The sportsmen, having returned from their fishing excursion to dinner,
were seated round the hospitable board of Squire Egan; Murphy and Dick
in high glee, at still successfully hoodwinking Furlong, and carrying
on their mystification with infinite frolic.
The soup had been removed, and they were in the act of enjoying the
salmon, which had already given so much enjoyment, when a loud knocking
at the door announced the arrival of some fresh guest.
"Did you ask any one to dinner, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Egan of her
good-humoured lord, who was the very man to invite any friend he met in
the course of the day, and forget it after.
"No, my dear," answered the Squire. "Did you, Dick?" said he.
Dick replied in the negative, and said he had better go and see who it
was; for looks of alarm had been exchanged between him, the Squire, and
Murphy, lest any stranger should enter without being apprised of the
hoax going forward; and Dawson had just reached the dining-room door on
his cautionary mission, when it was suddenly thrown wide open, and in
walked, with a rapid step and bustling air, an active little gentleman
dressed in black, who was at Mrs. Egan's side in a moment, exclaiming
with a very audible voice and much _empressement_ of manner--
"My dear Mrs. Egan, how do you do? I am delighted to see you. Took a
friend's privilege, you see, and have come unbidden to claim the
hospitality of your table. The fact is, I was making a sick visit to
this side of my parish; and finding it impossible to get home in time
to my own dinner, I had no scruple in laying yours under contribution."
Now this was the Protestant clergyman of the parish, whose political
views were in opposition to those of Mr. Egan; but the good hearts of
both men prevented political feeling from interfering, as in Ireland it
too often does, with the social intercourse of life. Still, however, if
Dick Dawson had got out of the room in time, this was not the man to
assist them in covering their hoax on Furlong, and the scene became
excessively ludicrous the moment the reverend gentleman made his
appearance. Dick, the Squire, and Murphy, opened their eyes at each
other, while Mrs. Egan grew as red as scarlet when Furlong stared at
her in astonishment as the newcomer mentioned her name. She stammered
out welcome as well as she could, and called for a chair for Mr.
Bermingham, with all sorts of kind inquiries for Mrs. Bermingham and
the little Berminghams--for the Bermingham manufactory in that line was
extensive.
While the reverend gentleman was taking his seat, spreading his napkin
and addressing a word to each round the table, Furlong turned to Fanny
Dawson, beside whom he was sitting (and who, by-the-bye, could not
resist a fit of laughter on the occasion), and said with a bewildered
look--
"Did he not addwess _Madame_ as Mistwess Egan?"
"Yeth," said Fanny, with admirable readiness; "but whithper." And as
Furlong inclined his head towards her, she whispered in his ear, "You
muthn't mind him--he's mad, poor man!--that is, a _little_ inthane--and
thinks every lady is Mrs. Egan. An unhappy pathion, poor fellow!--but
_quite harmleth_."
Furlong uttered a very prolonged "Oh!" at Fanny's answer to his inquiry,
and looked sharply round the table, for there was an indefinable
something in the conduct of every one at the moment of Mr. Bermingham's
entrance that attracted his attention, and the name "Egan," and
everybody's _fidgetiness_ (which is the only word I can apply), roused
his suspicion. Fanny's answer only half satisfied him; and looking at
Mrs. Egan, who could not conquer her confusion, he remarked "How _vewy_
wed Mistwess O'Gwady gwew!"
"Oh! thee can't help bluthing, poor soul! when he thays 'Egan' to her,
and thinks her his _furth_ love."
"How _vewy_ widiculous to be sure," said Furlong.
"Haven't you innothent mad people thumtimes in England?" said Fanny.
"Oh _vewy_" said Furlong, "but this appea's to me so wema'kably
stwange an abbewation."
"Oh," returned Fanny, with quickness, "I thuppose people go mad on
their ruling pathion, and the ruling pathion of the Irish, you know,
is love."
The conversation all this time was going on in other quarters, and
Furlong heard Mr. Bermingham talking of his having preached last Sunday
in his new church.
"Suwely," said he to Fanny, "they would not pe'mit an insane gle'gyman
to pweach?"
"Oh," said Fanny, almost suffocating with laughter, "he only
_thinkth_ he's a clergyman."
"How vewy dwoll you are!" said Furlong.
"Now you're only quithing me," said Fanny, looking with affected
innocence in the face of the unfortunate young gentleman she had been
quizzing most unmercifully the whole day.
"Oh, Miste' O'Gwady," said Furlong, "we saw them going to dwown a man
to-day."
"Indeed!" said the Squire, reddening, as he saw Mr. Bermingham stare at
his being called O'Grady; so, to cover the blot, and stop Furlong, he
asked him to take wine.
"Do they often dwown people here?" continued Furlong, after he had
bowed.
"Not that I know of," said the Squire.
"But are not the lowe' o'ders wather given to what Lo'd Bacon
calls----"
"Who cares about Lord Bacon?" said Murphy.
"My dear sir, you supwise me!" said Furlong, in utter amazement. "Lord
Bacon's sayings----"
"'Pon my conscience," said Murphy, "both himself and his sayings are
very _rusty_ by this time."
"Oh, I see, Miste' Muffy. You neve' will be sewious."
"Heaven forbid!" said Murphy--"at least at dinner, or _after_
dinner. Seriousness is only a morning amusement--it makes a very poor
figure in the evening."
"By-the-bye," said Mr. Bermingham, "talking of drowning, I heard a very
odd story to-day from O'Grady. You and he, I believe," said the
clergyman, addressing Egan, "are not on as good terms as you were."
At this speech Furlong did _rather_ open his eyes, the Squire hummed and
hawed, Murphy coughed, Mrs. Egan looked into her plate, and Dick, making
a desperate rush to the rescue, asked Furlong which he preferred, a
single or a double barrelled gun.
Mr. Bermingham, perceiving the sensation his question created, thought
he had touched upon forbidden ground, and therefore did not repeat his
question, and Fanny whispered Furlong that one of the stranger's mad
peculiarities was mistaking one person for another; but all this did
not satisfy Furlong, whose misgivings as to the real name of his host
were growing stronger every moment. At last, Mr. Bermingham, without
alluding to the broken friendship between Egan and O'Grady, returned to
the "odd story" he had heard that morning about drowning.
"'T is a strange affair," said he, "and our side of the country is all
alive about it. A gentleman who was expected from Dublin last night at
Neck-or-Nothing Hall, arrived, as it is ascertained, at the village,
and thence took a post-chaise, since which time he has not been heard
of; and as a post-chaise was discovered this morning sunk in the river,
close by Ballysloughgutthery bridge, it is suspected the gentleman has
been drowned either by accident or design. The postilion is in
confinement on suspicion, and O'Grady has written to the Castle about
it to-day, for the gentleman was a government agent."
"Why, sir," said Furlong, "that must be me!"
"_You_, sir!" said Mr. Bermingham, whose turn it was to be
surprised now.
"Yes, sir," said Furlong, "I took a post-chaise at the village last
night, and I'm an agent of the gove'ment."
"But you're not drowned, sir--and he was," said Bermingham.
"To be su'e I'm not dwowned; but I'm the pe'son."
"Quite impossible, sir," said Mr. Bermingham. "You can't be the
person."
"Why, sir, do you expect to pe'suade me out of my own identity!"
"Oh," said Murphy, "there will be no occasion to prove identity till
the body is found, and the coroner's inquest sits; that's the law,
sir--at least, in Ireland."
Furlong's bewildered look at the unblushing impudence of Murphy was
worth anything. While he was dumb from astonishment, Mr. Bermingham,
with marked politeness, said, "Allow me, sir, for a moment to explain
to you. You see, it could not be you, for the gentleman was going to
Mr. O'Grady's."
"Well, sir," said Furlong, "and here I am."
The wide stare of the two men as they looked at each other was killing;
and while Furlong's face was turned towards Mr. Bermingham, Fanny
caught the clergy-man's eye, tapped her forehead with the fore-finger
of her right hand, shook her head, and turned up her eyes with an
expression of pity, to indicate that Furlong was not quite right in his
mind.
"Oh, I beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Bermingham. "I see it's a mistake of
mine."
"There certainly is a vewy gweat mistake somewhere," said Furlong, who
was now bent on a very direct question. "Pway, Miste' O'Gwady," said
he, addressing Egan, "that is, if you _are_ Miste' O'Gwady, will
you tell me, _are_ you Miste' O'Gwady?"
"Sir," said the Squire, "you have chosen to call me O'Grady ever since
you came here, but my name is Egan."
"What!--the member for the county?" cried Furlong, horrified.
"Yes," said the Squire, laughing; "do you want a frank?"
"'T will save your friends postage," said Dick, "when you write to them
to say you're safe."
"Miste' Wegan," said Furlong, with an attempt at offended dignity, "I
conside' myself vewy ill used."
"You're the first man I ever heard of being ill used at Merryvale
House," said Murphy.
"Sir, it's a gwievous w'ong!"
"What _is_ all this about?" asked Mr. Bermingham.
"My dear friend," said the Squire, laughing--though, indeed, that was
not peculiar to _him_, for every one round the table, save the victim,
was doing the same thing (as for Fanny, she _shouted_),--"My dear
friend, this gentleman came to my house last night, and _I_ took him for
a friend of Moriarty's, whom I have been expecting for some days. _He_
thought, it appears, this was Neck-or-Nothing Hall, and thus a mutual
mistake has arisen. All I can say is, that you are most welcome, Mr.
Furlong, to the hospitality of this house as long as you please."
"But, sir, you should not have allowed me to wemain in you' house,"
said Furlong.
"That's a doctrine," said the Squire, "in which you will find it
difficult to make an Irish host coincide."
"But you must have known, sir, that it was not my intention to come to
your house."
"How could I know that, sir?" said the Squire, jocularly.
"Why, Miste' Wegan--you know--that is--in fact--confound it, sir!" said
Furlong, at last, losing his temper, "you know I told you all about our
electioneering tactics."
A loud laugh was all the response Furlong received to this outbreak.
"Well, sir," repeated he, "I pwotest it is extremely unfair."
"You know, my dear sir," said Dick, "we Irish are such _poor ignorant
creatures_, according to your own account, that we can make no use
of the knowledge with which you have so generously supplied us."
"You know," said the Squire, "we have no _real_ finesse."
"Sir," said Furlong, growing sulky, "there is a certain finesse that is
_fair_, and another that is _unfair_--and I pwotest against----"
"Pooh, pooh!" said Murphy. "Never mind trifles. Just wait till to-morrow,
and I'll show you even better salmon-fishing than you had to-day."
"Sir, no consideration would make me wemain anothe' wower in this
house."
Murphy screwed his lips together, puffed out something between a whistle
and the blowing out of a candle, and ventured to suggest to Furlong he
had better wait even a couple of hours, till he had got his allowance of
claret. "Remember the adage, sir, '_In vino veritas_,' and we'll tell
you all _our_ electioneering secrets after we've had enough wine."
"As soon, Miste' Wegan," said Mr. Furlong, quite chapfallen, "as you can
tell me how I can get to the house to which I _intended_ to go, I will
be weddy to bid you good evening."
"If you are determined, Mr. Furlong, to remain here no longer, I shall
not press my hospitality upon you; whenever you decide upon going, my
carriage shall be at your service."
"The soone' the bette', sir," said Furlong, retreating still further
into a cold and sulky manner.
The Squire made no further attempt to conciliate him; he merely said,
"Dick, ring the bell. Pass the claret, Murphy."
The bell was rung--the claret passed--a servant entered, and orders were
given by the Squire that the carriage should be at the door as soon as
possible. In the interim, Dick Dawson, the Squire, and Murphy, laughed
as if nothing had happened, and Mrs. Egan conversed in an under-tone
with Mr. Bermingham. Fanny looked mischievous, and Furlong kept his hand
on the foot of his glass, and shoved it about something in the fashion
of an uncertain chess-player, who does not know where to put the piece
on which he has laid his finger.
The carriage was soon announced, and Mrs. Egan, as Furlong seemed so
anxious to go, rose from table; and as she retired, he made her a cold
and formal bow. He attempted a tender look and soft word to Fanny--for
Furlong, who thought himself a _beau garçon_, had been playing off his
attractions upon her all day, but the mischievously merry Fanny Dawson,
when she caught the sheepish eye, and heard the mumbled gallantry of the
Castle Adonis, could not resist a titter, which obliged her to hide her
dimpling cheek and pearly teeth in her handkerchief, as she passed to
the door. The ladies being gone, the Squire asked Furlong, would he not
have some more wine before he went.
"No, thank you, Miste' Wegan," replied he, "after being twicked in the
manner that a----"
"Mr. Furlong," said the Squire, "you have said quite enough about that.
When you came into my house last night, sir, I had no intention of
practising any joke upon you. You should have had the hospitality of an
Irishman's house, without the consequence that has followed, had you not
indulged in sneering at the Irishman's country, which, to your shame be
it spoken, is _your own_. You vaunted your own superior intelligence and
finesse over us, sir; and told us you came down to overthrow poor Pat in
the trickery of electioneering movements. Under these circumstances,
sir, I think what we have done is quite fair. We have shown you that you
are no match for us in the finesse upon which you pride yourself so
much; and the next time you talk of your countrymen, and attempt to
undervalue them, just remember how you have been outwitted at Merryvale
House. Good evening, Mr. Furlong, I hope we part without owing each
other any ill-will." The Squire offered his hand, but Furlong drew up,
and amidst such expletives as "weally," and "I must say," he at last
made use of the word "atwocious."
"What's that you say?" said Dick. "You don't speak very plain, and I'd
like to be sure of the last word you used."
"I mean to say that a----" and Furlong, not much liking the _tone_
of Dick's question, was humming and hawing a sort of explanation of
what "he meant to say," when Dick thus interrupted him--
"I tell you this, Mr. Furlong; all that has been done is my doing--I've
humbugged you, sir,--_hum-bugged_. I've sold you--dead. I've pumped you,
sir--all your electioneering bag of tricks, _bribery_ and all, exposed;
and now go off to O'Grady, and tell him how the poor ignorant Irish have
_done_ you; and see, Mr. Furlong," in a quiet under-tone, "if there's
anything that either he or you don't like about the business, you shall
have any satisfaction you like, and as often as you please."
"I shall _conside'_ of that, sir," said Furlong, as he left the house,
and entered the carriage, where he threw himself back in offended
dignity, and soliloquised vows of vengeance. But the bumping of the
carriage over a rough road disturbed the pleasing reveries of revenge,
to awaken him to the more probable and less agreeable consequences
likely to occur to himself for the blunder he had made; for, with all
the puppy's self-sufficiency and conceit, he could not by any process of
mental delusion conceal from himself the fact that he had been most
tremendously _done_, and how his party would take it was a serious
consideration. O'Grady, another horrid Irish squire--how should he face
_him_? For a moment he thought it better to go back to Dublin, and he
pulled the check-string--the carriage stopped--down went the front
glass. "I say, coachman."
"I'm not the coachman, sir."
"Well, whoever you are----"
"I'm the groom only, sir; for the coachman was----"
"Sir, I don't want to know who you are, or about your affairs; I want
you to listen to me--_cawn't_ you listen?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, then--dwive to the village."
"I thought it was to the Hall I was to dhrive, sir."
"Do what you're told, sir--the village!"
"What village, sir?" asked Mat, the groom, who knew well enough, but
from Furlong's impertinence did not choose to understand anything
gratuitously.
"Why the village I came from yeste'day."
"What village was that, sir?"
"How stoopid you are!--the village the mail goes to."
"Sure the mail goes to all the villages in Ireland, sir."
"You pwovoking blockhead!--Good Heavens, how _stoopid_ you Iwish
are!--the village that leads to Dublin."
"'Faith they all lead to Dublin, sir."
"Confound you--you must know!--the posting village, you know--that is,
not the post town, if you know what a post town is."
"To be sure I do, sir--where they sell blankets, you mane."
"No--no--no! I want to go to the village where they keep
post-chaises--now you know."
"Faix, they have po'chayses in all the villages here; there's no betther
accommodation for man or baste in the world than here, sir."
Furlong was mute from downright vexation, till his rage got vent in an
oath, another denunciation of Irish stupidity, and at last a declaration
that the driver _must_ know the village.
"How would I know it, sir, when you don't know it yourself?" asked the
groom; "I suppose it has a name to it, and if you tell me that, I'll
dhrive you there fast enough."
"I cannot wemember your howwid names here--it is a Bal, or Bally, or
some such gibbewish----"
Mat would not be enlightened.
"Is there not Bal or Bally something?"
"Oh, a power o' Bailies, sir; there's Ballygash, and Ballyslash, and
Ballysmish, and Ballysmash, and----" so went on Mat, inventing a string
of Ballies, till he was stopped by the enraged Furlong.
"None o' them! none o' them!" exclaimed he, in a fury; "'t is something
about 'dirt' or 'mud.'"
"Maybe 't would be _gutther_, sir," said Mat, who saw Furlong was near
the mark, and he thought he might as well make a virtue of telling him.
"I believe you're right," said Furlong.
"Then it is Ballysloughgutthery you want to go to, sir."
"That's the name!" said Furlong, snappishly; "dwive _there_!" and,
hastily pulling up the glass, he threw himself back again in the
carriage. Another troubled vision of what the secretary would say came
across him, and, after ten minutes' balancing the question, and
trembling at the thoughts of an official blowing up, he thought he had
better even venture on an Irish squire; so the check-string was again
pulled, and the glass hastily let down.
Mat halted. "Yes, sir," said Mat.
"I think I've changed my mind--dwive to the Hall!"
"I wish you'd towld me, sir, before I took the last turn--we're nigh a
mile towards the village now."
"No matte', sir!" said Furlong; "dwive where I tell you."
Up went the glass again, and Mat turned round the horses and carriage
with some difficulty in a narrow by-road.
Another vision came across the bewildered fancy of Furlong: the
certainty of the fury of O'Grady--the immediate contempt as well as
anger attendant on his being bamboozled--and the result at last being
the same in drawing down the secretary's anger. This produced another
change of intention, and he let down the glass for the third time--once
more changed his orders as concisely as possible, and pulled it up
again. All this time Mat was laughing internally at the bewilderment of
the stranger, and as he turned round the carriage again he muttered to
himself, "By this and that, you're as hard to dhrive as a pig; for
you'll neither go one road nor th' other." He had not proceeded far,
when Furlong determined to face O'Grady instead of the Castle, and the
last and final order for another turnabout was given. Mat hardly
suppressed an oath; but respect for his master stopped him. The glass of
the carriage was not pulled up this time, and Mat was asked a few
questions about the Hall, and at last about the Squire. Now Mat had
acuteness enough to fathom the cause of Furlong's indecision, and
determined to make him as unhappy as he could; therefore to the question
of "What sort of a man the Squire was?" Mat, re-echoing the question,
replied--"What sort of a man, sir?--'Faith, he's not a man at all, sir,
he's the devil."
Furlong pulled up the glass, and employed the interval between Mat's
answer and reaching the Hall in making up his mind as to how he should
"face the devil."
The carriage, after jolting for some time over a rough road skirted by a
high and ruinous wall, stopped before a gateway that had once been
handsome, and Furlong was startled by the sound of a most thundering
bell, which the vigorous pull of Mat stimulated to its utmost pitch; the
baying of dogs which followed was terrific. A savage-looking gatekeeper
made his appearance with a light--not in a lantern, but shaded with his
tattered hat; many questions and answers ensued, and at last the gate
was opened. The carriage proceeded up a very ragged avenue, stopped
before a large rambling sort of building, which even moonlight could
exhibit to be very much out of repair, and after repeated knocking at
the door (for Mat knew _his_ squire and the other squire were not
friends now, and that he might be impudent), the door was unchained and
unbarred, and Furlong deposited in Neck-or-Nothing Hall.