THE GAME LEG
Heffernan’s house at the Furry Farm stood very backwards from the
roadside, hiding itself, you’d really think, from any one that might
be happening by. As if it need do that! Why, there was no more snug,
well-looked-after place in the whole of Ardenoo than Heffernan’s always
was, with full and plenty in it for man and beast, though it wasn’t to
say too tasty-looking.
And it was terrible lonesome. There wasn’t a neighbour within the bawl
of an ass of it. Heffernan of course had always been used to it, so
that he didn’t so much mind; still, he missed Art, after he going off
with little Rosy Rafferty. That was nigh-hand as bad upon him as losing
the girl herself. He had got to depend on Art for every hand’s turn,
a thing that left him worse when he was without him. And he was very
slow-going. As long as Julia was there, she did all, and Heffernan
might stand to one side and look at her. And so he missed her now,
more than ever; and still he had no wish to see her back, though even
to milk the cows came awkward to him.
He was contending with the work one evening, and the calves in
particular were leaving him distracted, above all, a small little
white one that he designed for Rosy, when he’d have her Woman of the
House at the Furry Farm. That calf, I needn’t say, was not the pick of
the bunch, but as Mickey thought to himself, a girl wouldn’t know any
better than choose a calf by the colour, and there would be no good
wasting anything of value on her. At all events it would be “child’s
pig and daddy’s bacon,” most likely, with that calf. But, sure, what
matter! Rosy was never to have any call to it, or anything else at the
Furry Farm.
Those calves were a very sweet lot, so that Mickey might have been
feeling all the pleasure in life, just watching them, with their soft
little muzzles down in the warm, sweet milk, snorting with the pure
enjoyment. But Mickey was only grousing to get done, and vexed at the
way the big calves were shoving the little ones away, and still he
couldn’t hinder them. Art used to regulate them very simple by means
of a little ash quick he kept, to slap the forward calves across the
face when they’d get too impudent. But as often as Mickey had seen him
do that, he couldn’t do the same. The ash quick was so close to him
that if it had been any nearer it would have bitten him. Stuck up in a
corner of the bit of ruin that had once been Castle Heffernan it was.
But it might as well have been in America for all the good it was to
Mickey.
“I wish to God I was rid of the whole of yous, this minute!” says he
to himself, and he with his face all red and steamy, and the milk
slobbering out of the pail down upon the ground, the way the calves
were butting him about the legs.
That very minute, he heard a sound behind him. He turned about, and my
dear! the heart jumped into his mouth, as he saw a great, immense red
face, just peeping over the wall that shut in his yard from the boreen.
That wall was no more than four feet high. Wouldn’t any one think it
strange to see such a face, only that far from the ground! and it with
a bushy black beard around it, and big rolling eyes, and a wide old hat
cocked back upon it? You’d have to think it was something “not right”;
an Appearance or Witchery work of some kind.
But, let alone that, isn’t there something very terrifying and
frightful in finding yourself being watched, when you think you’re
alone; and, of all things, by a man? The worst of a wild beast wouldn’t
put the same bad fear in your heart.
“Good-evening, Mr. Heffernan,” says the newcomer, with a grin upon him,
free and pleasant; “that’s a fine lot of calves you have there!”
Heffernan was so put about that he made no answer, and the man went on
to say, “Is it that you don’t know me? Sure, you couldn’t forget poor
old Hopping Hughie as simple as that!”
And he gave himself a shove, so that he raised his shoulders above the
wall. A brave big pair they were, too, but they were only just held up
on crutches. Hughie could balance himself upon them, and get about, as
handy as you please. But he was dead of his two legs.
“Oh, Hughie...!” says Heffernan, pretty stiff, “well, and what do you
want here?”
“Och, nothing in life....”
“Take it then, and let you be off about your business!” says Mickey as
quick as a flash for once; and he that was proud when he had it said!
Hughie had a most notorious tongue himself, but he knew when to keep
it quiet, and he thought it as good to appear very mild and down in
himself now, so he said, “_My_ business! sure, what word is that to
say to a poor old fellah on crutches! Not like you, Mr. Heffernan,
that’ll be off to the fair of Balloch to-morrow morning, bright and
early, with them grand fine calves of yours. The price they’ll go!
There isn’t the peel of them in Ardenoo!”
“Do you tell me that?” says Heffernan, that a child could cheat.
“That’s what they do be telling me,” says Hughie. He could build a nest
in your ear, he was that cunning. He thought he saw a chance of getting
to the fair himself, and a night’s lodging as well, if he managed right.
“I wish to goodness I could get them there, so,” says Mickey, “and
hasn’t one to drive them for me!”
“Would I do?” says Hughie.
Heffernan looked at him up and down.
“Sure you’d not be able!”
“Whoo! Me not able? Maybe I’m like the singed cat, better than I look!
I’m slow, but fair and easy goes far in a day! Never you fear but I’ll
get your calves to Balloch, the same way the boy ate the cake, very
handy....”
The simplest thing would have been for Heffernan to take and drive the
calves himself. But he never had the fashion of doing such things.
Anyway it wouldn’t answer for the people to see a man with a good means
of his own, like Mickey, turning drover that way.
So he thought again, while Hughie watched him; and then says he,
“You’ll have to be off out of this before the stars have left the sky!”
“And why wouldn’t I?” says Hughie; “only give me a bit of supper and a
shakedown for the night, the way I’ll be fresh for the road to-morrow.”
Hughie was looking to be put sitting down in the kitchen alongside
Heffernan himself, and to have the settle-bed foreninst the fire to
sleep in. But he had to content himself with the straw in the barn and
a plateful carried out to him. Queer and slow-going Heffernan might be,
but he wasn’t thinking of having the likes of Hopping Hughie in his
chimney-corner, where he had often thought to see little Rosy Rafferty
and she smiling at him.
Hughie took it all very contented. Gay and happy he was after his
supper, and soon fell asleep on the straw, with his ragged pockets that
empty, that the Divil could dance a hornpipe in them and not strike
a copper there; while Mickey above in bed in his own house, with his
fine farm and all his stock about him, calves and cows and pigs, not
to speak of the money in the old stocking under the thatch ... Mickey
couldn’t sleep, only worrying, thinking was he right to go sell the
calves at all; and to be letting Hughie drive them!
“I had little to do,” he thought, “to be letting him in about the place
at all, and couldn’t tell what divilment he might be up to, as soon
as he gets me asleep! Hughie’s terrible wicked, and as strong as a
ditch! I done well to speak him civil, anyway. But I’ll not let them
calves stir one peg out of this with him! I’d sooner risk keeping them
longer....”
There’s the way he was going on, tossing and tumbling and tormenting
himself; as if bed wasn’t a place to rest yourself in and not be raking
up annoyances.
So it wasn’t till near morning that Mickey dozed off, and never wakened
till it was more than time to be off for the fair.
Up he jumped and out to stop Hughie. But the yard was silent and empty.
Hughie and the calves were gone.
Mickey was more uneasy than ever.
“A nice _bosthoon_[6] I must be,” he thought, “to go trust my
good-looking calves to a _k’nat_[7] like Hughie! And he to go off
without any breakfast, too...!”
Heffernan was a good warrant to feed man or beast. But he mightn’t have
minded about Hughie, that had plenty of little ways of providing for
himself. His pockets would be like sideboards, the way he would have
them stuck out with meat and eggs and so on, that he would be given
along the road. Hughie was better fed than plenty that bestowed food
upon him.
Balloch, where the fair is held, is the wildest and most lonesome
place in Ardenoo, with a steep rough bit of road leading up to it,
very awkward to drive along. Up this comes Heffernan, on his side-car,
driving his best, and in a great hurry to know where would he come on
Hughie. He had it laid out in his own mind that sight nor light of
his calves he never would get in this world again. So it was a great
surprise to him to find them there before him, safe and sound. His
heart lightened at that as if a millstone was lifted off it.
And the fine appearance there was upon them! Not a better spot in the
fair-green, than where Hughie had them, opposite a drink-tent where the
people would be thronging most. And it was a choice spot for Hughie
too. Happy and contented he was, his back against a tree, leaning his
weight on one crutch and the other convenient to his hand.
“So there’s where you are!” says Mickey, when he came up.
“Ah, where else!” says Hughie, a bit scornful. Sure it was a foolish
remark to pass, and the man there before him, as plain as the nose on
your face. But Hughie was puzzled, too, by the look of relief he saw
on Mickey’s face. He understood nothing of what Heffernan was after
passing through. It’s an old saying and a true one, “Them that has the
world has care!” but them that hasn’t it, what do they know about it?
While Hughie was turning this over in his mind, Mickey was throwing
an eye upon the calves, and then, seeing they were all right, he was
bandying off with himself, when Hughie said, “Terrible dry work it is,
driving stock along them dusty roads since the early morning!” and he
rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth with a grin.
At that, Mickey put his hand into his pocket and felt round about, and
then pulled it out empty.
“I’ll see you later, Hughie,” says he, “I’ll not forget you, never
fear! Just let you wait here, till I have the poor mare attended to
that drew me here....”
So he went off to do this, and then into the drink-tent with him,
the way he could be getting a sup himself. But no sign of he to give
anything to Hughie. And there now is where Mickey made a big mistake.
He met up with a couple or three that he was acquainted with in the
tent, and they began to talk of this thing and that thing, so that it
was a gay little while before Mickey came out again.
When he did, “What sort is the drink in there, Mr. Heffernan?” says
Hughie.
Now what Mickey had taken at that time was no more than would warm the
cockles of his heart. So he looked quite pleasant and said, “Go in
yourself, Hughie, and here’s what will enable you to judge it!”
And he held out a shilling to Hughie.
“A bird never yet flew upon the one wing, Mr. Heffernan!” said Hughie,
that was looking to get another shilling, and that would be only his
due for driving the calves.
Mickey said nothing one way or the other, only went off, and left
Hughie standing there, holding out his hand in front of him with the
shilling in it, lonesome.
He that was vexed! He got redder in the face than ever, and gave out
a few curses, till he remembered there wasn’t one to hear him. So he
stopped and went into the tent and I needn’t say he got the best value
he could there.
But all the time, he was thinking how badly Heffernan was after
treating him, putting him off without enough to see him through the
fair even, let alone with a trifle in his pockets to help him on his
rounds. He began planning how he could pay out Mickey.
He got himself back to the same spot, near the calves, to see what
would happen. After a time he saw Heffernan coming back, and little
Barney Maguire was with him. A very decent boy Barney was, quiet and
agreeable; never too anxious for work, but very knowledgeable about
how things should be done, from a wake to a sheep-shearing. Heffernan
always liked to have Barney with him at a fair.
The two of them stood near the calves, carelesslike, as if they took no
interest in them at all.
A dealer came up.
“How much for them calves? Not that I’m in need of the like,” says he.
“Nobody wants you to take them, so,” says Barney, “but the price is
three pounds ... or was it guineas you’re after saying, Mr. Heffernan?”
Heffernan said nothing, and the dealer spoke up very fierce, “Three
pounds! Put thirty shillings on them, and I’ll be talking to ye!”
Mickey again only looked at his adviser, and says Barney, “Thirty
shillings! ’Tis you that’s bidding wide, this day! May the Lord forgive
you! Is it wanting a present you are, of the finest calves in all
Ardenoo!”
Heffernan swelled out with delight at that; as if Barney’s word could
make his calves either better or worse.
“Wasn’t it fifty-seven and sixpence you’re after telling me you were
offered only yesterday, Mr. Heffernan,” says Barney, “just for the
small ones of the lot?”
“Och! I dare say! don’t you?” says the dealer; “the woman that owns you
it was that made you that bid, to save your word!”
Poor Mickey! and he that hadn’t a woman at all! The dealer of course
being strange couldn’t know that, nor why Hughie gave a laugh out of
him then.
But that didn’t matter. Mickey took no notice. A man that’s a bit
“thick” escapes many a prod that another would feel sharp. So in all
things you can see how them that are afflicted are looked after in some
little way we don’t know.
The dealer looked at the calves again.
“Troth, I’m thinking it’s the wrong ones yous have here! Yous must have
forgotten them fine three-pound calves at home!”
And Mickey began looking very anxiously at them, as if he thought maybe
he had made some mistake.
“Them calves,” says the dealer slowly, “isn’t like a pretty girl, that
every one will be looking to get! And, besides, they’re no size! A
terrible small calf they are!”
“Small!” said Barney, “it’s too big they are! And if they’re little,
itself, what harm! Isn’t a mouse the prettiest animal you might ask to
see!”
“Ay is it!” says the dealer, “but it’ll take a power of mice to stock a
farm!” and off with him, in a real passion, by the way of.
But Barney knew better than to mind. The dealer came back, and at long
last the calves were sold and paid for. Then the luck-penny had to be
given. Hard-set Barney was to get Heffernan to do that. In the end,
Mickey was so bothered over it, that he dropped a shilling just where
Hughie was standing leaning his weight on the one crutch as usual.
As quick as a flash, he had the other up, and made a kind of a lurch
forward, as if to look for the money. But he managed to get the second
crutch down upon the shilling, to hide it; and then he looked round
about upon the ground, as innocent as a child, as if he was striving
his best to find the money for Mickey.
“Where should it be, at all at all?” says Hughie; “bewitched it should
be, to say it’s gone like that!”
And Heffernan standing there with his mouth open, looked as if he had
lost all belonging to him. Then he began searching about a good piece
off from where the shilling fell.
“It’s not there you’ll get it!” said Barney; “sure you ought always
look for a thing where you lost it!”
He went over to Hughie.
“None of your tricks, now! It’s you has Mr. Heffernan’s money, and let
you give it up to him!”
“Is it me have it? Sure if I had, what would I do, only hand it over to
the man that owns it!” says Hughie.
On the word, he let himself down upon the ground, and slithered over on
top of the shilling.
But quick and all as he was, Barney was quicker.
“Sure you have it there, you vagabone you! Give it up, and get off out
of this with yourself!”
And he caught Hughie a clip on the side of the head that sent him
sprawling on the broad of his back. And there, right enough, under him
was the shilling.
So Barney picked it up, and for fear of any other mistake, he handed it
to the dealer himself.
“It’s an ugly turn whatever, to be knocking a poor cripple about
that-a-way!” said the dealer, dropping the luck-penny into his pocket.
“Ach, how poor he is, and let him be crippled, itself!” says Barney;
“it’s easy seeing you’re strange to Ardenoo, or you’d not be
compassionating Hughie so tender!”
No more was said then, only into the tent with them again to wet the
bargain. Hughie gathered himself up. He was in the divil’s own temper.
Small blame to him, too! Let alone the disappointment about the
shilling, and the knock Barney gave him, the people all had a laugh at
him. And he liked that as little as the next one. You’d think he’d
curse down the stars out of the skies this time, the way he went on.
And it wasn’t Barney’s clout he cared about, half as much as Mickey’s
meanness. It was that had him so mad. He felt he must pay Heffernan out.
He considered a bit; then he gave his leg a slap.
“I have it now!” he said to himself.
He beckoned two young boys up to him, that were striving to sell a load
of cabbage plants they had there upon a donkey’s back, and getting bad
call for them.
“It’s a poor trade yous are doing to-day,” said Hughie; “and I was
thinking in meself yous should be very dry. You wouldn’t care to earn
the price of a pint?”
“How could we?” says the boys.
“I’ll tell you! Do you see that car?” and Hughie pointed to where
Heffernan had left his yoke drawn up, and the old mare cropping a bit
as well as she could, being tied by the head; “well, any one that will
pull the linch-pin out of the wheel, on the far side of that car,
needn’t be without tuppence to wet his whistle ...” and Hughie gave a
rattle to a few coppers he had left in his pocket.
“Yous’ll have to be smart about it too,” said he, “or maybe whoever
owns that car will have gone off upon it, afore yous have time to do
the primest bit of fun that ever was seen upon this fair-green!”
“Whose is the car?”
“Och, if I know!” says Hughie; “but what matter for that? One man is as
good as another at the bottom of a ditch! ay and better. It will be the
hoith of divarsion to see the roll-off they’ll get below there at the
foot of the hill....”
“Maybe they’d get hurted!” said the boys.
“Hurted, how-are-ye!” says Hughie; “how could any one get hurted so
simple as that? I’d be the last in the world to speak of such a thing
in that case! But if yous are afraid of doing it....”
“Afraid! that’s queer talk to be having!” says one of them, very stiff,
for like all boys he thought nothing so bad as to have “afraid” said to
him; “no, but we’re ready to do as much as the next one!”
“I wouldn’t doubt yiz!” said Hughie; “h-away with the two of you now!
Only mind! don’t let on a word of this to any sons of man....”
Off they went, and Hughie turned his back on them and the car, and
stared at whatever was going on the other end of the fair. He hadn’t
long to wait, before Heffernan and Barney and the dealer came out of
the drink-tent. Hughie took a look at them out of the corner of his eye.
“Ah!” he said to himself, “all ‘purty-well-I-thank-ye!’ after what they
drank inside! But wait a bit, Mickey Heffernan....”
The three men went over to where Heffernan’s car was waiting. The boys
were gone. The other two men helped Mickey to get his yoke ready. Then
he got up, and they shook hands a good many times. Heffernan chucked at
the reins and started off.
Hughie was watching, and when he saw how steadily the old mare picked
her way down the steep boreen, he began to be afraid he hadn’t hit on
such a very fine plan at all. And if Mickey had only had the wit to
leave it all to the poor dumb beast, she might have brought him home
safe enough.
But nothing would do him, only to give a shout and a flourish of the
whip, half-way down the hill. The mare started and gave a jump. She was
big and awkward, much like Mickey himself. Still, it was no fault of
her, that, when she got to the turn, the wheel came off and rolled away
to one side. Down came the car, Mickey fell off, and there he lay,
till some people that saw what was going on ran down the hill after
him, and got the mare on to her feet, and not a scratch on her.
But poor Mickey! It was easy to see with half an eye that he was badly
hurt.
“Some one will have to drive him home, whatever,” said Barney, coming
up the hill to look for more help, after doing his best to get Mickey
to stand up; and, sure, how was he to do that, upon a broken leg? “A
poor thing it is, too, to see how a thing of the kind could occur so
simple! and a decent man like Heffernan to be nigh-hand killed....”
“’Deed and he _is_ a decent man!” said Hughie; “and why wouldn’t he?
I’d be a decent man meself if I had the Furry Farm and it stocked....”
“He’s in a poor way now, in any case,” said Barney. “I doubt will he
ever get over this rightly! That’s apt to be a leg to him, all his
life!”
“Well, and so, itself!” said Hughie; “haven’t I two of them lame legs?
and who thinks to pity Hughie?”
“It’s another matter altogether, with a man like Mr. Heffernan,” said
Barney; “what does the like of you miss, by not being able to get
about, compared with a man that might spend his time walking a-through
his cattle, and looking at his crops growing, every day in the week?”
“To be sure, he could be doing all that!” said Hughie, “but when a
thing of this kind happens out so awkward, it’s the will of God, and
the will of man can’t abate that!”