Larry got throwed. The punch that spalpeen has dhrunk this day would
amaze ye. He give us the slip awhiles ago, bad 'cess to him, an' come up
here. Didn't I tell ye, Larry, not to be afther ringin' at the owle
gintleman's knocker? Ain't ye got no sinse at all?"
"Misther Donnehugh," responded Mr. O'Rourke with great dignity, "ye're
dhrunk again."
Mr. Donnehugh, who had not taken more than thirteen ladles of rum-punch,
disdained to reply directly.
"He's a dacent lad enough"--this to Mrs. Bilkins--"but his head is wake.
Whin he's had two sups o' whiskey he belaves he's dhrunk a bar'l full. A
gill o' wather out of a jimmy-john'd fuddle him, mum."
"Isn't there anybody to look after him?"
"No, mum, he's an orphan; his father and mother live in the owld
counthry, an' a fine hale owld couple they are."
"Hasn't he any family in the town?"
"Sure, mum, he has a family; wasn't he married this blessed mornin'?"
"He said so."
"Indade, thin, he was--the pore divil!"
"And the--the person?" inquired Mrs. Bilkins.
"Is it the wife, ye mane?"
"Yes, the wife; where is she?"
"Well, thin, mum," said Mr. Donnehugh, "it's yerself can answer that."
"I?" exclaimed Mrs. Bilkins. "Good heavens this man's as crazy as the
other!"
"Begorra, if anybody's crazy, it's Larry, for it's Larry has married
Margaret."
"What Margaret?" cried Mrs. Bilkins, with a start.
"Margaret Callaghan, sure."
"_Our_ Margaret? Do you mean to say that Our Margaret has married
that--that good-for-nothing, inebriated wretch!"
"It's a civil tongue the owld lady has, any way," remarked Mr. O'Rourke,
critically, from the scraper.
Mrs. Bilkins's voice during the latter part of the colloquy had been
pitched in a high key; it rung through the hall and penetrated to the
kitchen, where Margaret was thoughtfully wiping the breakfast things.
She paused with a half-dried saucer in her hand, and listened. In a
moment more she stood, with bloodless face and limp figure, leaning
against the banister, behind Mrs. Bilkins.
"Is it there ye are, me jew'l!" cried Mr. O'Rourke, discovering her.
Mrs. Bilkins wheeled upon Margaret.
"Margaret Callaghan, _is_ that thing your husband?"
"Ye--yes, mum," faltered Mrs. O'Rourke, with a woful lack of spirit.
"Then take it away!" cried Mrs. Bilkins.
Margaret, with a slight flush on either cheek, glided past Mrs. Bilkins,
and the heavy oak door closed with a bang, as the gates of Paradise must
have closed of old upon Adam and Eve.
"Come!" said Margaret, taking Mr. O'Rourke by the hand; and the two
wandered forth upon their wedding journey down Anchor Street, with all
the world before them where to choose. They chose to halt at the small,
shabby tenement-house by the river, through the doorway of which the
bridal pair disappeared with a reeling, eccentric gait; for Mr.
O'Rourke's intoxication seemed to have run down his elbow, and
communicated itself to Margaret.
O Hymen! who burnest precious gums and scented woods in thy torch at the
melting of aristocratic hearts, with what a pitiful penny-dip thou hast
lighted up our little back-street romance.--_Marjorie Daw, and Other
Stories_.
END OF VOL. II.