Tom O’Conor. He was a fine-looking fellow, thin and tall, but not
largely made, with a piercing gray eye, and a beautiful voice for
speaking to a hound. He had two sons there also, short, slight fellows,
but exquisite horsemen. I already felt that I had a kind of acquaintance
with the father, but I hardly knew on what ground to put in my claim.
We had no sport early in the morning. It was a cold bleak February day,
with occasional storms of sleet. We rode from cover to cover, but all in
vain. “I am sorry, sir, that we are to have such a bad day, as you are
a stranger here,” said one gentleman to me. This was Jack O’Conor, Tom’s
eldest son, my bosom friend for many a year after. Poor Jack! I fear
that the Encumbered Estates Court sent him altogether adrift upon the
world.
“We may still have a run from Poulnaroe, if the gentleman chooses to
come on,” said a voice coming from behind with a sharp trot. It was Tom
O’Conor.
“Wherever the hounds go, I’ll follow,” said I.
“Then come on to Poulnaroe,” said Mr. O’Conor. I trotted on quickly by
his side, and before we reached the cover had managed to slip in
something about Sir P. C.
“What the deuce!” said he. “What! a friend of Sir P----’s? Why the
deuce didn’t you tell me so? What are you doing down here? Where are you
staying?” &c. &c. &c.
At Poulnaroe we found a fox, but before we did so Mr. O’Conor had asked
me over to Castle Conor. And this he did in such a way that there was no
possibility of refusing him--or, I should rather say, of disobeying him.
For his invitation came quite in the tone of a command.
“You’ll come to us of course when the day is over--and let me see; we’re
near Ballyglass now, but the run will be right away in our direction.
Just send word for them to send your things to Castle Conor.”
“But they’re all about, and unpacked,” said I.
“Never mind. Write a note and say what you want now, and go and get the
rest to-morrow yourself. Here, Patsey!--Patsey! run into Ballyglass for
this gentleman at once. Now don’t be long, for the chances are we shall
find here.” And then, after giving some further hurried instructions he
left me to write a line in pencil to the innkeeper’s wife on the back of
a ditch.
This I accordingly did. “Send my small portmanteau,” I said, “and all my
black dress clothes, and shirts, and socks, and all that, and above all
my dressing things which are on the little table, and the satin
neck-handkerchief, and whatever you do, mind you send my _pumps;_” and I
underscored the latter word; for Jack O’Conor, when his father left me,
went on pressing the invitation. “My sisters are going to get up a
dance,” said he; “and if you are fond of that kind of things perhaps we
can amuse you.” Now in those days I was very fond of dancing--and very
fond of young ladies too, and therefore glad enough to learn that Tom
O’Conor had daughters as well as sons. On this account I was very
particular in underscoring the word pumps.
“And hurry, you young divil,” Jack O’Conor said to Patsey.
“I have told him to take the portmanteau over on a car,” said I.
“All right; then you’ll find it there on our arrival.”
We had an excellent run, in which I may make bold to say that I did not
acquit myself badly. I stuck very close to the hounds, as did the whole
of the O’Conor brood; and when the fellow contrived to earth himself, as
he did, I received those compliments on my horse, which is the most
approved praise which one fox-hunter ever gives to another.
“We’ll buy that fellow of you before we let you go,” said Peter, the
youngest son.
“I advise you to look sharp after your money if you sell him to my
brother,” said Jack.
And then we trotted slowly off to Castle Conor, which, however, was by
no means near to us. “We have ten miles to go;--good Irish miles,” said
the father. “I don’t know that I ever remember a fox from Poulnaroe
taking that line before.”
“He wasn’t a Poulnaroe fox,” said Peter.
“I don’t know that,” said Jack; and then they debated that question
hotly.
Our horses were very tired, and it was late before we reached Mr.
O’Conor’s house. That getting home from hunting with a thoroughly weary
animal, who has no longer sympathy or example to carry him on, is very
tedious work. In the present instance I had company with me; but when a
man is alone, when his horse toes at every ten steps, when the night is
dark and the rain pouring, and there are yet eight miles of road to be
conquered,--at such times a man is almost apt to swear that he will give
up hunting.
At last we were in the Castle Conor stable yard;--for we had approached
the house by some back way; and as we entered the house by a door
leading through a wilderness of back passages, Mr. O’Conor said out
loud, “Now, boys, remember I sit down to dinner in twenty minutes.” And
then turning expressly to me, he laid his hand kindly upon my shoulder
and said, “I hope you will make yourself quite at home at Castle
Conor,--and whatever you do, don’t keep us waiting for dinner. You can
dress in twenty minutes, I suppose?”
“In ten!” said I, glibly.
“That’s well. Jack and Peter will show you your room,” and so he turned
away and left us.
My two young friends made their way into the great hall, and thence
into the drawing-room, and I followed them. We were all dressed in pink,
and had waded deep through bog and mud. I did not exactly know whither I
was being led in this guise, but I soon found myself in the presence of
two young ladies, and of a girl about thirteen years of age.
“My sisters,” said Jack, introducing me very laconically; “Miss O’Conor,
Miss Kate O’Conor, Miss Tizzy O’Conor.”
“My name is not Tizzy,” said the younger; “it’s Eliza. How do you do,
sir? I hope you had a fine hunt! Was papa well up, Jack?”
Jack did not condescend to answer this question, but asked one of the
elder girls whether anything had come, and whether a room had been made
ready for me.
“Oh yes!” said Miss O’Conor; “they came, I know, for I saw them brought
into the house; and I hope Mr. Green will find everything comfortable.”
As she said this I thought I saw a slight smile steal across her
remarkably pretty mouth.
They were both exceedingly pretty girls. Fanny the elder wore long
glossy curls,--for I write, oh reader, of bygone days, as long ago as
that, when ladies wore curls if it pleased them so to do, and gentlemen
danced in pumps, with black handkerchiefs round their necks,--yes, long
black, or nearly black silken curls; and then she had such eyes;--I
never knew whether they were most wicked or most bright; and her face
was all dimples, and each dimple was laden with laughter and laden with
love. Kate was probably the prettier girl of the two, but on the whole
not so attractive. She was fairer than her sister, and wore her hair in
braids; and was also somewhat more demure in her manner.
In spite of the special injunctions of Mr. O’Conor senior, it was
impossible not to loiter for five minutes over the drawing-room fire
talking to these houris--more especially as I seemed to know them
intimately by intuition before half of the five minutes was over. They
were so easy, so pretty, so graceful, so kind, they seemed to take it so
much as a matter of course that I should stand there talking in my red
coat and muddy boots.
“Well; do go and dress yourselves,” at last said Fanny, pretending to
speak to her brothers but looking more especially at me. “You know how
mad papa will be. And remember, Mr. Green, we expect great things from
your dancing to-night. Your coming just at this time is such a Godsend.”
And again that soupçon of a smile passed over her face.
I hurried up to my room, Peter and Jack coming with me to the door. “Is
everything right?” said Peter, looking among the towels and water-jugs.
“They’ve given you a decent fire for a wonder,” said Jack, stirring up
the red hot turf which blazed in the grate. “All right as a trivet,”
said I. “And look alive like a good fellow,” said Jack. We had scowled
at each other in the morning as very young men do when they are
strangers; and now, after a few hours, we were intimate friends.
I immediately turned to my work, and was gratified to find that all my
things were laid out ready for dressing; my portmanteau had of course
come open, as my keys were in my pocket, and therefore some of the
excellent servants of the house had been able to save me all the trouble
of unpacking. There was my shirt hanging before the fire; my black
clothes were spread upon the bed, my socks and collar and handkerchief
beside them; my brushes were on the toilet table, and everything
prepared exactly as though my own man had been there. How nice!
I immediately went to work at getting off my spurs and boots, and then
proceeded to loosen the buttons at my knees. In doing this I sat down in
the arm-chair which had been drawn up for me, opposite the fire. But
what was the object on which my eyes then fell;--the objects I should
rather say!
Immediately in front of my chair was placed, just ready for my feet, an
enormous pair of shooting-boots--half-boots, made to lace up round the
ankles, with thick double leather soles, and each bearing half a stone
of iron in the shape of nails and heel-pieces. I had superintended the
making of these shoes in Burlington Arcade with the greatest diligence.
I was never a good shot; and, like some other sportsmen, intended to
make up for my deficiency in performance by the excellence of my
shooting apparel. “Those nails are not large enough,” I had said; “nor
nearly large enough.” But when the boots came home they struck even me
as being too heavy, too metalsome. “He, he, he,” laughed the boot boy as
he turned them up for me to look at. It may therefore be imagined of
what nature were the articles which were thus set out for the evening’s
dancing.
And then the way in which they were placed! When I saw this the
conviction flew across my mind like a flash of lightning that the
preparation had been made under other eyes than those of the servant.
The heavy big boots were placed so prettily before the chair, and the
strings of each were made to dangle down at the sides, as though just
ready for tying! They seemed to say, the boots did, “Now, make haste.
We at any rate are ready--you cannot say that you were kept waiting for
us.” No mere servant’s hand had ever enabled a pair of boots to laugh at
one so completely.
But what was I to do? I rushed at the small portmanteau, thinking that
my pumps also might be there. The woman surely could not have been such
a fool as to send me those tons of iron for my evening wear! But, alas,
alas! no pumps were there. There was nothing else in the way of covering
for my feet; not even a pair of slippers.
And now what was I to do? The absolute magnitude of my misfortune only
loomed upon me by degrees. The twenty minutes allowed by that stern old
paterfamilias were already gone and I had done nothing towards dressing.
And indeed it was impossible that I should do anything that would be of
avail. I could not go down to dinner in my stocking feet, nor could I
put on my black dress trousers, over a pair of mud-painted top-boots. As
for those iron-soled horrors--; and then I gave one of them a kick with
the side of my bare foot which sent it half way under the bed.
But what was I to do? I began washing myself and brushing my hair with
this horrid weight upon my mind. My first plan was to go to bed, and
send down word that I had been taken suddenly ill in the stomach; then
to rise early in the morning and get away unobserved. But by such a
course of action I should lose all chance of any further acquaintance
with those pretty girls! That they were already aware of the extent of
my predicament, and were now enjoying it--of that I was quite sure.
What if I boldly put on the shooting-boots, and clattered down to dinner
in them? What if I took the bull by the horns, and made, myself, the
most of the joke? This might be very well for the dinner, but it would
be a bad joke for me when the hour for dancing came. And, alas! I felt
that I lacked the courage. It is not every man that can walk down to
dinner, in a strange house full of ladies, wearing such boots as those I
have described.
Should I not attempt to borrow a pair? This, all the world will say,
should have been my first idea. But I have not yet mentioned that I am
myself a large-boned man, and that my feet are especially well
developed. I had never for a moment entertained a hope that I should
find any one in that house whose boot I could wear. But at last I rang
the bell. I would send for Jack, and if everything failed, I would
communicate my grief to him.
I had to ring twice before anybody came. The servants, I well knew, were
putting the dinner on the table. At last a man entered the room, dressed
in rather shabby black, whom I afterwards learned to be the butler.
“What is your name, my friend?” said I, determined to make an ally of
the man.
“My name? Why Larry sure, yer honer. And the masther is out of his
sinses in a hurry, becase yer honer don’t come down.”
“Is he though? Well now, Larry; tell me this; which of all the gentlemen
in the house has got the largest foot?”
“Is it the largest foot, yer honer?” said Larry, altogether surprised by
my question.
“Yes; the largest foot,” and then I proceeded to explain to him my
misfortune. He took up first my top-boot, and then the shooting-boot--in
looking at which he gazed with wonder at the nails;--and then he glanced
at my feet, measuring them with his eye; and after this he pronounced
his opinion.
“Yer honer couldn’t wear a morsel of leather belonging to ere a one of
’em, young or ould. There niver was a foot like that yet among the
O’Conors.”
“But are there no strangers staying here?”
“There’s three or four on ’em come in to dinner; but they’ll be wanting
their own boots I’m thinking. And there’s young Misther Dillon; he’s
come to stay. But Lord love you--” and he again looked at the enormous
extent which lay between the heel and the toe of the shooting apparatus
which he still held in his hand. “I niver see such a foot as that in the
whole barony,” he said, “barring my own.”
Now Larry was a large man, much larger altogether than myself, and as he
said this I looked down involuntarily at his feet; or rather at his
foot, for as he stood I could only see one. And then a sudden hope
filled my heart. On that foot there glittered a shoe--not indeed such as
were my own which were now resting ingloriously at Ballyglass while they
were so sorely needed at Castle Conor; but one which I could wear before
ladies, without shame--and in my present frame of mind with infinite
contentment.
“Let me look at that one of your own,” said I to the man, as though it
were merely a subject for experimental inquiry. Larry, accustomed to
obedience, took off the shoe and handed it to me. My own foot was
immediately in it, and I found that it fitted me like a glove.
“And now the other,” said I--not smiling, for a smile would have put him
on his guard; but somewhat sternly, so that that habit of obedience
should not desert him at this perilous moment. And then I stretched out
my hand.
“But yer honer can’t keep ’em, you know,” said he. “I haven’t the ghost
of another shoe to my feet.” But I only looked more sternly than before,
and still held out my hand. Custom prevailed. Larry stooped down slowly,
looking at me the while, and pulling off the other slipper handed it to
me with much hesitation. Alas! as I put it to my foot I found that it
was old, and worn, and irredeemably down at heel;--that it was in fact
no counterpart at all to that other one which was to do duty as its
fellow. But nevertheless I put my foot into it, and felt that a descent
to the drawing-room was now possible.
“But yer honer will give ’em back to a poor man?” said Larry almost
crying. “The masther’s mad this minute becase the dinner’s not up. Glory
to God, only listhen to that!” And as he spoke a tremendous peal rang
out from some bell down stairs that had evidently been shaken by an
angry hand.
“Larry,” said I--and I endeavoured to assume a look of very grave
importance as I spoke--“I look to you to assist me in this matter.”
“Och--wirra sthrue then, and will you let me go? just listhen to that,”
and another angry peal rang out, loud and repeated.
“If you do as I ask you,” I continued, “you shall be well rewarded. Look
here; look at these boots,” and I held up the shooting-shoes new from
Burlington Arcade. “They cost thirty shillings--thirty shillings! and I
will give them to you for the loan of this pair of slippers.”
“They’d be no use at all to me, yer honer; not the laist use in life.”
“You could do with them very well for to-night, and then you could sell
them. And here are ten shillings besides,” and I held out half a
sovereign which the poor fellow took into his hand.
I waited no further parley but immediately walked out of the room. With
one foot I was sufficiently pleased. As regarded that I felt that I had
overcome my difficulty. But the other was not so satisfactory. Whenever
I attempted to lift it from the ground the horrid slipper would fall
off, or only just hang by the toe. As for dancing, that would be out of
the question.
“Och, murther, murther,” sang out Larry, as he heard me going down
stairs. “What will I do at all? Tare and ’ounds; there, he’s at it agin,
as mad as blazes.” This last exclamation had reference to another peal
which was evidently the work of the master’s hand.
I confess I was not quite comfortable as I walked down stairs. In the
first place I was nearly half an hour late, and I knew from the vigour
of the peals that had sounded that my slowness had already been made the
subject of strong remarks. And then my left shoe went flop, flop, on
every alternate step of the stairs. By no exertion of my foot in the
drawing up of my toe could I induce it to remain permanently fixed upon
my foot. But over and above and worse than all this was the conviction
strong upon my mind that I should become a subject of merriment to the
girls as soon as I entered the room. They would understand the cause of
my distress, and probably at this moment were expecting to hear me
clatter through the stone hall with those odious metal boots.
However, I hurried down and entered the drawing-room, determined to keep
my position near the door, so that I might have as little as possible to
do on entering and as little as possible in going out. But I had other
difficulties in store for me. I had not as yet been introduced to Mrs.
O’Conor; nor to Miss O’Conor, the squire’s unmarried sister.
“Upon my word I thought you were never coming,” said Mr. O’Conor as soon
as he saw me. “It is just one hour since we entered the house. Jack, I
wish you would find out what has come to that fellow Larry,” and again
he rang the bell. He was too angry, or it might be too impatient to go
through the ceremony of introducing me to anybody.
I saw that the two girls looked at me very sharply, but I stood at the
back of an arm-chair so that no one could see my feet. But that little
imp Tizzy walked round deliberately, looked at my heels, and then walked
back again. It was clear that she was in the secret.
There were eight or ten people in the room, but I was too much fluttered
to notice well who they were.
“Mamma,” said Miss O’Conor, “let me introduce Mr. Green to you.”
It luckily happened that Mrs. O’Conor was on the same side of the fire
as myself, and I was able to take the hand which she offered me without
coming round into the middle of the circle. Mrs. O’Conor was a little
woman, apparently not of much importance in the world, but, if one
might judge from first appearance, very good-natured.
“And my aunt Die, Mr. Green,” said Kate, pointing to a very
straight-backed, grim-looking lady, who occupied a corner of a sofa, on
the opposite side of the hearth. I knew that politeness required that I
should walk across the room and make acquaintance with her. But under
the existing circumstances how was I to obey the dictates of politeness?
I was determined therefore to stand my ground, and merely bowed across
the room at Miss O’Conor. In so doing I made an enemy who never deserted
me during the whole of my intercourse with the family. But for her, who
knows who might have been sitting opposite to me as I now write?
“Upon my word, Mr. Green, the ladies will expect much from an Adonis who
takes so long over his toilet,” said Tom O’Conor in that cruel tone of
banter which he knew so well how to use.
“You forget, father, that men in London can’t jump in and out of their
clothes as quick as we wild Irishmen,” said Jack.
“Mr. Green knows that we expect a great deal from him this evening. I
hope you polk well, Mr. Green,” said Kate.
I muttered something about never dancing, but I knew that that which I
said was inaudible.
“I don’t think Mr. Green will dance,” said Tizzy; “at least not much.”
The impudence of that child was, I think, unparalleled by any that I
have ever witnessed.
“But in the name of all that’s holy, why don’t we have dinner?” And Mr.
O’Conor thundered at the door. “Larry, Larry, Larry!” he screamed.
“Yes, yer honer, it’ll be all right in two seconds,” answered Larry,
from some bottomless abyss. “Tare an’ ages; what’ll I do at all,” I
heard him continuing, as he made his way into the hall. Oh what a
clatter he made upon the pavement,--for it was all stone! And how the
drops of perspiration stood upon my brow as I listened to him!
And then there was a pause, for the man had gone into the dining-room. I
could see now that Mr. O’Conor was becoming very angry, and Jack the
eldest son--oh, how often he and I have laughed over all this
since--left the drawing-room for the second time. Immediately afterwards
Larry’s footsteps were again heard, hurrying across the hall, and then
there was a great slither, and an exclamation, and the noise of a
fall--and I could plainly hear poor Larry’s head strike against the
stone floor.
“Ochone, ochone!” he cried at the top of his voice--“I’m murthered with
’em now intirely; and d---- ’em for boots--St. Peter be good to me.”
There was a general rush into the hall, and I was carried with the
stream. The poor fellow who had broken his head would be sure to tell
how I had robbed him of his shoes. The coachman was already helping him
up, and Peter good-naturedly lent a hand.
“What on earth is the matter?” said Mr. O’Conor.
“He must be tipsy,” whispered Miss O’Conor, the maiden sister.
“I aint tipsy at all thin,” said Larry, getting up and rubbing the back
of his head, and sundry other parts of his body. “Tipsy indeed!” And
then he added when he was quite upright, “The dinner is sarved--at
last.”
And he bore it all without telling! “I’ll give that fellow a guinea
to-morrow morning,” said I to myself--“if it’s the last that I have in
the world.”
I shall never forget the countenance of the Miss O’Conors as Larry
scrambled up cursing the unfortunate boots--“What on earth has he got
on?” said Mr. O’Conor.
“Sorrow take ’em for shoes,” ejaculated Larry. But his spirit was good
and he said not a word to betray me.
We all then went in to dinner how we best could. It was useless for us
to go back into the drawing-room, that each might seek his own partner.
Mr. O’Conor “the masther,” not caring much for the girls who were around
him, and being already half beside himself with the confusion and delay,
led the way by himself. I as a stranger should have given my arm to Mrs.
O’Conor; but as it was I took her eldest daughter instead, and contrived
to shuffle along into the dining-room without exciting much attention,
and when there I found myself happily placed between Kate and Fanny.
“I never knew anything so awkward,” said Fanny; “I declare I can’t
conceive what has come to our old servant Larry. He’s generally the most
precise person in the world, and now he is nearly an hour late--and then
he tumbles down in the hall.”
“I am afraid I am responsible for the delay,” said I.
“But not for the tumble I suppose,” said Kate from the other side. I
felt that I blushed up to the eyes, but I did not dare to enter into
explanations.
“Tom,” said Tizzy, addressing her father across the table, “I hope you
had a good run to-day.” It did seem odd to me that a young lady should
call her father Tom, but such was the fact.
“Well; pretty well,” said Mr. O’Conor.
“And I hope you were up with the hounds.”
“You may ask Mr. Green that. He at any rate was with them, and therefore
he can tell you.”
“Oh, he wasn’t before you, I know. No Englishman could get before
you;--I am quite sure of that.”
“Don’t you be impertinent, miss,” said Kate. “You can easily see, Mr.
Green, that papa spoils my sister Eliza.”