Murphy's story was received with acclamation by all but the little man.
“That is all a pack of nonsense,” said he.
“Well, you're welcome to it, sir,” said Murphy, “and if I had greater
nonsense you should have it; but seriously, sir, I again must beg you
to remember that the country all around here abounds in enchantment;
scarcely a night passes without some fairy frolic; but, however you
may doubt the wonderful fact of the cat speaking, I wonder you are not
impressed with the points of moral in which the story abounds--”
“Fiddlestick!” said the miniature snarler.
“First, the little touch about the corn monopoly [1]--then maternal
vanity chastised by the loss of the child's toe--then Tom's familiarity
with his cat, showing the danger arising from a man making too free with
his female domestics--the historical point about the penal laws--the
fatal results of letting the cat out o' the bag, with the curious final
fact in natural history.”
[1][Footnote: Handy Andy was written when the “vexed question” of the
“Corn Laws” was the all-absorbing subject of discussion.]
“It's all nonsense,” said the little man, “and I am ashamed of myself
for being such a fool as to sit--alistening to such stuff instead of
going to bed, after the fatigue of my journey and the necessity of
rising early to-morrow, to be in good time at the polling.”
“Oh! then you're going to the election, sir?” said Murphy.
“Yes, sir--there's some sense in _that_--and _you_, gentlemen, remember
we must be _all_ up early--and I recommend you to follow my example.”
The little man rang the bell--the bootjack and slippers were called for,
and, after some delay, a very sleepy-looking _gossoon_ entered with a
bootjack under his arm, but no slippers.
“Didn't I say slippers?” said the little man.
“You did, sir.”
“Where are they, sir?”
“The masther says there isn't any, if you plaze, sir.”
“No slippers! and you call this an inn? Oh!--well, 'what can't be cured
must be endured'--hold me the bootjack, sir.”
The gossoon obeyed--the little man inserted his heel in the cleft, but,
on attempting to pull his foot from the boot, he nearly went heels over
head backward. Murphy caught him and put him on his legs again. “Heads
up, soldiers,” exclaimed Murtough; “I thought you were drinking too
much.”
“Sir, I'm not intoxicated!” said the mannikin, snappishly. “It is the
fault of that vile bootjack--what sort of a thing is that you have
brought?” added he in a rage to the _gossoon_.
“It's the bootjack, sir; only one o' the horns is gone, you see,” and he
held up to view a rough piece of board with an angular slit in it, but
one of “the horns,” as he called it, had been broken off at the top,
leaving the article useless.
“How dare you bring such a thing as _that_?” said the little man, in a
great rage.
“Why, sir, you ax'd for a bootjack, sure, and I brought you the best I
had--and it's not my fault it's bruk, so it is, for it wasn't me bruk
it, but Biddy batin' the cock.”
“Beating the cock!” repeated the little man in surprise. “Bless me! beat
a cock with a bootjack!--what savages!”
“Oh, it's not the _hen_ cock I mane, sir,” said the gossoon, “but
the beer cock--she was batin' the cock into the barrel, sir, wid the
bootjack, sir.”
“That was decidedly wrong,” said Murphy; “a bootjack is better suited to
a heel-tap than a full measure.”
“She was tapping the beer, you mean?” said the little man.
“Faix, she wasn't tapping it at all, sir, but hittin' it very hard, she
was, and that's the way she bruk it.”
“Barbarians!” exclaimed the little man; “using a bootjack instead of a
hammer!”
“Sure the hammer was gone to the priest, sir; bekase he wanted it for
the crucifixion.”
“The crucifixion!” exclaimed the little man, horrified; “is it possible
they crucify people?”
“Oh no, sir!” said the gossoon, grinning, “it's the picthure I main,
sir--an illigant picthure that is hung up in the chapel, and he wanted a
hammer to dhrive the nails--”
“Oh, a _picture_ of the crucifixion,” said the little man.
“Yes, sure, sir--the alther-piece, that was althered for to fit to the
place, for it was too big when it came down from Dublin, so they cut
off the sides where the sojers was, bekase it stopt out the windows, and
wouldn't lave a bit o' light for his riverence to read mass; and sure
the sojers were no loss out o' the alther-piece, and was hung up afther
in the vesthery, and serve them right, the blackguards. But it was sore
agen our will to cut off the ladies at the bottom, that was cryin'
and roarin'; but great good luck, the head o' the Blessed Virgin was
presarved in the corner, and sure it's beautiful to see the tears
runnin' down her face, just over the hole in the wall for the holy
wather--which is remarkable.”
The gossoon was much offended by the laughter that followed his account
of the altar-piece, which he had no intention of making irreverential,
and suddenly became silent, with a muttered “More shame for yiz;” and
as his bootjack was impracticable, he was sent off with orders for the
chamber-maid to supply bed candles immediately.
The party soon separated for their various dormitories, the little man
leaving sundry charges to call them early in the morning, and to be sure
to have hot water ready for shaving, and, without fail, to have their
boots polished in time and left at their room doors;--to all which
injunctions he severally received the answer of--“Certainly, sir;” and
as the bed-room doors were slapped-to, one by one, the last sound of the
retiring party was the snappish voice of the indefatigable little man,
shouting, ere he shut his door,--“Early--early--don't forget, Mistress
Kelly--_early!_”
A shake-down for Murphy in the parlour was hastily prepared; and after
Mrs. Kelly was assured by Murtough that he was quite comfortable, and
perfectly content with his accommodation, for which she made scores
of apologies, with lamentations it was not better, &c., &c., the whole
household retired to rest, and in about a quarter of an hour the inn was
in perfect silence.
Then Murtough cautiously opened his door, and after listening for some
minutes, and being satisfied he was the only watcher under the roof,
he gently opened one of the parlour windows and gave the preconcerted
signal which he and Dick had agreed upon. Dick was under the window
immediately, and after exchanging a few words with Murtough, the latter
withdrew, and taking off his boots, and screening with his hand the
light of a candle he carried, he cautiously ascended the stairs, and
proceeded stealthily along the corridor of the dormitory, where, from
the chambers on each side, a concert of snoring began to be executed,
and at all the doors stood the boots and shoes of the inmates
awaiting the aid of Day and Martin in the morning. But, oh! innocent
calf-skins--destined to a far different fate--not Day and Martin, but
Dick the Devil and Company are in wait for you. Murphy collected as many
as he could carry under his arms and descended with them to the parlour
window, where they were transferred to Dick, who carried them directly
to the horse-pond which lay behind the inn, and there committed them to
the deep. After a few journeys up and down stairs, Murtough had left the
electors without a morsel of sole or upper leather, and was satisfied
that a considerable delay, if not a prevention of their appearance at
the poll on the morrow, would be the consequence.
“There, Dick,” said Murphy, “is the last of them,” as he handed the
little man's shoes out of the window,--“and now, to save appearances,
you must take mine too--for I must be without boots as well as the rest
in the morning. What fun I shall have when the uproar begins--don't you
envy me, Dick? There, be off now: but hark 'e, notwithstanding you take
away my boots, you need not throw them into the horse-pond.”
“'Faith, an' I will,” said Dick, dragging them out of his hands; “'t
would not be honourable, if I didn't--I'd give two pair of boots for the
fun you'll have.”
“Nonsense, Dick--Dick, I say--my boots!”
“Honour!” cried Dick, as he vanished round the corner.
“That devil will keep his word,” muttered Murphy, as he closed the
window--“I may bid good bye to that pair of boots--bad luck to him!”
And yet the merry attorney could not help laughing at Dick making him a
sufferer by his own trick.
Dick _did_ keep his word; and after, with particular delight, sinking
Murphy's boots with the rest, he, as it was preconcerted, returned to
the cottage of Barny, and with his assistance drew the upset gig from
the ditch, and with a second set of harness, provided for the occasion,
yoked the servant's horse to the vehicle and drove home.
Murphy, meanwhile, was bent on more mischief at the inn; and lest
the loss of the boots and shoes might not be productive of sufficient
impediment to the movements of the enemy, he determined on venturing
a step further. The heavy sleeping of the weary and tipsy travellers
enabled him to enter their chambers unobserved, and over the garments
they had taken off he poured the contents of the water-jug and
water-bottle he found in each room, and then laying the empty bottle and
a tumbler on a chair beside each sleeper's bed, he made it appear as if
the drunken men had been dry in the night, and, in their endeavours
to cool their thirst, had upset the water over their own clothes. The
clothes of the little man, in particular, Murphy took especial delight
in sousing more profusely than his neighbour's, and not content with
taking his shoes, burnt his stockings, and left the ashes in the dish
of the candlestick, with just as much unconsumed as would show what
they had been. He then retired to the parlour, and with many an internal
chuckle at the thought of the morning's hubbub, threw off his clothes
and flinging himself on the shake-down Mrs. Kelly had provided for him,
was soon wrapt in the profoundest slumber, from which he never awoke
until the morning uproar of the inn aroused him. He jumped from his
lair and rushed to the scene of action, to soar in the storm of his
own raising; and to make it more apparent that he had been as great a
sufferer as the rest, he only threw a quilt over his shoulders and
did not draw on his stockings. In this plight he scaled the stairs and
joined the storming party, where the little man was leading the forlorn
hope, with his candlestick in one hand and the remnant of his burnt
stocking between the finger and thumb of the other.
“Look at that, sir!” he cried, as he held it up to the landlord.
The landlord could only stare.
“Bless me!” cried Murphy, “how drunk you must have been to mistake your
stocking for an extinguisher!”
“Drunk, sir--I wasn't drunk!”
“It looks very like it,” said Murphy, who did not wait for an answer,
but bustled off to another party who was wringing out his inexpressibles
at the door of his bed-room, and swearing at the gossoon that he _must_
have his boots.
“I never seen them, sir,” said the boy.
“I left them at my door,” said the man.
“So did I leave mine,” said Murphy, “and here I am barefooted--it is
most extraordinary.”
“Has the house been robbed?” said the innocent elector.
“Not a one o' me knows, sir!” said the boy; “but how could it be robbed
and the doors all fast this mornin'?”
The landlady now appeared, and fired at the word “robbed!”
“Robbed, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Kelly; “no, sir--no one was ever robbed
in my house--my house is respectable and responsible, sir--a vartuous
house--none o' your rantipole places, sir, I'd have you to know, but
decent and well behaved, and the house was as quiet as a lamb all
night.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Kelly,” said Murphy--“not a more respectable house in
Ireland--I'll vouch for that.”
“You're a gentleman, Misther Murphy,” said Mrs. Kelly, who turned down
the passage, uttering indignant ejaculations in a sort of snorting
manner, while her words of anger were returned by Murphy with
expressions of soothing and condolence as he followed her down-stairs.
The storm still continued above, and while there they shouted and swore
and complained, Murphy gave _his_ notion of the catastrophe to the
landlady below, inferring that the men were drunk and poured the
water over their own clothes. To repeat this idea to themselves he
re-ascended, but the men were incredulous. The little man he found
buttoning on a pair of black gaiters, the only serviceable decency
he had at his command, which only rendered his denuded state more
ludicrous. To him Murphy asserted his belief that the whole affair was
enchantment, and ventured to hope the small individual would have more
faith in fairy machinations for the future; to which the little abortion
only returned his usual “Pho! pho! nonsense!”
Through all this scene of uproar, as Murphy passed to and fro, whenever
he encountered the landlord, that worthy individual threw him a knowing
look; and the exclamation of, “Oh, Misther Murphy--by dad!” given in
a low chuckling tone, insinuated that the landlord not only smoked but
enjoyed the joke.
“You must lend me a pair of boots, Kelly!” said Murtough.
“To be sure, sir--ha! ha! ha!--but you are the quare man, Misther
Murphy--”
“Send down the road and get my gig out of the ditch.”
“To be sure, sir. Poor devils! purty hands they got into,” and off went
the landlord, with a chuckle.
The messengers sent for the gig returned, declaring there was no gig to
be seen anywhere.
Murphy affected great surprise at the intelligence--again went among
the bamboozled electors, who were all obliged to go to bed for want of
clothes; and his bitter lamentations over the loss of his gig almost
reconciled them to their minor troubles.
To the fears they expressed that they should not be able to reach the
town in time for polling that day, Murphy told them to set their minds
at rest, for they would be in time on the next.
He then borrowed a saddle as well as the pair of boots from the
landlord, and the little black mare bore Murphy triumphantly back to the
town, after he had securely impounded Scatterbrain's voters, who were
anxiously and hourly expected by their friends. Still they came not.
At last, Handy Andy, who happened to be in town with Scatterbrain, was
despatched to hurry them, and his orders were not to come back without
them.
Handy, on his arrival at the inn, found the electors in bed, and all
the fires in the house employed in drying their clothes. The little man,
wrapped in a blanket, was superintending the cooking of his own
before the kitchen grate; there hung his garments on some cross sticks
suspended by a string, after the fashion of a roasting-jack, which
the small gentleman turned before a blazing turf fire; and beside
this contrivance of his swung a goodly joint of meat, which a bouncing
kitchen wench came over to baste now and then.
Andy was answering some questions of the inquisitive little man, when
the kitchen maid, handing the basting-ladle to Andy, begged him to do
a good turn and just to baste the beef for her, for that her heart was
broke with all she had to do, cooking dinner for so many.
Andy, always ready to oblige, consented, and plied the ladle actively
between the troublesome queries of the little man; but at last, getting
confused with some very crabbed questions put to him, Andy became
completely bothered, and lifting a brimming ladle of dripping, poured it
over the little man's coat instead of the beef.
A roar from the proprietor of the clothes followed, and he implanted
a kick at such advantage upon Andy, that he upset him into the
dripping-pan; and Andy, in his fall, endeavouring to support himself,
caught at the suspended articles above him, and the clothes, and the
beef, and Andy, all swam in gravy.
[Illustration: Andy's Cooking extraordinary]