Handy Andy Volume Ii Part 35

The coach drew up at the hotel. Edward left Gusty to see about the dowager, and made an appointment for Gusty to meet him at their own lodgings in an hour; while he in the interim should call on d.i.c.k Dawson, who was in town on his way to London.

Edward shook hands with Ratty and bade him kindly good bye. "You're a stout fellow, Ratty," said he, "but remember this old saying, '_Quarrelsome dogs get dirty coats_.'"

Edward now proceeded to d.i.c.k's lodgings, and found him engaged in reading a note from Tom Durfy, dated from the "Bower of Repose," and requesting d.i.c.k's aid in his present difficulty.

"Here's a pretty kettle of fish," said d.i.c.k: "Tom Durfy, who is engaged to dine with me to-day to take leave of his bachelor life, as he is going to be married to-morrow, is arrested, and now in _quod_, and wants me to bail him."

"The shortest way is to pay the money at once," said Edward; "is it much?"

"That I don't know; but I have not a great deal about me, and what I have I want for my journey to London and my expenses there--not but what I'd help Tom if I could."

"He must not be allowed to remain _there_, however we manage to get him out," said Edward; "perhaps I can help you in the affair."

"You're always a good fellow, Ned," said d.i.c.k, shaking his hand warmly.

Edward escaped from hearing any praise of himself by proposing they should repair at once to the sponging-house, and see how matters stood. d.i.c.k lamented he should be called away at such a moment, for he was just going to get his wine ready for the party--particularly some champagne, which he was desirous of seeing well iced; but as he could not wait to do it himself, he called Andy, to give him directions about it, and set off with Edward to the relief of Tom Durfy.

Andy was once more in service in the Egan family; for the Squire, on finding him still more closely linked by his marriage with the desperate party whose influence over Andy was to be dreaded, took advantage of Andy's disgust against the woman who had entrapped him, and offered to take him off to London instead of enlisting; and as Andy believed he would be there sufficiently out of the way of the false Bridget, he came off at once to Dublin with d.i.c.k, who was the pioneer of the party to London.

d.i.c.k gave Andy the necessary directions for icing the champagne, which he set apart and pointed out most particularly to our hero, lest he should make a mistake and perchance ice the port instead.

After Edward and d.i.c.k had gone, Andy commenced operations according to orders. He brought a large tub up-stairs containing rough ice, which excited Andy's wonder, for he never had known till now that ice was preserved for and applied to such a use, for an ice-house did not happen to be attached to any establishment in which he had served.

"Well, this is the quarest thing I ever heerd of," said Andy. "Musha! what outlandish inventions the quolity has among them! They're not contint with wine, but they must have ice along with it--and in a tub, too!

--just like pigs!--throth it's a dirty thrick, I think. Well, here goes!" said he; and Andy opened a bottle of champagne, and poured it into the tub with the ice. "How it fizzes!" said Andy, "Faix, it's almost as lively as the soda-wather that bothered me long ago.

Well, I know more about things now; sure it's wondherful how a man improves with practice!"--and another bottle of champagne was emptied into the tub as he spoke. Thus, with several other complacent comments upon his own proficiency, Andy poured half-a-dozen of champagne into the tub of ice, and remarked, when he had finished his work, that he thought it would be "mighty cowld on their stomachs."

d.i.c.k and Edward all this time were on their way to the relief of Tom Durfy, who, though he had cooled down from the boiling-pitch to which the misadventure of the morning had raised him, was still _simmering_, with his elbows planted on the rickety table in Mr. Goggins' "bower," and his chin resting on his clenched hands. It was the very state of mind in which Tom was most dangerous.

At the other side of the table sat James Reddy, intently employed in writing; his pursed mouth and knitted brows bespoke a labouring state of thought, and the various crossings, interlinings, and blottings gave additional evidence of the same, while now and then a rush at a line which was knocked off in a hurry, with slashing dashes of the pen, and fierce after-crossings of _t's_, and determined dottings of _i's_, declared some thought suddenly seized, and executed with bitter triumph.

"You seem very _happy in yourself_ in what you are writing," said Tom. "What is it? Is it another epithalamium?"

"It is a caustic article against the successful men of the day,"

said Reddy; "they have no merit, sir--none. 'T is nothing but luck has placed them where they are, and they ought to be exposed." He then threw down his pen as he spoke, and, after a silence of some minutes, suddenly put this question to Tom:

"What do you think of the world?"

"'Faith, I think it so pleasant a place," said Tom, "that I'm confoundedly vexed at being kept out of it by being locked up here; and that cursed bailiff is so provokingly free-and-easy--coming in here every ten minutes, and making himself at home."

"Why, as for that matter, it is his home, you must remember."

"But while a gentleman is here for a period," said Tom, "this room ought to be considered his, and that fellow has no business here--and then his bows and sc.r.a.pes, and talking about the feelings of a gentleman, and all that--'t is enough to make a dog beat his father. Curse him! I'd like to choke him."

"Oh! that's merely his manner," said James.

"Want of manners, you mean," said Tom. "Hang me, if he comes up to me with his rascally familiarity again, but I'll kick him down stairs."

"My dear fellow, you are excited," said Reddy; "don't let these sublunary trifles ruffle your temper--you see how I bear it; and to recall you to yourself, I will remind you of the question we started from, 'What do you think of the world?' There's a general question--a broad question, upon which one may talk with temper and soar above the petty grievances of life in the grand consideration of so ample a subject. You see me here, a prisoner like yourself, but I can talk of _the world_. Come, be a calm philosopher, like me! Answer, what do you think of the world?"

"I've told you already," said Tom; "it's a capital place, only for the bailiffs."

"I can't agree with you," said James. "I think it one vast pool of stagnant wretchedness, where the _malaria_ of injustice holds her scales suspended, to poison rising talent by giving an undue weight to existing prejudices."

To this lucid and good-tempered piece of philosophy, Tom could only answer, "You know I am no poet, and I cannot argue with you but, 'pon my soul, I _have_ known, and _do_ know, some uncommon good fellows in the world."

"You're wrong, you're wrong, my unsuspecting friend. 'T is a bad world, and no place for susceptible minds. Jealousy pursues talent like its shadow--superiority alone wins for you the hatred of inferior men. For instance, why am _I_ here? The editor of _my_ paper will not allow _my_ articles always to appear;--prevents their insertion, lest the effect they would make would cause inquiry, and tend to _my_ distinction; and the consequence is, that the paper _I_ came to _uphold_ in Dublin is deprived of _my_ articles, and _I_ don't get paid; while _I_ see _inferior_ men, without asking for it, loaded with favour; _they_ are abroad in affluence, and _I_ in captivity and poverty. But one comfort is, even in disgrace I can write, and they shall get a slashing."

Thus spoke the calm philosopher, who gave Tom a lecture on patience.

Tom was no great conjuror; but at that moment, like Audrey, "he thanked the G.o.ds he was not poetical." If there be any one thing more than another to make an "every-day man" content with his average lot, it is the exhibition of ambitious inferiority, striving for distinction it can never attain; just given sufficient perception to desire the glory of success, without power to measure the strength that can achieve it; like some poor fly, which beats its head against a pane of gla.s.s, seeing the sunshine beyond, but incapable of perceiving the subtle medium which intervenes-- too delicate for its limited sense to comprehend, but too strong for its limited power to pa.s.s. But though Tom felt satisfaction at that moment, he had too good feeling to wound the self-love of the vain creature before him; so, instead of speaking what he thought, viz., "What business have you to attempt literature, you conceited fool?" he tried to wean him civilly from his folly by saying, "Then come back to the country, James; if you find jealous rivals _here_, you know you were always admired _there_."

"No, sir," said James; "even there my merit was unacknowledged."

"No! no!" said Tom.

"Well, underrated, at least. Even there, _that_ Edward O'Connor, somehow or other, I never could tell why--I never saw his great talents-- but somehow or other, people got it into their heads that he was clever."

"I tell you what it is," said Tom, earnestly, "Ned-of-the-Hill has got into a better place than people's _heads_--he has got into their _hearts_!"

"There it is!" exclaimed James, indignantly. "You have caught up the cuckoo-cry--the heart! Why, sir, what merit is there in writing about feelings which any common labourer can comprehend? There's no poetry in that; true poetry lies in a higher sphere, where you have difficulty in following the flight of the poet, and possibly may not be fortunate enough to understand him--that's poetry, sir."

"I told you I am no poet," said Tom; "but all I know is, I have felt my heart warm to some of Edward's songs, and, by jingo, I have seen the women's eyes glisten, and their cheeks flush or grow pale, as they have heard them--and that's poetry enough for me."

"Well, let Mister O'Connor enjoy his popularity, sir, if popularity it may be called, in a small country circle--let him enjoy it--I don't envy him _his_, though I think he was rather jealous about mine."

"Ned jealous!" exclaimed Tom, in surprise.

"Yes, jealous; I never heard him say a kind word of any verses I ever wrote in my life; and I am certain he has most unkind feelings towards me."

"I tell you what it is," said Tom, "getting up" a bit; "I told you I don't understand poetry, but I _do_ understand what's an infinitely better thing, and that's fine, generous, manly feeling; and if there's a human being in the world incapable of wronging another in his mind or heart, or readier to help his fellow-man, it is Edward O'Connor: so say no more, James, if you please."

Tom had scarcely uttered the last word, when the key was turned in the door.

"Here's that infernal bailiff again!" said Tom, whose irritability, increased by Reddy's paltry egotism and injustice, was at its boiling- pitch once more. He planted himself firmly in his chair, and putting on his fiercest frown, was determined to confront Mister Goggins with an aspect that should astonish him.

The door opened, and Mister Goggins made his appearance, presenting to the gentlemen in the room the hinder portion of his person, which made several indications of courtesy performed by the other half of his body, while he uttered the words, "Don't be astonished, gentlemen; you'll be used to it by-and-by." And with these words he kept backing towards Tom, making these nether demonstrations of civility, till Tom could plainly see the seams in the back of Mr. Goggins's pantaloons.

Tom thought this was some new touch of the "free-and-easy" on Mister Goggins's part, and, losing all command of himself, he jumped from his chair, and with a vigorous kick gave Mister Goggins such a lively impression of his desire that he should leave the room, that Mister Goggins went head foremost down the stairs, pitching his whole weight upon d.i.c.k Dawson and Edward O'Connor, who were ascending the dark stairs, and to whom all his bows had been addressed. Overwhelmed with astonishment and twelve stone of bailiff, they were thrown back into the hall, and an immense uproar in the pa.s.sage ensued.

Edward and d.i.c.k were near coming in for some hard usage from Goggins, conceiving it might be a preconcerted attempt on the part of his prisoners and their newly arrived friends to achieve a rescue; and while he was rolling about on the ground, he roared to his evil-visaged janitor to look to the door first, and keep him from being "murthered" after.

Fortunately no evil consequences ensued, until matters could be explained in the hall, and Edward and d.i.c.k were introduced to the upper room, from which Goggins had been so suddenly ejected.

There the bailiff demanded in a very angry tone the cause of Tom's conduct; and when it was found to be _only_ a mutual misunderstanding --that Goggins wouldn't take a liberty with a gentleman "in defficulties"

for the world, and that Tom wouldn't hurt a fly, "only under a mistake"

--matters were cleared up to the satisfaction of all parties, and the real business of the meeting commenced:--that was to pay Tom's debt out of hand; and when the bailiff saw all demands, fees included, cleared off, the clouds from his brow cleared off also, he was the most amiable of sheriff's officers, and all his sentimentality returned.

Edward did not seem quite to sympathise with his amiability, so Goggins returned to the charge, while Tom and d.i.c.k were exchanging a few words with James Reddy.