be quit of the companions with whom he had been so anxious to join him: and therefore when he found that he could no longer work on his master's mind by the arguments he had hitherto used, he began to threaten him – telling him of the different perils from the law which he would have to encounter by having joined the party, and various dangers to which he would subject himself by deserting it. But in vain – Thady was firm; and when Pat got violent and inclined to be impertinent on the subject, he told him that he would knock him down with the alpine in his hand if he said another word about it.
On Sunday, Thady went to mass, and afterwards took a walk with his friend the priest, who said everything he could to raise his spirits, and to a certain degree he did so. On the next morning, as he was going to his work, a messenger brought a letter from Keegan to his father. This was a legal notice on Flannelly's part, that on some day in November, which was named, he – Flannelly – would require not only the payment of the interest money which would then be due, but also the principal; and in this notice was set forth the exact sum to be paid for principal, for interest, for costs; and it further stated that if the sum was not paid on or before that day, writs would be issued for his body – that is the body of poor Larry Macdermot – and latitats, and sheriff's warrants, and Heaven knows what besides, for selling the property at Ballycloran; and that the mortgage would be immediately foreclosed, and the property itself disposed of for the final settlement of the debt.
This agreeable document was very legibly addressed to Lawrence Macdermot, Esq., &c. &c. &c., Ballycloran; and its unusual dimensions and appearance made Thady at once feel that it was some infernal missile come still further to harass him, and leave him, if possible, more miserable than it found him. However, such as it was, it was necessary that it should be read; so he took it to his father, and having broken the seal, said, —
"Here's a letter from Keegan, Larry; shall I read it you?"
"D – n Keegan," was the father's consolatory reply, "I don't want his letters. I tell you he can't call for his money before November, and this is October yet."
"That's thrue," said Thady, when he had spelt through the epistle; "that's thrue, father; but this is to say that he manes to come in 'arnest, when that time comes."
"And don't he always come in 'arnest? is it in joke he comes, when he axes for a hundred pound every half year? come in 'arnest! why, d – n him, he's always in 'arnest!"
"But, father, it's not only the hundred pound now, but the whole debt he demands;" and, at last, Thady succeeded in reading the letter to his father.
Larry at first got into a violent passion, swearing fearfully at Keegan, and hinting that he, Larry, knew well enough how to take care of his own body; and that he, Keegan, might get more than he bargained for, if he came to meddle with it. After that he began to whimper piteously and cry, complaining that it was a most grievous thing that his own son should bring such a letter to him; and he ended by accusing Thady of leaguing with the attorney to turn him out of his own house, and even asked him whether, when they had effected their purpose, he and Keegan intended to live at Ballycloran together.
All this was not comfortable. Thady, however, quietly folded up the letter, put it in the old bureau, left his father to his pipe and his fireside, and went out again to his occupations.
Nothing new occurred at Ballycloran for a few days, and he began to flatter himself that Mrs. Mulready's boys and their threats would annoy him no more, and he was even thinking of sending Pat down to Drumleesh to notice the tenants again to come up with the rents, if it were only to see what steps they would then take. As he was returning home, however, on Friday evening, across the fields, a little after dusk, he saw the figure of a man standing in a gap through which he had to pass, and when he came close to him, he perceived it was Joe Reynolds.
Thady had been rather surprised that he had not seen Joe before, and had been inclined to think that that worthy gentleman had been intimidated, when he heard of his own defection; but Joe was not a character so easily frightened. The truth was that he had for the last few days left his own cabin at Drumleesh, and had been engaged with others in the mountains which lay between Loch Sheen and Ballinamore, in making potheen in large quantities, and drinking no small portion of what they made. The morning after the wedding, he had been boasting to his comrades there of the success he had had in bringing over his landlord to their ranks; and he had brought down a large party of them from that quarter, all sworn friends, to be present at his proposed initiation – and great was their wrath and loud were their threatenings when they found that Thady would not come. Joe had, however, been obliged to join them again at their business, and though he had heard the ill success of Brady's second attempt, he had not been able till now to try the effects of his own eloquence.
He had now come down for that purpose, and had been for the greater portion of the evening watching Thady, till he could get a good opportunity of talking to him undisturbed; and he was now determined not to leave him, till he had used every means in his power of inducing him to change the resolution to which he had so suddenly come.
When Thady came close to him he respectfully raised his old battered hat, and said —
"Long life to ye, Mr. Thady; I hope yer honer is finding yerself well this evening."
"Quite well thank you, Joe," and Joe walked on with him a few steps.
"Have you the rint ready for me yet?" continued Thady.
"Rint is it? faix then I have not – not a penny; but it wasn't rint I was wanting to talk to your honer about just now; not but what the rint 'll be coming, and that right soon, Mr. Thady, and plenty too – if you'll only listen to me."
"Those 'd be glorious times, Joe, when the rint came that way," and Thady walked on faster, for he didn't want to prolong the conversation beyond what he could help.
"Stop, Mr. Thady; what are ye in sich a hurry for? I've come a long way to spake to you – and we'll both talk pleasanter av' you'd go a little aisier."
"Well, Joe, what is it then? I'm in a hurry."
"In a hurry is it? but why wor ye in sich a hurry to break the promise you made us all, at Mrs. Mehan's, Thursday night week past. Ah! Mr. Thady, you worn't in a hurry when you said you'd come down and be one of us at Mohill – ay! and swore it too on the blessed cross; you worn't in sich a hurry then, and what hurries you now so fast?"
"Now, Reynolds, it's no use you're saying more of that. I sent you word by Pat that I wouldn't come, and I won't – so there's an end of it."
"But that an't an end of it; no, nor nigh the end of it; I suppose, Mr. Thady," – and he paused, and, resuming his respectful tone, said, "and didn't you say you niver had deserted us and niver would, and that you'd always stick to us that you've known so long? Shure, Mr. Thady, you'll not change your mind now." And Reynolds paused in the little path they were walking in, and Thady was obliged to stand too, for Reynolds had got before him, and he couldn't pass unless he pushed the man aside. "And shure – do you mane to let Keegan off, and Ussher, the black ruffians, that way; do you intend to put up with everything from the likes of them? Come, Mr. Thady, say the word – only say the word you swore before, and by the holy cross you swore on, before next week is over Keegan shall be put where he'll never spake another bad word, or do another bad deed."
"Come, Reynolds, out of this, and let me pass," said Thady, perceiving that he must now absolutely make the man understand that he was not to be talked over, "out of that, and let me pass. And I'll tell you what, I'll not have my neck in danger; and if I hear you threatening murdher, I'll have you before the magisthrates," and he pushed by the man, who, however, still walked close behind him.