Handy Andy Volume Ii Part 34

"No," said Tom, "I am not."

"I thought you wor, sir, by being acquainted with this other gintleman."

"An acquaintance of mine!" said Tom, with surprise.

"Yes, sir. In short it was through him I found out where you wor, sir. I have had the wret agen you for some time, but couldn't make you off, till my friend says I must carry a note from him to you."

"Where is the note?" inquired Tom.

"Not ready yet, sir. It's po'thry he's writin'--something 'pithy' he said, and 'lame' too. I dunna how a thing could be pithy and lame together, but them potes has hard words at command."

"Then you came away without the note?"

"Yis, sir. As soon as I found out where you wor stopping I ran off directly on Mr. M'Kail's little business. You'll excuse the liberty, sir; but we must all mind our professions; though, indeed, sir, if you b'lieve me, I'd rather nab a rhyme than a gintleman any day; and if I could get on the press I'd quit the shoulder-tapping profession."

Tom cast an eye of wonder on the bailiff, which the latter comprehended at once; for with habitual nimbleness he could nab a man's thoughts as fast as his person. "I know what you're thinkin', sir--could one of my profession pursue the muses? Don't think, sir, I mane I could write the 'laders' or the pollitik'l articles, but the criminal cases, sir--the robberies and offinces--with the watchhouse cases--together with a little po'thry now and then. I think I could be useful, sir, and do better than some of the chaps that pick up their ha'pence that way. But here's my place, sir--my little bower of repose."

He knocked at the door of a small tumble-down house in a filthy lane, the one window it presented in front being barred with iron. Some bolts were drawn inside, and though the man who opened the door was forbidding in his aspect, he did not refuse to let Tom in. The portal was hastily closed and bolted after they had entered. The smell of the house was pestilential-- the entry dead dark.

"Give me your hand, sir," said the bailiff, leading Tom forward. They ascended some creaking stairs, and the bailiff, fumbling for some time with a key at a door, unlocked it and shoved it open, and then led in his captive. Tom saw a shabby-genteel sort of person, whose back was towards him, directing a letter.

"Ah, Goggins!" said the writer, "you're come back in the nick of time. I have finished now, and you may take the letter to Mister Durfy."

"You may give it to him yourself, sir," replied Goggins, "for here he is."

"Indeed!" said the writer, turning round.

"What!" exclaimed Tom Durfy, in surprise; "James Reddy!"

"Even so," said James, with a sentimental air:

"'The paths of glory lead but to the grave.'

Literature is a bad trade, my dear Tom!--'tis an ungrateful world--men of the highest aspirations may lie in gaol for all the world cares; not that you come within the pale of the worthless ones; this is good-natured of you to come and see a friend in trouble. You deserve, my dear Tom, that you should have been uppermost in my thoughts; for here is a note I have just written to you, enclosing a copy of verses to you on your marriage --in short, it is an epithalamium."

"That's what I told you, sir," said Goggins to Tom.

"May the divil burn you and your epithalamium!" said Tom Durfy, stamping round the little room.

James Reddy stared in wonder, and Goggins roared, laughing.

"A pretty compliment you've paid me, Mister Reddy, this fine morning,"

said Tom; "you tell a bailiff where I live, that you may send your infernal verses to me, and you get me arrested."

"Oh, murder!" exclaimed James. "I'm very sorry, my dear Tom; but, at the same time, 't is a capital incident! How it would work up in a farce!"

"How funny it is!" said Tom in a rage, eyeing James as if he could have eaten him. "Bad luck to all poetry and poetasters! By the 'tarnal war, I wish every poet, from Homer down, was put into a mortar and pounded to death!"

James poured forth expressions of sorrow for the mischance; and extremely ludicrous it was to see one man making apologies for trying to pay his friend a compliment; his friend swearing at him for his civility, and the bailiff grinning at them both.

In this triangular dilemma we will leave them for the present.

CHAPTER XLVI

Edward O'Connor, on hearing from Gustavus of the old dowager's disappearance from Neck-or-Nothing Hall, joined in the eager inquiries which were made about her; and _his_ being directed with more method and judgment than those of others, their result was more satisfactory. He soon "took up the trail," to use an Indian phrase, and he and Gusty were not many hours in posting after the old lady. They arrived in town early in the morning, and lost no time in casting about for information.

One of the first places Edward inquired at was the inn where the postchaise generally drove to from the house where the old dowager had obtained her carriage in the country; but there no trace was to be had.

Next, the princ.i.p.al hotels were referred to, but as yet without success; when, as they turned into one of the leading streets in continuance of their search, their attention was attracted by a crowd swaying to and fro in that peculiar manner which indicates there is a fight inside of it.

Great excitement prevailed on the verge of the crowd, where exclamations escaped from those who could get a peep at the fight.

"The little chap has great heart!" cried one.

"But the sweep is the biggest," said another.

"Well done, _Horish_!" [Footnote: The name of a celebrated sweep in Ireland, whose name is applied to the whole.] cried a blackguard, who enjoyed the triumph of his fellow. "Bravo! little fellow," rejoined a genteel person, who rejoiced in some successful hit of the other combatant. There is an inherent love in men to see a fight, which Edward O'Connor shared with inferior men; and if _he_ had not peeped into the ring, most a.s.suredly Gusty would. What was their astonishment, when they got a glimpse of the pugilists, to perceive Ratty was one of them-- his antagonist being a sweep, taller by a head, and no bad hand at the "n.o.ble science."

Edward's first impulse was to separate them, but Gusty requested he would not, saying that he saw by Ratty's eye he was able to "lick the fellow."

Ratty certainly showed great fight; what the sweep had in superior size was equalized by the superior "game" of the gentleman-boy, to whom the indomitable courage of a high-blooded race had descended, and who would sooner have died than yield. Besides, Ratty was not deficient in the use of his "bunch of fives," hit hard for his size, and was very agile: the sweep sometimes made a rush, grappled, and got a fall; but he never went in without getting something from Ratty to "remember him," and was not always uppermost. At last, both were so far punished, and the combat not being likely to be speedily ended (for the sweep was no craven), that the bystanders interfered, declaring that "they ought to be separated," and they were.

While the crowd was dispersing, Edward called a coach; and before Ratty could comprehend how the affair was managed, he was shoved into it and driven from the scene of action. Ratty had a confused sense of hearing loud shouts--of being lifted somewhere--of directions given--the rattle of iron steps clinking sharply--two or three fierce bangs of a door that wouldn't shut, and then an awful shaking, which roused him up from the corner of the vehicle into which he had fallen in the first moment of exhaustion. Ratty "shook his feathers," dragged his hair from out of his eyes, which were getting very black indeed, and applied his handkerchief to his nose, which was much in need of that delicate attention; and when the sense of perfect vision was restored to him, which was not for some time (all the colours of the rainbow dancing before Ratty's eyes for many seconds after the fight), what was his surprise to see Edward O'Connor and Gusty sitting on the opposite seat!

It was some time before Ratty could quite comprehend his present situation; but as soon as he was made sensible of it, and could answer, the first questions asked of him were about his grandmother. Ratty fortunately remembered the name of the hotel where she put up, though he had left it as soon as the old lady proceeded to the Castle--had lost his way--and got engaged in a quarrel with a sweep in the meantime.

The coach was ordered to drive to the hotel named; and how the fight occurred was the next question.

"The sweep was pa.s.sing by, and I called him 'snow-ball,'" said Ratty; "and the blackguard returned an impudent answer, and I hit him."

"You had no right to call him 'snow-ball,'" said Edward.

"I always called the sweeps 'snow-ball' down at the Hall," said Ratty, "and they never answered."

"When you are on your own territory you may say what you please to your dependents, Ratty, and they dare not answer; or to use a vulgar saying, 'A c.o.c.k may crow on his own dunghill.'"

"I'm no dunghill c.o.c.k!" said Ratty, fiercely.

"Indeed, you're not," said Edward, laying his hand kindly on the boy's shoulder; "you have plenty of courage."

"I'd have licked him," said Ratty, "if they'd have let me have two or three rounds more."

"My dear boy, other things are needful in this world besides courage.

Prudence, temper, and forbearance are required; and this may be a lesson to you, to remember, that, when you get abroad in the world, you are very little cared about, however great your consequence may be at home; and I am sure you cannot be proud about your having got into a quarrel _with a sweep_."

Ratty made no answer--his blood began to cool--he became every moment more sensible that he had received heavy blows. His eyes became more swollen, he snuffled more in his speech, and his blackened condition altogether, from gutter, soot, and thrashing, convinced him a fight with a sweep was _not_ an enviable achievement.