Tales and Novels Volume VIII Part 23

_Old McB._ Why then he has a great opinion of you too, counsellor--for he has been advising of, and telling of me, O'Blaney, of your proposhal, sir--and very sinsible I am of the honour done by you to our family, sir--and condescension to the likes of us--though, to be sure, Honor McBride, though she is my daughter, is a match for any man.

_O'Bla._ Is a match for a prince--a Prince Ragent even. So no more about condescension, my good Matthew, for love livels all distinctions.

_Old McB._ That's very pretty of you to say so, sir; and I'll repeat it to Honor.

_O'Bla._ Cupid is the great liveller, after all, and the only democrat Daity on earth I'd bow to--for I know you are no democrat, Mr. McBride, but quite and clane the contrary way.

_Old McB._ Quite and clane and stiff, I thank my G.o.d; and I'm glad, in spite of the vowel before your name, Mr. O'Blaney, to hear you are of the same kidney.

_O'Bla._ I'm happy to find myself agreeable to you, sir.

_Old McB._ But, however agreeable to me, as I won't deny, it might be, sir, to see my girl made into a gentlewoman by marriage, I must observe to you--

_O'Bla._ And I'll keep her a jaunting car to ride about the country; and in another year, as my fortune's rising, my wife should rise with it into a coach of her own.

_Old McB._ Oh! if I'd live to see my child, my Honor, in a coach of her own! I'd be too happy--oh, I'd die contint!

_O'Bla._ (_aside_) No fear!--(_Aloud_) And why should not she ride in her own coach, Mistress Counsellor O'Blaney, and look out of the windows down upon the _Roonies_, that have the insolence to look up to her?

_Old McB._ Ah! you know _that_, then. That's all that's against us, sir, in this match.

_O'Bla._ But if _you_ are against Randal, no fear.

_Old McB._ I am against him--that is, against his family, and all his seed, breed, and generation. But I would not break my daughter's heart if I could help it.

_O'Bla._ Wheugh!--hearts don't break in these days, like china.

_Old McB._ This is my answer, Mr. O'Blaney, sir: you have my lave, but you must have hers too.

_O'Bla._ I would not fear to gain that in due time, if you would stand my friend in forbidding her the sight of Randal.

_Old McB._ I will with pleasure, that--for tho' I won't force her to marry to plase me, I'll forbid her to marry to displase me; and when I've said it, whatever it is, I'll be obeyed. (_Strikes his stick on the ground._)

_O'Bla._ That is all I ax.

_Old McB._ But now what settlement, counshillor, will you make on my girl?

_O'Bla._ A. hundred a year--I wish to be liberal--Mr. Carver will see to that--he knows all my affairs, as I suppose he was telling you.

_Old McB._ He was--I'm satisfied, and I'm at a word myself always. You heard me name my girl's portion, sir?

_O'Bla._ I can't say--I didn't mind--'twas no object to me in life.

_Old McB._ (_in a very low, mysterious tone, and slow brogue_) Then five hundred guineas is some object to most men.

_O'Bla._ Certainly, sir; but not such an object as your daughter to me: since we are got upon business, however, best settle all that out of the way, as you say at once. Of the five hundred, I have two in my hands already, which you can make over to me with a stroke of a pen. (_Rising quickly, and getting pen, ink, and books._)

_Old McB._ (_speaking very slowly_) Stay a hit--no hurry--in life. In business--'tis always most haste, worse speed.

_O'Bla._ Take your own time, my good Matthew--I'll be as slow as you plase--only love's quick.

_Old McB._ Slow and sure--love and all--fast bind, fast find--three and two, what does that make?

_O'Bla._ It used to make five before I was in love.

_Old McB._ And will the same after you're married and dead. What am I thinking of? A score of bullocks I had in the fair--half a score sold in my pocket, and owing half--that's John Dolan, twelve pound tin--and Charley Duffy nine guineas and thirteen tin pinnies and a five-penny bit: stay, then, put that to the hundred guineas in the stocking at home.

_O'Bla._ (_aside_) How he makes my mouth water: (_Aloud_) May be, Matthew, I could, that am used to it, save you the trouble of counting?

_Old McB._ No trouble in life to me ever to count my money--only I'll trouble you, sir, if you please, to lock that door; bad to be c.h.i.n.king and spreading money with doors open, for walls has ears and eyes.

_O'Bla._ True for you. (_Rising, and going to lock the doors._)

[_Old McBRIDE with great difficulty, and very slowly, draws out of his pocket his bag of money--looking first at one door, and then at the other, and going to try whether they are locked, before he unties his bag._]

_Old McB._ (_spreads and counts his money and notes_) See me now, I wrote on some sc.r.a.p somewhere 59_l._ in notes--then hard cash, twinty pounds--rolled up silver and gould, which is scarce--but of a hundred pounds there's wanting fourteen pounds odd, I think, or something that way; for Phil and I had our breakfast out of a one pound note of Finlay's, and I put the change somewhere--besides a riband for Honor, which make a deficiency of fourteen pounds seven shillings and two pence--that's what's deficient--count it which way you will.

_O'Bla._ (_going to sweep the money off the table_) Oh! never mind the deficiency--I'll take it for a hundred plump.

_Old McB._ (_stopping him_) Plump me no plumps--I'll have it exact, or not at all--I'll not part it, so let me see it again.

_O'Bla._ (_aside with a deep sigh, almost a groan_) Oh! when I had had it in my fist--almost: but 'tis as hard to get money out of this man as blood out of a turnip; and I'll be lost to-night without it.

_Old McB._ 'Tis not exact--and I'm exact: I'll put it all up again--(_he puts it deliberately into the bag again, thrusting the bag into his pocket_)--I'll make it up at home my own way, and send it in to you by Phil in an hour's time; for I could not sleep sound with so much in my house--bad people about--safer with you in town. Mr. Carver says, you are as good as the Bank of Ireland--there's no going beyond that.

(_b.u.t.toning up his pockets._) So you may unlock the doors and let me out now--I'll send Phil with all to you, and you'll give him a bit of a receipt or a token, that would do.

_O'Bla._ I shall give a receipt by all means--all regular: short accounts make long friends. (_Unlocks the door._)

_Old McB._ True, sir, and I'll come in and see about the settlements in the morning, if Honor is agreeable.

_O'Bla._ I shall make it my business to wait upon the young lady myself on the wings of love; and I trust I'll not find any remains of Randal Rooney in her head.

_Old McB._ Not if I can help it, depend on that. (_They shake hands._)

_O'Bla._ Then, fare ye well, father-in-law--that's meat and drink to me: would not ye take a gla.s.s of wine then?

_Old McB._ Not a drop--not a drop at all--with money about me: I must be in a hurry home.

_O'Bla._ That's true--so best: recommind me kindly to Miss Honor, and say a great dale about my impatience--and I'll be expicting Phil, and won't shut up till he comes the night.

_Old McB._ No, don't; for he'll be with you before night-fall. [_Exit McBRIDE._

_O'Bla._ (_calling_) Dan! open the door, there: Dan! Joe! open the door smart for Mr. McBride! (O'BLANEY _rubbing his hands._) Now I think I may p.r.o.nounce myself made for life--success to my parts!--and here's Pat too! Well, Pat c.o.xe, what news of the thing in hand?

_Enter PAT c.o.xE._

_Pat._ Out of hand clane! that job's nately done. The turf-rick, sir, 's built up cliver, with the malt snug in the middle of its stomach--so were the shupervishor a conjuror even, barring he'd dale with the ould one, he'd never suspict a sentence of it.

_O'Bla._ Not he--he's no conjuror: many's the dozen tricks I played him afore now.