“Money's all talk,” said Donovan; “I'll give the girl the two-year ould heifer—an' that's worth double what his father has promised Phelim; I'll give her a stone o' flax, a dacent suit o' clo'es, my blessin'—an' there's her fortune.”
“Has she neither bed nor beddin'?” inquired Larry.
“Why, don't you say that Phelim's to have his own bed?” observed Donovan. “Sure one bed 'ill be plinty for them.”
“I don't care a damn about fortune,” said Phelim, for the first time taking a part in the bargain—“so long as I get the darlin' herself. But I think there 'ud be no harm in havin' a spare pair o' blankets—an', for that matther, a bedstead, too—in case a friend came to see a body.”
“I don't much mind givin' you a brother to the bedstead you have, Phelim,” replied Donovan, winking at the company, for he was perfectly aware of the nature of Phelim's bedstead.
“I'll tell you what you must do,” said Larry, “otherwise I'll not stand it. Give the colleen a chaff bed, blankets an' all other parts complate, along wid that slip of a pig. If you don't do this, Paddy Donovan, why we'll finish the whiskey an' part friends—but it's no match.”
“I'll never do it, Larry. The bed an' beddin' I'll give; but the pig I'll by no manner o' manes part wid.”
“Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're gettin' dhry agin—sayin' nothin' is dhroothy work. Ould man, will you not bother us about fortune!”
“Come, Paddy Donnovan,” wid Devlin, “dang it, let out a little, considher he has ten guineas; and I give it as my downright maxim an opinion, that he's fairly entitled to the pig.”
“You're welcome to give your opinion, Antony, an' I'm welcome not to care a rotten sthraw about it. My daughter's wife enough for him, widout a gown to her back, if he had his ten guineas doubled.”
“An' my son,” said Larry, “is husband enough for a betther girl nor ever called you father—not makin' little, at the same time, of either you or her.”
“Paddy,” said Burn, “there's no use in spakin' that way. I agree wid Antony, that you ought to throw in the 'slip.'”
“Is it what I have to pay my next gale o' rint wid? No, no! If he won't marry her widout it, she'll get as good that will.”
“Saize the 'slip,” said Phelim, “the darlin' herself here is all the slip I want.”
“But I'm not so,” said Larry, “the 'slip' must go in, or it's a brake off. Phelim can get girls that has money enough to buy us all out o' root. Did you hear that, Paddy Donovan?”
“I hear it,” said Paddy, “but I'll b'lieve as much of it as I like.”
Phelim apprehended that as his father got warm with the liquor, he might, in vindicating the truth of his own assertion, divulge the affair of the old housekeeper.
“Ould man,” said he “have sinse, an' pass that over, if you have any regard for Phelim.”
“I'd not be brow-bate into anything,” observed Donovan.
“Sowl, you would not,” said Phelim; “for my part, Paddy, I'm ready to marry your daughther (a squeeze to Peggy) widout a ha'p'orth at all, barrin' herself. It's the girl I want, an' not the slip.”
“Thin, be the book, you'll get both, Phelim, for your dacency,” said Donovan; “but, you see I wouldn't be bullied into' puttin' one foot past the other, for the best man that ever stepped on black leather.”
“Whish!” said Appleton, “that's the go! Success ould heart! Give us your hand, Paddy—here's your good health, an' may you never button an empty pocket!”
“Is all settled?” inquired Molly.
“All, but about the weddin' an' the calls,” replied her husband. “How are we to do about that, Larry?”
“Why, in the name o' Goodness, to save time,” he replied, “let them be called on Sunday next, the two Sundays afther, an thin marrid, wid a blessin'.”
“I agree wid that entirely,” observed Molly; “an' now Phelim, clear away, you an' Peggy, off o' that chist, till we have our bit o' supper in comfort.”
“Phelim,” said Larry, “when the suppers done, you must slip over to Roche's for a couple o' bottles more o' whiskey. We'll make a night of it.”
“There's two bottles in the house,” said Donovan; “an', be the saikerment, the first man that talks of bringin' in more, till these is dhrunk, is ondacent.”
This was decisive. In the meantime, the chest was turned into a table, the supper laid, and the attack commenced. All was pleasure, fun, and friendship. The reader may be assured that Phelim, during the negotiation, had not misspent the time with Peggy, Their conversation, however, was in a tone too low to be heard by those who were themselves talking loudly.
One thing, however, Phelim understood from his friend Sam Appleton, which was, that some clue had been discovered to an outrage in which he (Appleton) had been concerned. Above all other subjects, that was one on which Phelim was but a poor comforter. He himself found circumspection necessary; and he told Appleton, that if ever danger approached him, he had resolved either to enlist, or go to America, if he could command the money.
“You ought to do that immediately,” added Phelim.
“Where's the money?” replied the other. “I don't know,” said Phelim; “but if I was bent on goin', the want of money wouldn't stop me as long as it could be found in the counthry. We had to do as bad for others, an' it can't be a greater sin to do that much for ourselves.”
“I'll think of it,” said Appleton. “Any rate, it's in for a penny, in for a pound, wid me.”
When supper was over, they resumed their drinking, sang songs, and told anecdotes with great glee and hilarity. Phelim and Peggy danced jigs and reels, whilst Appleton sang for them, and the bottle also did its duty.
On separating about two o'clock, there was not a sober man among them but Appleton. He declined drinking, and was backed in his abstemiousness by Phelim, who knew that sobriety on the part of Sam would leave himself more liquor. Phelim, therefore, drank for them both, and that to such excess, that Larry, by Appleton's advice, left him at his father's in consequence of his inability to proceed homewards. It was not, however, without serious trouble that Appleton could get Phelim and the father separated; and when he did, Larry's grief was bitter in the extreme. By much entreaty, joined to some vigorous shoves towards the door, he was prevailed upon to depart without him; but the old man compensated for the son's absence, by indulging in the most vociferous sorrow as he went along, about “Ma Phelim.” When he reached home, his grief burst out afresh; he slapped the palms of his hands together, and indulged in a continuous howl, that one on hearing it would imagine to be the very echo of misery, When he had fatigued himself, he fell asleep on the bed, without having undressed, where he lay until near nine o'clock the next morning. Having got up and breakfasted, he related to his wife, with an aching head, the result of the last night's proceedings. Everything he assured her was settled: Phelim and Peggy were to be called the following Sunday, as Phelim, he supposed, had already informed her.
“Where's Phelim?” said the wife; “an' why didn't he come home wid you last night?”
“Where is Phelim? Why, Sheelah, woman sure he did come home wid me last night.”
“Ghrush orrin, Larry, no! What could happen him? Why, man, I thought you knew where he was; an' in regard of his bein' abroad so often at night, myself didn't think it sthrange.”
Phelim's absence astounded them both, particularly the father, who had altogether forgotten everything that had happened on the preceding night, after the period of his intoxication. He proposed to go back to Donovan's to inquire for him, and was about to proceed there when