The Knight Of Gwynne Volume II Part 30

"There's nothing easier, then," said Tate; "since the boarding-house is closed there at Ballintray, he's up in Coleraine for the winter. I hear he waits for the Dublin mail, at M'Grotty's door, every evening, to see the pa.s.sengers, and that he has a peep at the way-bill before the agent himself."

"Has he so many acquaintances that he is always on the look out for one?"

"Faix, if they'd let him," cried Tate, laughing, "I believe he 'd know every man, woman, and child in Ireland. For curiosity, he beats all ever I seen."

As Tate spoke, a sudden draught of wind seemed to penetrate the chamber,--at least the canoe and its party shook perceptibly.

"We'll have a rare night of it," said Nickie, drawing nearer to the fire. Then resuming, added, "And you say I'll have no difficulty to find him?"

"Not the least, bedad! It would be far harder to escape him, from all I hear. He watches the coach, and never leaves it till he sees the fore boot and the hind one empty; not only looking the pa.s.sengers in the face, but tumbling over the luggage, reading all the names, and where they 're going. Oh, he's a wonderful man for knowledge!"

"Indeed," said Nickie, with a look of attention to draw on the garrulity of the old man.

"I've reason to remember it well," said Tate, putting both hands to his loins. "It was the day he dined here I got the rheumatiz in the small of my back. When I went to open the gate without there for him, he kept me talking for three quarters of an hour in the teeth of an east wind that would shave a goat,--asking me about the master and the mistress and Miss Helen, ay, and even about myself at last,--if I had any brothers, and what their names was, and who was Mister Daly, and whether he did n't keep a club-house. By my conscience, it's well for him ould Bagenal did n't hear him!"

A clattering sound from the canoe suddenly interrupted Tate's narrative; he stopped short, and muttered, in a tone of unfeigned terror,--

"That's the way always,-may I never see glory! ye can't speak of him but he hears ye!"

A rude laugh from Nickie, chorused still more coa.r.s.ely by M'Dermot, arrested Tate's loquacity, and he finished his arrangements without speaking, save in a few broken sentences.

If Mr. Nickie could have been conciliated by material enjoyments, he might decidedly have confessed that the preparations for his comfort were ample and hospitable. A hot supper diffused its savory steam on a table where decanters and flasks of wine of different sorts and sizes attested that the more convivial elements of a feast were not forgotten.

Good humor was, however, not to be restored by such amends. He was wounded in his self-love, outraged in his vanity; and he sat down in a dogged silence to the meal, a perfect contrast in appearance to the coa.r.s.e delight of his subordinate.

While Tate remained to wait on them, Nickie's manner and bearing were unchanged. A sullen, sulky expression sat on features which, even when at the best, conveyed little better than a look of shrewd keenness; nor could the appet.i.te with which he eat suggest a pa.s.sing ray of satisfaction to his face.

"I am glad we are rid of that old fellow at last," said he, as the door closed upon Tate. "Whether fool or knave, I saw what he was at; he would have been disrespectful if he dared."

"I did n't mind him much, sir," said M'Dermot, honestly confessing that the good cheer had absorbed his undivided attention.

"I did, then; I saw his eyes fixed effectually on us,--on you particularly. I thought he would have laughed outright when you helped yourself to the entire duck."

Nickie spoke this with an honest severity, meant to express his discontent with his companion fully as much as with the old butler.

"Well, it was an excellent supper, anyhow," said M'Dermot, taking the bottle which Nickie pushed towards him somewhat rudely; "and here 's wis.h.i.+ng health and happiness and long life to ye, Mr. Anthony. May ye always have as plentiful a board, and better company round it."

There was a fawning humility in the fellow's manner that seemed to gratify the other, for he nodded a return to the sentiment, and, after a brief pause, said,--"The servants in these grand houses,--and that old fellow, you may remark, was with the Darcys when they were great people,--they give themselves airs to everybody they think below the rank of their master."

"Faix, they might behave better to _you_, Mr. Anthony," said M'Dermot.

"Well, they're run their course now," said Nickie, not heeding the remark. "Both master and man have had their day. I 've seen more executions on property in the last six months than ever I did in all my life before. Creditors won't wait now as they used to do. No influence now to make gaugers and tide-waiters and militia officers; no privilege of Parliament to save them from arrest!"

"My blessings on them for that, anyhow," said M'Dermot, finis.h.i.+ng his gla.s.s. "The Union 's a fine thing."

"The fellows that got the bribes--and, to be sure, there was plenty of money going--won't stay to spend it in Ireland; devil a one will remain here, but those that are run out and ruined."

"Bad luck to it for a Bill!" said M'Dermot, who felt obliged to sacrifice his consistency in his desire to concur with each new sentiment of his chief.

"The very wine we're drinking, maybe, was given for a vote. Pitt knew well how to catch them."

"Success attend him!" chimed in M'Dermot.

"And just think of them now," continued Nickie, whose ruminations were never interrupted by the running commentary,--"just think of them!

selling the country, trade, prosperity, everything, for a few hundred pounds."

"The blackguards!"

"Some, to be sure, made a fine thing out of it. Not like old Darcy here; they were early in the market, and got both rank and money too."

"Ay, that was doin' it in style!" exclaimed Mike, who expressed himself this time somewhat equivocally, for safety's sake.

"There 's no denying it, Castlereagh was a clever fellow!"

"The best man ever I seen--I don't care who the other is."

"He knew when to bid, and when to draw back; never became too pressing, but never let any one feel himself neglected; watched his opportunities slyly, and when the time came, pounced down like a hawk on his victim."

"Oh, the thieves' breed! What a hard heart he had!" muttered M'Dermot, perfectly regardless of whom he was speaking.

Thus did Mr. Nickie ramble on, in the popular cant, over the subject of the day; for although the Union was now carried, and its consequences--whatever they might be--so far inevitable, the men whose influence effected the measure were still before the bar of public opinion,--an ordeal not a whit more just and discriminating than it usually is. While the current of these reminiscences ran on, varied by some anecdote here or some observation there, both master and man drank deeply. So long as good liquor abounded, Mr. M'Dermot could have listened with pleasure, even to a less entertaining companion; and as for Nickie, he felt a vulgar pride in discussing, familiarly and by name, the men of rank and station who took a leading part in Irish politics. The pamphlets and newspapers of the day had made so many private histories public, had unveiled so many family circ.u.mstances before the eyes of the world, that his dissertations had all the seeming authenticity of personal knowledge.

It was at the close of a rather violent denunciation of the "Traitors"--as the Government party was ever called--that Nickie, striking the table with his fist, called on M'Dermot to sing.

"I say, Mac," cried he, with a faltering tongue, and eyes red and bleared from drink,--"the old lady--wouldn't accept my society--she did n't think--An-tho-ny Nickie, Esquire--good enough--to sit down--at her table. Let us show her what she has lost, my boy. Give her 'Bob Uniake's Boots' or 'The Major's Prayer.'"

"Or what d' ye think of the new ballad to Lord Castlereagh, sir?"

suggested M'Dermot, modestly. "It was the last thing Rhoudlim had when I left town."

"Is it good?" hiccuped Nickie.

"If ye heerd Rhoudlim--"

"D----n Rhoudlim!--she used to sing that song Parsons made on the attorneys. Parsons never liked us, Mac. You know what he said to Holmes, who went to him for a subscription of five s.h.i.+llings, to help to bury Mat Costegan. 'Was n't he an attorney?' says Parsons. 'He was,' says the other. 'Well, here 's a pound,' says he; 'take it and bury four!'"

"Oh, by my conscience, that was mighty nate!" said M'Dermot, who completely forgot himself.

Nickie frowned savagely at his companion, and for a moment seemed about to express his anger more palpably, when he suddenly drank off his gla.s.s, and said, "Well, the song,-let us have it now."

"I 'm afraid--I don't know more than a verse here and there," said Mac, bashfully stroking down his hair, and mincing his words; "but with the help of a chorus--"

"Trust me for that," cried Nickie, who now drank gla.s.s after gla.s.s without stopping; "I'm always ready for a song." So saying he burst out into a half-lachryinose chant,--

"An old maid had a roguish eye!

And she was call'd the great Kamshoodera!

Rich was she and poor was I!

Fol de dol de die do!

"I forget the rest, Mickie, but it goes on about a Nabob and a bear, and--a--what's this ye call it, a pottle of green gooseberries that Lord Clangoff sold to Mrs. Kelfoyle."