Roland Cashel Volume I Part 8

"I suspect Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k is fatigued by his journey, sir," said Mr.

Softly, in his most bland of voices; "I thought I remarked it by his face."

"Oh, did you?" said Cashel, with a very peculiar look of knowingness.

"Yes; you are aware, Mr. Cashel," interrupted Jones, "our friend is n't much used to that kind of thing. I suppose it's some years since he has had so much knocking about as in these last few days."

"I fancy so," said Cashel, with a significant smile that puzzled the lawyer exceedingly, and he ate on without making a further remark.

The two or three efforts made by Jones and Softly to converse together were, like nearly all similar attempts at perfect ease and self-possession, complete failures, and gradually slided down into monosyllables, and then to silence; when Cashel, who seemed to be enjoying his venison and Bordeaux with perfect zest, leaned back in his chair and said, "What kind of place is this same good city of Dublin?

What goes forward here?"

As this question was more directly addressed to Jones, that gentleman prepared himself, not unwillingly, for an elaborate reply.

"Dublin, Mr. Cashel," said he, pretty much in the same tone he would have used in opening an address to a jury,--

"Dublin is a city which, from a great variety of causes, will always be exposed to every variable and opposing criticism. To begin: it is provincial--"

"Is it slow?" interrupted Cashel, who had listened to this exordium with palpable signs of impatience.

"If you mean, has it its share of those habits of dissipation, those excesses so detrimental alike to health and fortune--"

"No, no; I merely ask what goes on here,--how do people amuse themselves?" said Cashel, fencing to avoid any very lengthened exposure of the other's views.

"They dine, dance, drink tea, talk politics and scandal, like other folk; but if you ask, what are the distinguishing features of the society--"

"What kind of sport does the country afford?" interrupted Roland, somewhat unceremoniously.

"Hunting, shooting, fishing, coursing--"

"What do you mean by hunting,--a fox, is it?"

"Yes, fox-hunting and hare-hunting, too."

A very insolent laugh was Cashel's answer, as, turning to Mr. Softly, he said, "Well, I own, all this does strike me as a very tiresome kind of life. Do you like Ireland, sir?"

"I feel a deep interest in it," said the curate, with a most solemn manner.

"Yes, that's all very well; but do you like it?"

"Were it not for its darkness," said Mr. Softly, sighing, "I should say I liked it."

"Darkness," echoed Cashel,--"darkness; why, hang it, you are pretty far north here. What is the darkness you speak of?"

"I alluded to popery, sir,--to the obscuring mists of superst.i.tion and ignorance," replied Mr. Softly, with a kind of energetic timidity that made himself blush.

"Oh--I perceive--yes--I understand," muttered Cashel, who certainly felt all the awkwardness of a man caught in a lie.

"We have a very agreeable society among the bar men," said Jones, returning to the charge in a new direction; "a great deal of pleasantry and fun goes on at our messes."

"Droll fellows, I suppose," said Cashel, carelessly. "I remember I knew a lawyer once; he was a mate of a small clipper in the African trade,--mischievous kind of devil he was too,--always setting the slaves by the ears, and getting money for settling the differences. They played him a good trick at last." Here he laughed heartily at the recollection for several minutes.

"What was it?" asked Jones, in some curiosity to learn how the bar was respected on the banks of the Niger.

"They painted him black and sold him at Cuba," said Cashel, who once more broke out into laughter at the excellence of the jest.

Jones's and Softly's eyes met with a most complete accordance in the glances exchanged. Meanwhile, Cashel, drawing his chair towards the larger table, filled his gla.s.s and proceeded to smash his walnuts with all the easy contentment of a man who had dined well.

"I perceive Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k is not likely to join us," said Softly, with a half suggestive look towards the door.

"Tired, perhaps," said Jones, affecting what he opined to be the cool indifference of the highest fashion.

"More than that, I suspect," said Cashel, with a most unfeigned carelessness. "Did you remark his eye?"

"Yes!" exclaimed both together. "What could that mean?"

"A slight bit of a scrimmage we had on the way from town; a--"

"Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k engaged in a row!" cried Softly, almost incredible at the tidings.

"Yes. I fancy that is about the best word for it," said Cashel, sipping his wine. "I suppose one ought not to mention these kind of things; but of course they are safe with you. They 'll never go further, I am certain."

"Oh, never,--not a syllable," chimed in the two.

"Well, then, on our way here, I learned that there were to be races a few miles from Coventry, and as I saw our friend Kennyf.e.c.k had no fancy for the sight, I just slipped a few half-crowns into the postboy's hand, and told him to drive there instead of taking the Liverpool road. Away we went at a good pace, and in less than an hour reached the course. I wish you saw the old gentleman's face when he awoke from a sound nap, and saw the grand stand, with its thousand faces, all in a row, and the cords, the betting-ring, and the whole circ.u.mstance of a race-ground. By good luck, too, the sharp jerk of our pull-up smashed a spring, and so we had nothing for it but to leave the chaise and wait till it could be repaired. While my servant was away in search of some kind of a drag or other, to go about the field,--there was no walking, what with the crowd and the press of horses, not to speak of the mud that rose over the ankles,--we pushed on,--that is, I did, with a stout grip of Kennyf.e.c.k's arm, lest he should escape,--we pushed on, into the ring. Here there was rare fun going forward, every fellow screaming out his bets, and booking them as fast as he could. At first, of course, the whole was all ancient Greek to me. I neither knew what they meant by the 'favorite,' or 'the odds,' or 'the field;' but one somehow always can pick up a thing quickly, if it be but 'game,' and so, by watching here, and listening there, I managed to get a kind of inkling of the whole affair, and by dint of some pushing and elbowing, I reached the very centre of the ring, where the great dons of the course were betting together.

"'Taurus even against the field,' cried one.

"'Taurus against the field,' shouted another.

"And this same cry was heard on every side.

"'Give it in fifties,--hundreds if you like better,' said a young fellow mounted on a smart-looking pony, to his friend, who appeared to reflect on the offer. 'Come, hurry on, man. Let's have a bet, just to give one an interest in the race.' The other shook his head, and the first went on, 'What a slow set, to be sure! Is no one willing to back the field, even? Come, then, here 's a hundred pound to any man who 'll take the field against Taurus, for two thousand.'

"'Let me have your cob,' said I, 'and I 'll take the bet.'

"He turned round in his saddle, and stared at me as if I were something more or less than human, while a very general roar of laughing ran around the entire circle.

"'Come away, come away at once,' whispered Kennyf.e.c.k, trembling with fright.

"'Yes, you had better move off, my friend,' said a thickset, rough-looking fellow, in a white coat.

"'What say you to five thousand, sir; does that suit your book?' cried the young fellow to me, in a most insolent tone.

"'Oh, let him alone, my Lord,' said another. 'Take no notice of him.'

"'I say, Grindle,' cried a tall thin man with moustaches, 'who let these people inside the ring?'

"'They forces their way, my Lud,' said a little knocker-kneed creature, in a coat four times too big for him, 'and I says to Bill, de--pend upon it, Bill, them's the swell mob.'