“Dacency or nothin', Paddy; if it was my last I'd show sperit, an' why not? Who'd be for the shabby thing?”
“Well, well, Larry, I can't say but you're right afther all! Maybe I'd do the same thing myself, for all I'm spakin' aginst it.”
The old people then passed round an introductory glass, after which they chatted away for an hour or so, somewhat like the members of a committee who talk upon indifferent topics until their brethren are all assembled.
Phelim, in the meantime, grappled with the daughter, whose knitting he spoiled by hooking the thread with his finger, jogging her elbow until he ran the needles past each other, and finally unravelling her clew; all which she bore with great good-humor. Sometimes, indeed, she ventured to give him a thwack upon the shoulder, with a laughing frown upon her countenance, in order to correct him for teasing her.
When Jemmy Burn and Antony Devlin arrived, the spirits of the party got up. The whiskey was formally produced, but as yet the subject of the courtship, though perfectly understood, was not introduced. Phelim and the father were anxious to await the presence of Sam Appleton, who was considered, by the way, a first-rate hand at match-making.
Phelim, as is the wont, on finding the din of the conversation raised to the proper pitch, stole one of the bottles and prevailed on Peggy to adjourn with him to the potato-bin. Here they ensconced themselves very snugly; but not, as might be supposed, contrary to the knowledge and consent of the seniors, who winked at each other on seeing Phelim gallantly tow her down with the bottle under his arm. It was only the common usage on such occasions, and not considered any violation whatsoever of decorum. When Phelim's prior engagements are considered, it must be admitted that there was something singularly ludicrous in the humorous look he gave over his shoulder at the company, as he went toward the bin, having the bottom of the whiskey-bottle projecting behind his elbow, winking at them in return, by way of a hint to mind their own business and allow him to plead for himself. The bin, however, turned out to be rather an uneasy seat, for as the potatoes lay in a slanting heap against the wall, Phelim and his sweetheart were perpetually sliding down from the top to the bottom. Phelim could be industrious when it suited his pleasure. In a few minutes those who sat about the fire imagined, from the noise at the bin, that the house was about to come about their ears.
“Phelim, you thief,” said the father, “what's all that noise for?”
“Chrosh orrin!” (* The cross be about us!) said Molly Donovan, “is that tundher?”
“Devil carry these piatees,” exclaimed Phelim, raking them down with both hands and all his might, “if there's any sittin' at all upon them! I'm levellin' them to prevint Peggy, the darlin', from slidderin' an' to give us time to be talkin', somethin' lovin' to one another. The curse o' Cromwell an them! One might as well dhrink a glass o' whiskey wid his sweetheart, or spake a tinder word to her, on the wings of a windmill as here. There now, they're as level as you plase, acushla! Sit down, you jewel you, an' give me the egg-shell, till we have our Sup o' the crathur in comfort. Faith, it was too soon for us to be comin' down in the world?”
Phelim and Peggy having each emptied the egg-shell, which among the poorer Irish is frequently the substitute for a glass, entered into the following sentimental dialogue, which was covered by the loud and entangled conversation of their friends about the fire; Phelim's arm lovingly about her neck, and his head laid down snugly against her cheek.
“Now, Peggy, you darlin' o' the world—bad cess to me but I'm as glad as two ten-pennies that I levelled these piatees; there was no sittin' an them. Eh, avourneen?”
“Why, we're comfortable now, anyhow, Phelim!”
“Faith, you may say that—(a loving squeeze). Now, Peggy, begin an' tell us all about your bachelors.”
“The sarra one ever I had, Phelim.”
“Oh, murdher sheery, what a bounce! Bad cess to me, if you can spake a word o' thruth afther that, you common desaver! Worn't you an' Paddy Moran pullin' a coard?”
“No, in throth; it was given out on us, but we never wor, Phelim. Nothin' ever passed betune us but common civility. He thrated my father an' mother wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was along wid them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed, in civility an' friendship.”
“An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a sweetheart at all?”
“The nerra one.”
“Oh, you thief! Wid two sich lips o' your own, an' two sich eyes o' your own, an' two sich cheeks o' your own! Oh—, by the tarn, that won't pass.”
“Well, an' supposin' I had—behave Phelim—supposin' I had, where's the harm? Sure it's well known all the sweethearts, you had, an' have yet, I suppose.”
“Be gorra, an' that's thruth; an' the more the merrier, you jewel you, till, one get's married. I had enough of them, in my day, but you're the flower o' them all, that I'd like to spend my life wid”—(a squeeze.)
“The sorra one word the men say a body can trust. I warrant you tould that story to every one o' them as well as to me. Stop Phelim—it's well known that what you say to the colleens is no gospel. You know what they christened you 'Bouncin' Phelim!”
“Betune you an' me, Peggy, I'll tell you a sacret; I was the boy for deludin them. It's very well known the matches I might a got; but you see, you little shaver, it was waitin' for yourself I was.”
“For me! A purty story indeed I'm sure it was! Oh, afther that! Why, Phelim, how can you——Well, well, did any one ever hear the likes?”
“Be the vestments, it's thruth. I had you in my eye these three years, but was waitin' till I'd get together as much money as ud' set us up in the world dacently. Give me that egg-shell agin. Talkin's dhruthy work. Shudorth, a rogarah! (* This to you you rogue) an' a pleasant honeymoon to us!”
“Wait till we're married first, Phelim; thin it'll be time enough to dhrink that.”
“Come, acushla, it's your turn now; taste the shell, an' you'll see how lovin' it'll make us. Mother's milk's a thrifle to it.”
“Well, if I take this, Phelim, I'll not touch another dhrop to-night. In the mane time here's whatever's best for us! Whoo! Oh, my! but that's strong! I dunna how the people can dhrink so much of it!”
“Faith, nor me; except bekase they have a regard for it, an' that it's worth havin' a regard for, jist like yourself an' me. Upon my faix, Peggy, it bates all, the love an likin' I have for you, an' ever had these three years past. I tould you about the eyes, mavourneen, an'—an'—about the lips—”
“Phelim—behave—I say—now stop wid you—well—well—but you're the tazin' Phelim!—Throth the girls may be glad when you're married,” exclaimed Peggy, adjusting her polished hair.
“Bad cess to the bit, if ever I got so sweet a one in my life—the soft end of a honeycomb's a fool to it. One thing, Peggy, I can tell you—that I'll love you in great style. Whin we're marrid it's I that'll soodher you up. I won't let the wind blow on you. You must give up workin', too. All I'll ax you to do will be to nurse the childhre; an' that same will keep you busy enough, plase Goodness.”
“Upon my faix, Phelim, you're the very sarra, so you are. Will you be asy now? I'll engage when you're married, it'll soon be another story wid you. Maybe you'd care little about us thin!”
“Be the vestments, I'm spakin' pure gospel, so I am. Sure you don't know that to be good husbands runs in our family. Every one of them was as sweet as thracle to their wives. Why, there's that ould cock, my fadher, an' if you'd see how he butthers up the ould woman to this day, it 'ud make your heart warm to any man o' the family.”
“Ould an' young was ever an' always the same to you, Phelim. Sure the