XI
OCCASIONAL LICENSES
"It's out of the question," I said, looking forbiddingly at Mrs.Moloney through the spokes of the bicycle that I was pumping up outsidethe grocer's in Skebawn.
"Well, indeed, Major Yeates," said Mrs. Moloney, advancing excitedly,and placing on the nickel plating a hand that I had good and recentcause to know was warm, "sure I know well that if th' angel Gabrielcame down from heaven looking for a license for the races, your honourwouldn't give it to him without a charackther, but as for Michael!Sure, the world knows what Michael is!"
I had been waiting for Philippa for already nearly half-an-hour, and mytemper was not at its best.
"Character or no character, Mrs. Moloney," said I with asperity, "themagistrates have settled to give no occasional licenses, and if Michaelwere as sober as----"
"Is it sober! God help us!" exclaimed Mrs. Moloney with an upwardrolling of her eye to the Recording Angel; "I'll tell your honour thetruth. I'm his wife, now, fifteen years, and I never seen the sign ofdhrink on Michael only once, and that was when he went out o'good-nature helping Timsy Ryan to whitewash his house, and Timsy andhimself had a couple o' pots o' porther, and look, he was as littleused to it that his head got light, and he walked away out to dhrive inthe cows and it no more than eleven o'clock in the day! And the cows,the craytures, as much surprised, goin' hither and over the fourcorners of the road from him! Faith, ye'd have to laugh. 'Michael,'says I to him, 'ye're dhrunk!' 'I am,' says he, and the tears rainedfrom his eyes. I turned the cows from him. 'Go home,' I says, 'andlie down on Willy Tom's bed----'"
At this affecting point my wife came out of the grocer's with a largeparcel to be strapped to my handlebar, and the history of Mr. Moloney'ssolitary lapse from sobriety got no further than Willy Tom's bed.
"You see," I said to Philippa, as we bicycled quietly home through thehot June afternoon, "we've settled we'll give no licenses for thesports. Why even young Sheehy, who owns three pubs in Skebawn, came tome and said he hoped the magistrates would be firm about it, as theseone-day licenses were quite unnecessary, and only led to drunkennessand fighting, and every man on the Bench has joined in promising not togrant any."
"How nice, dear!" said Philippa absently. "Do you know Mrs. McDonnellcan only let me have three dozen cups and saucers; I wonder if thatwill be enough?"
"Do you mean to say you expect three dozen people?" said I.
"Oh, it's always well to be prepared," replied my wife evasively.
During the next few days I realised the true inwardness of what it wasto be prepared for an entertainment of this kind. Games were not at ahigh level in my district. Football, of a wild, guerilla species, waswaged intermittently, blended in some inextricable way with Home Ruleand a brass band, and on Sundays gatherings of young men rolled a heavyround stone along the roads, a rudimentary form of sport, whosefascination lay primarily in the fact that it was illegal, and, inlesser degree, in betting on the length of each roll. I had had aperiod of enthusiasm, during which I thought I was going to be theapostle of cricket in the neighbourhood, but my mission dwindled tosingle wicket with Peter Cadogan, who was indulgent but bored, and Iswiped the ball through the dining-room window, and some one took oneof the stumps to poke the laundry fire. Once a year, however, on thatfestival of the Roman Catholic Church which is familiarly known as"Pether and Paul's day," the district was wont to make a spasmodiceffort at athletic sports, which were duly patronised by the gentry andpromoted by the publicans, and this year the honour of a steward'sgreen rosette was conferred upon me. Philippa's genius for hospitalityhere saw its chance, and broke forth into unbridled tea-party inconnection with the sports, even involving me in the hire of a tent,the conveyance of chairs and tables, and other large operations.
It chanced that Flurry Knox had on this occasion lent the fields forthe sports, with the proviso that horse-races and a tug-of-war were tobe added to the usual programme; Flurry's participation in events ofthis kind seldom failed to be of an inflaming character. As he and Iplanted larch spars for the high jump, and stuck furze-bushes intohurdles (locally known as "hurrls"), and skirmished hourly with peoplewho wanted to sell drink on the course, I thought that my next summerleave would singularly coincide with the festival consecrated to St.Peter and St. Paul. We made a grand stand of quite four feet high, outof old fish-boxes, which smelt worse and worse as the day wore on, butwas, none the less, as sought after by those for whom it was notintended, as is the Royal enclosure at Ascot; we broke gaps in all thefences to allow carriages on to the ground, we armed a gang of theworst blackguards in Skebawn with cart-whips, to keep the course, andfelt that organisation could go no further.
The momentous day of Pether and Paul opened badly, with heavy cloudsand every indication of rain, but after a few thunder showers thingsbrightened, and it seemed within the bounds of possibility that theweather might hold up. When I got down to the course on the day of thesports the first thing I saw was a tent of that peculiar filthy greythat usually enshrines the sale of porter, with an array of barrels ina crate beside it; I bore down upon it in all the indignant majesty ofthe law, and in so doing came upon Flurry Knox, who was engaged inflogging boys off the Grand Stand.
"Sheehy's gone one better than you!" he said, without taking anytrouble to conceal the fact that he was amused.
"Sheehy!" I said; "why, Sheehy was the man who went to every magistratein the country to ask them to refuse a license for the sports."
"Yes, he took some trouble to prevent any one else having a look in,"replied Flurry; "he asked every magistrate but one, and that was theone that gave him the license."
"You don't mean to say that it was you?" I demanded in high wrath andsuspicion, remembering that Sheehy bred horses, and that my friend Mr.Knox was a person of infinite resource in the matter of a deal.
"Well, well," said Flurry, rearranging a disordered fish-box, "and methat's a church-warden, and sprained my ankle a month ago with runningdownstairs at my grandmother's to be in time for prayers! Where's theuse of a good character in this country?"
"Not much when you keep it eating its head off for want of exercise," Iretorted; "but if it wasn't you, who was it?"
"Do you remember old Moriarty out at Castle Ire?"
I remembered him extremely well as one of those representatives of thepeople with whom a paternal Government had leavened the effete ranks ofthe Irish magistracy.
"Well," resumed Flurry, "that license was as good as a five-pound notein his pocket."
I permitted myself a comment on Mr. Moriarty suitable to the occasion.
"Oh, that's nothing," said Flurry easily; "he told me one day when hewas half screwed that his Commission of the Peace was worth a hundredand fifty a year to him in turkeys and whisky, and he was telling thetruth for once."
At this point Flurry's eye wandered, and following its direction I sawLady Knox's smart 'bus cleaving its way through the throng of countrypeople, lurching over the ups and downs of the field like a ship in asea. I was too blind to make out the component parts of the whitefroth that crowned it on top, and seethed forth from it when it hadtaken up a position near the tent in which Philippa was even nowpropping the legs of the tea-table, but from the fact that Flurryaddressed himself to the door, I argued that Miss Sally had gone inside.
Lady Knox's manner had something more than its usual bleakness. Shehad brought, as she promised, a large contingent, but from the way thatthe strangers within her gates melted impalpably and left me to dealwith her single-handed, I drew the further deduction that all was notwell.
"Did you ever in your life see such a gang of women as I have broughtwith me?" she began with her wonted directness, as I piloted her to theGrand Stand, and placed her on the stoutest looking of the fish-boxes."I have no patience with men who yacht! Bernard Shute has gone off tothe Clyde, and I had counted on his being a man at my dance next week.I suppose you'll tell me you're going away too."
I assured Lady Knox that I would be
a man to the best of my ability.
"This is the last dance I shall give," went on her ladyship,unappeased; "the men in this country consist of children and cads."
I admitted that we were but a poor lot, "but," I said, "Miss Sally toldme----"
"Sally's a fool!" said Lady Knox, with a falcon eye at her daughter,who happened to be talking to her distant kinsman, Mr. Flurry of thatilk.
The races had by this time begun with a competition known as the "Hop,Step, and Lep"; this, judging by the yells, was a highly interestingdisplay, but as it was conducted between two impervious rows ofonlookers, the aristocracy on the fish-boxes saw nothing save theoccasional purple face of a competitor, starting into view above thewall of backs like a jack-in-the-box. For me, however, the odoroussanctuary of the fish-boxes was not to be. I left it guarded bySlipper with a cart-whip of flail-like dimensions, as disreputable anobject as could be seen out of low comedy, with some one's old whitecords on his bandy legs, butcher-boots three sizes too big for him, anda black eye. The small boys fled before him; in the glory of hisoffice he would have flailed his own mother off the fish-boxes hadoccasion served.
I had an afternoon of decidedly mixed enjoyment. My stewardshipblossomed forth like Aaron's rod, and added to itself the duties ofstarter, handicapper, general referee, and chucker-out, besides which Ifrom time to time strove with emissaries who came from Philippa withmessages about water and kettles. Flurry and I had to dealsingle-handed with the foot-races (our brothers in office beingotherwise engaged at Mr. Sheehy's), a task of many difficulties,chiefest being that the spectators all swept forward at the word "Go!"and ran the race with the competitors, yelling curses, blessings, andadvice upon them, taking short cuts over anything and everybody, andmingling inextricably with the finish. By fervent applications of thewhips, the course was to some extent purged for the quarter-mile, andit would, I believe, have been a triumph of handicapping had not anunforeseen disaster overtaken the favourite--old Mrs. Knox's bath-chairboy. Whether, as was alleged, his braces had or had not been tamperedwith by a rival was a matter that the referee had subsequently to dealwith in the thick of a free fight; but the painful fact remained thatin the course of the first lap what were described as "his galluses"abruptly severed their connection with the garments for whose safetythey were responsible, and the favourite was obliged to seek seclusionin the crowd.
The tug-of-war followed close on this _contre-temps_, and had theexcellent effect of drawing away, like a blister, the inflammation setup by the grievances of the bath-chair boy. I cannot at this momentremember of how many men each team consisted; my sole aim was to keepthe numbers even, and to baffle the volunteers who, in an ecstasy ofsympathy, attached themselves to the tail of the rope at moments whentheir champions weakened. The rival forces dug their heels in andtugged, in an uproar that drew forth the innermost line of customersfrom Mr. Sheehy's porter tent, and even attracted "the quality" fromthe haven of the fish-boxes, Slipper, in the capacity of Squire ofDames, pioneering Lady Knox through the crowd with the cart-whip, andwith language whose nature was providentially veiled, for the mostpart, by the din. The tug-of-war continued unabated. One team wasgetting the worst of it, but hung doggedly on, sinking lower and lowertill they gradually sat down; nothing short of the trump of judgmentcould have conveyed to them that they were breaking rules, and bothteams settled down by slow degrees on to their sides, with the ropeunder them, and their heels still planted in the ground, bringing aboutcomplete deadlock. I do not know the record duration for a tug-of-war,but I can certify that the Cullinagh and Knockranny teams lay on theground at full tension for half-an-hour, like men in apoplectic fits,each man with his respective adherents howling over him, blessing him,and adjuring him to continue.
With my own nauseated eyes I saw a bearded countryman, obviously one ofMr. Sheehy's best customers, fling himself on his knees beside one ofthe combatants, and kiss his crimson and streaming face in a rapture ofencouragement. As he shoved unsteadily past me on his return journeyto Mr. Sheehy's, I heard him informing a friend that "he cried ahandful over Danny Mulloy, when he seen the poor brave boy soshtubborn, and, indeed, he couldn't say why he cried."
"For good-nature ye'd cry," suggested the friend.
"Well, just that, I suppose," returned Danny Mulloy's admirerresignedly; "indeed, if it was only two cocks ye seen fightin' on theroad, yer heart'd take part with one o' them!"
I had begun to realise that I might as well abandon the tug-of-war andoccupy myself elsewhere, when my wife's much harassed messenger broughtme the portentous tidings that Mrs. Yeates wanted me at the tent atonce. When I arrived I found the tent literally bulging withPhilippa's guests; Lady Knox, seated on a hamper, was taking off hergloves, and loudly announcing her desire for tea, and Philippa, with aflushed face and a crooked hat, breathed into my ear the awful newsthat both the cream and the milk had been forgotten.
"But Flurry Knox says he can get me some," she went on; "he's gone tosend people to milk a cow that lives near here. Go out and see if he'scoming."
I went out and found, in the first instance, Mrs. Cadogan, who greetedme with the prayer that the divil might roast Julia McCarthy, thatlegged it away to the races like a wild goose, and left the creamafther her on the servants' hall table. "Sure, Misther Flurry's gonelooking for a cow, and what cow would there be in a backwards placelike this? And look at me shtriving to keep the kettle simpering onthe fire, and not as much coals undher it as'd redden a pipe!"
"Where's Mr. Knox?" I asked.
"Himself and Slipper's galloping the counthry like the deer. I believeit's to the house above they went, sir."
I followed up a rocky hill to the house above, and there found Flurryand Slipper engaged in the patriarchal task of driving two brace ofcoupled and spancelled goats into a shed.
"It's the best we can do," said Flurry briefly; "there isn't a cow tobe found, and the people are all down at the sports. Be d----d to you,Slipper, don't let them go from you!" as the goats charged and doubledlike football players.
"But goats' milk!" I said, paralysed by horrible memories of what teaused to taste like at Gib.
"They'll never know it!" said Flurry, cornering a venerable nanny;"here, hold this divil, and hold her tight!"
I have no time to dwell upon the pastoral scene that followed. Sufficeit to say, that at the end of ten minutes of scorching profanity fromSlipper, and incessant warfare with the goats, the latter hadreluctantly yielded two small jugfuls, and the dairymaids had exhibiteda nerve and skill in their trade that won my lasting respect.
"I knew I could trust _you_, Mr. Knox!" said Philippa, with shiningeyes, as we presented her with the two foaming beakers. I suppose aman is never a hero to his wife, but if she could have realised thebruises on my legs, I think she would have reserved a blessing for mealso.
What was thought of the goats' milk I gathered symptomatically from acertain fixity of expression that accompanied the first sip of the tea,and from observing that comparatively few ventured on second cups. Ialso noted that after a brief conversation with Flurry, Miss Sallypoured hers secretly on to the grass. Lady Knox had throughout the daypreserved an aspect so threatening that no change was perceptible inher demeanour. In the throng of hungry guests I did not for some timenotice that Mr. Knox had withdrawn until something in Miss Sally's eyesummoned me to her, and she told me she had a message from him for me.
"Couldn't we come outside?" she said.
Outside the tent, within less than six yards of her mother, Miss Sallyconfided to me a scheme that made my hair stand on end. Summarised, itamounted to this: That, first, she was in the primary stage of a dealwith Sheehy for a four-year-old chestnut colt, for which Sheehy wasasking double its value on the assumption that it had no rival in thecountry; that, secondly, they had just heard it was going to run in thefirst race; and, thirdly and lastly, that as there was no other horseavailable, Flurry was going to take old Sultan out of the 'bus and ridehim in the race; and that Mrs. Yeates ha
d promised to keep mamma safein the tent, while the race was going on, and "you know, Major Yeates,it would be delightful to beat Sheehy after his getting the better ofyou all about the license!"
With this base appeal to my professional feelings, Miss Knox paused,and looked at me insinuatingly. Her eyes were greeny-grey, and verybeguiling.
"Come on," she said; "they want you to start them!"
Pursued by visions of the just wrath of Lady Knox, I weakly followedMiss Sally to the farther end of the second field, from which point therace was to start. The course was not a serious one: two or threenatural banks, a stone wall, and a couple of "hurrls." There were butfour riders, including Flurry, who was seated composedly on Sultan,smoking a cigarette and talking confidentially to Slipper. Sultan,although something stricken in years and touched in the wind, was abrown horse who in his day had been a hunter of no mean repute; evennow he occasionally carried Lady Knox in a sedate and gentlemanlymanner, but it struck me that it was trying him rather high to take himfrom the pole of the 'bus after twelve miles on a hilly road, andhustle him over a country against a four-year-old. My acutest anxiety,however, was to start the race as quickly as possible, and to get backto the tent in time to establish an alibi; therefore I repressed myprivate sentiments, and, tying my handkerchief to a stick, determinedthat no time should be fashionably frittered away in false starts.
They got away somehow; I believe Sheehy's colt was facing the wrong wayat the moment when I dropped the flag, but a friend turned him with astick, and, with a cordial and timely whack, speeded him on his way onsufficiently level terms, and then somehow, instead of returning to thetent, I found myself with Miss Sally on the top of a tall narrow bank,in a precarious line of other spectators, with whom we toppled andswayed, and, in moments of acuter emotion, held on to each other inunaffected comradeship.
Flurry started well, and from our commanding position we could see himmethodically riding at the first fence at a smart hunting canter,closely attended by James Canty's brother on a young black mare, and byan unknown youth on a big white horse. The hope of Sheehy's stable, aleggy chestnut, ridden by a cadet of the house of Sheehy, went awayfrom the friend's stick like a rocket, and had already refused thefirst bank twice before old Sultan decorously changed feet on it anddropped down into the next field with tranquil precision. The whitehorse scrambled over it on his stomach, but landed safely, despite thefact that his rider clasped him round the neck during the process; theblack mare and the chestnut shouldered one another over at the hole thewhite horse had left, and the whole party went away in a bunch andjumped the ensuing hurdle without disaster. Flurry continued to rideat the same steady hunting pace, accompanied respectfully by the whitehorse and by Jerry Canty on the black mare. Sheehy's colt had clearlythe legs of the party, and did some showy galloping between the jumps,but as he refused to face the banks without a lead, the end of thefirst round found the field still a sociable party personally conductedby Mr. Knox.
"That's a dam nice horse," said one of my hangers-on, lookingapprovingly at Sultan as he passed us at the beginning of the secondround, making a good deal of noise but apparently going at his ease;"you might depind your life on him, and he have the crabbedest jock inthe globe of Ireland on him this minute."
"Canty's mare's very sour," said another; "look at her now, baulkingthe bank! she's as cross as a bag of weasels."
"Begob, I wouldn't say but she's a little sign lame," resumed thefirst; "she was going light on one leg on the road a while ago."
"I tell you what it is," said Miss Sally, very seriously, in my ear,"that chestnut of Sheehy's is settling down. I'm afraid he'll gallopaway from Sultan at the finish, and the wall won't stop him. Flurrycan't get another inch out of Sultan. He's riding him well," she endedin a critical voice, which yet was not quite like her own. Perhaps Ishould not have noticed it but for the fact that the hand that held myarm was trembling. As for me, I thought of Lady Knox, and trembled too.
There now remained but one bank, the trampled remnant of the furzehurdle, and the stone wall. The pace was beginning to improve, and theother horses drew away from Sultan; they charged the bank at fullgallop, the black mare and the chestnut flying it perilously, with awindmill flourish of legs and arms from their riders, the white horseracing up to it with a gallantry that deserted him at the criticalmoment, with the result that his rider turned a somersault over hishead and landed, amidst the roars of the onlookers, sitting on thefence facing his horse's nose. With creditable presence of mind heremained on the bank, towed the horse over, scrambled on to his backagain and started afresh. Sultan, thirty yards to the bad, poundeddoggedly on, and Flurry's cane and heels remained idle; the old horse,obviously blown, slowed cautiously coming in at the jump. Sally's griptightened on my arm, and the crowd yelled as Sultan, answering to ahint from the spurs and a touch at his mouth, heaved himself on to thebank. Nothing but sheer riding on Flurry's part got him safe off it,and saved him from the consequences of a bad peck on landing; none theless, he pulled himself together and went away down the hill for thestone wall as stoutly as ever. The high-road skirted the last twofields, and there was a gate in the roadside fence beside the placewhere the stone wall met it at right angles. I had noticed this gate,because during the first round Slipper had been sitting on it,demonstrating with his usual fervour. Sheeny's colt was leading, withhis nose in the air, his rider's hands going like a circular saw, andhis temper, as a bystander remarked, "up on end"; the black mare, halfmad from spurring, was going hard at his heels, completely out of hand;the white horse was steering steadily for the wrong side of the flag,and Flurry, by dint of cutting corners and of saving every yard ofground, was close enough to keep his antagonists' heads over theirshoulders, while their right arms rose and fell in unceasingflagellation.
"There'll be a smash when they come to the wall! If one falls they'llall go!" panted Sally. "Oh!---- Now! Flurry! Flurry!----"
What had happened was that the chestnut colt had suddenly perceivedthat the gate at right angles to the wall was standing wide open, and,swinging away from the jump, he had bolted headlong out on to the road,and along it at top speed for his home. After him fled Canty's blackmare, and with her, carried away by the spirit of stampede, went thewhite horse.
Flurry stood up in his stirrups and gave a view-halloa as he cantereddown to the wall. Sultan came at it with the send of the hill behindhim, and jumped it with a skill that intensified, if that werepossible, the volume of laughter and yells around us. By the time theblack mare and the white horse had returned and ignominiously bundledover the wall to finish as best they might, Flurry was leading Sultantowards us.
"That blackguard, Slipper!" he said, grinning; "every one'll say I toldhim to open the gate! But look here, I'm afraid we're in for trouble.Sultan's given himself a bad over-reach; you could never drive him hometo-night. And I've just seen Norris lying blind drunk under a wall!"
Now Norris was Lady Knox's coachman. We stood aghast at this "horroron horror's head," the blood trickled down Sultan's heel, and thelather lay in flecks on his dripping, heaving sides, in irrefutablewitness to the iniquity of Lady Knox's only daughter. Then Flurry said:
"Thank the Lord, here's the rain!"
At the moment I admit that I failed to see any cause for gratitude inthis occurrence, but later on I appreciated Flurry's grasp ofcircumstances.
That appreciation was, I think, at its highest development abouthalf-an-hour afterwards, when I, an unwilling conspirator (a part withwhich my acquaintance with Mr. Knox had rendered me but too familiar)unfurled Mrs. Cadogan's umbrella over Lady Knox's head, and hurried herthrough the rain from the tent to the 'bus, keeping it and my ownperson well between her and the horses. I got her in, with the rest ofher bedraggled and exhausted party, and slammed the door.
"Remember, Major Yeates," she said through the window, "you are the_only_ person here in whom I have any confidence. I don't wish _any_one else to touch the reins!" this with a glance towards Fl
urry, whowas standing near.
"I'm afraid I'm only a moderate whip," I said.
"My dear man," replied Lady Knox testily, "those horses could drivethemselves!"
I slunk round to the front of the 'bus. Two horses, carefully rugged,were in it, with the inevitable Slipper at their heads.
"Slipper's going with you," whispered Flurry, stepping up to me; "shewon't have me at any price. He'll throw the rugs over them when youget to the house, and if you hold the umbrella well over her she'llnever see. I'll manage to get Sultan over somehow, when Norris issober. That will be all right."
I climbed to the box without answering, my soul being bitter within me,as is the soul of a man who has been persuaded by womankind against hisjudgment.
"Never again!" I said to myself, picking up the reins; "let her marryhim or Bernard Shute, or both of them if she likes, but I won't beroped into this kind of business again!"
Slipper drew the rugs from the horses, revealing on the near side LadyKnox's majestic carriage horse, and on the off, a thick-set brown mareof about fifteen hands.
"What brute is this?" said I to Slipper, as he swarmed up beside me.
"I don't rightly know where Misther Flurry got her," said Slipper, withone of his hiccoughing crows of laughter; "give her the whip, Major,and"--here he broke into song:
"Howld to the shteel, Honamaundhiaoul; she'll run off like an eel!"
"If you don't shut your mouth," said I, with pent-up ferocity, "I'llchuck you off the 'bus."
Slipper was but slightly drunk, and, taking this delicate rebuke ingood part, he relapsed into silence.
Wherever the brown mare came from, I can certify that it was not out ofdouble harness. Though humble and anxious to oblige, she pulled awayfrom the pole as if it were red hot, and at critical moments had atendency to sit down. However, we squeezed without misadventure amongthe donkey carts and between the groups of people, and bumped at lengthin safety out on to the high-road.
Here I thought it no harm to take Slipper's advice, and I applied thewhip to the brown mare, who seemed inclined to turn round. Sheimmediately fell into an uncertain canter that no effort of mine couldfrustrate; I could only hope that Miss Sally would foster conversationinside the 'bus and create a distraction; but judging from my last viewof the party, and of Lady Knox in particular, I thought she was notlikely to be successful. Fortunately the rain was heavy and thick, anda rising west wind gave every promise of its continuance. I had littledoubt but that I should catch cold, but I took it to my bosom withgratitude as I reflected how it was drumming on the roof of the 'busand blurring the windows.
We had reached the foot of a hill, about a quarter of a mile from theracecourse; the Castle Knox horse addressed himself to it withdignified determination, but the mare showed a sudden and alarmingtendency to jib.
"Belt her, Major!" vociferated Slipper, as she hung back from the polechain, with the collar half-way up her ewe neck, "and give it to thehorse, too! He'll dhrag her!"
I was in the act of "belting," when a squealing whinny struck upon myear, accompanied by a light pattering gallop on the road behind us;there was an answering roar from the brown mare, a roar, as I realisedwith a sudden drop of the heart, of outraged maternal feeling, and inanother instant a pale, yellow foal sprinted up beside us, with shrillwhickerings of joy. Had there at this moment been a boghole handy, Ishould have turned the 'bus into it without hesitation; as there was noaccommodation of the kind, I laid the whip severely into everything Icould reach, including the foal. The result was that we topped thehill at a gallop, three abreast, like a Russian troitska; it was likemy usual luck that at this identical moment we should meet the policepatrol, who saluted respectfully.
"That the divil may blisther Michael Moloney!" ejaculated Slipper,holding on to the rail; "didn't I give him the foaleen and a halther onhim to keep him! I'll howld you a pint 'twas the wife let him go, forshe being vexed about the license! Sure that one's a March foal, an'he'd run from here to Cork!"
There was no sign from my inside passengers, and I held on at a roundpace, the mother and child galloping absurdly, the carriage horsepulling hard, but behaving like a gentleman. I wildly revolved plansof how I would make Slipper turn the foal in at the first gate we cameto, of what I should say to Lady Knox supposing the worst happened andthe foal accompanied us to her hall door, and of how I would haveFlurry's blood at the earliest possible opportunity, and here thefateful sound of galloping behind us was again heard.
"It's impossible!" I said to myself; "she can't have twins!"
The galloping came nearer, and Slipper looked back.
"Murdher alive!" he said in a stage whisper; "Tom Sheehy's afther us onthe butcher's pony!"
"What's that to me?" I said, dragging my team aside to let him pass; "Isuppose he's drunk, like every one else!"
Then the voice of Tom Sheehy made itself heard.
"Shtop! Shtop thief!" he was bawling; "give up my mare! How will Iget me porther home!"
That was the closest shave I have ever had, and nothing could havesaved the position but the torrential nature of the rain and the factthat Lady Knox had on a new bonnet. I explained to her at the door ofthe 'bus that Sheehy was drunk (which was the one unassailable featureof the case), and had come after his foal, which, with the fatuity ofits kind, had escaped from a field and followed us. I did not mentionto Lady Knox that when Mr. Sheehy retreated, apologetically, draggingthe foal after him in a halter belonging to one of her own carriagehorses, he had a sovereign of mine in his pocket, and during thenarration I avoided Miss Sally's eye as carefully as she avoided mine.
The only comments on the day's events that are worthy of record werethat Philippa said to me that she had not been able to understand whatthe curious taste in the tea had been till Sally told her it wasturf-smoke, and that Mrs. Cadogan said to Philippa that night that "theMajor was that dhrinched that if he had a shirt between his skin andhimself he could have wrung it," and that Lady Knox said to a mutualfriend that though Major Yeates had been extremely kind and obliging,he was an uncommonly bad whip.
XII
"OH LOVE! OH FIRE!"
It was on one of the hottest days of a hot August that I walked over toTory Lodge to inform Mr. Flurry Knox, M.F.H., that the limits of humanendurance had been reached, and that either Venus and her family, or Iand mine, must quit Shreelane. In a moment of impulse I had acceptedher and her numerous progeny as guests in my stable-yard, since whenMrs. Cadogan had given warning once or twice a week, and Maria, lawfulautocrat of the ashpit, had had--I quote the kitchen-maid--"tin battlesfor every male she'd ate."
The walk over the hills was not of a nature to lower the temperature,moral or otherwise. The grassy path was as slippery as glass, therocks radiated heat, the bracken radiated horseflies. There was noneed to nurse my wrath to keep it warm.
I found Flurry seated in the kennel-yard in a long and unclean whitelinen coat, engaged in clipping hieroglyphics on the ears of a youngoutgoing draft, an occupation in itself unfavourable to argument. Theyoung draft had already monopolised all possible forms of remonstrance,from snarling in the obscurity behind the meal sack in theboiler-house, to hysterical yelling as they were dragged forth by thetail; but through these alarms and excursions I denounced Venus and allher works, from slaughtered Wyandottes to broken dishes. Even as I didso I was conscious of something chastened in Mr. Knox's demeanour, sometouch of remoteness and melancholy with which I was quite unfamiliar;my indictment weakened and my grievances became trivial when laidbefore this grave and almost religiously gentle young man.
"I'm sorry you and Mrs. Yeates should be vexed by her. Send her backwhen you like. I'll keep her. Maybe it'll not be for so long afterall."
When pressed to expound this dark saying, Flurry smiled wanly andsnipped a second line in the hair of the puppy that was pinned betweenhis legs. I was almost relieved when a hard try to bite on the part ofthe puppy imparted to Flurry's language a transient warmth; but thereaction w
as only temporary.
"It'd be as good for me to make a present of this lot to old Welby asto take the price he's offering me," he went on, as he got up and tookoff his highly-scented kennel-coat; "but I couldn't be botheredfighting him. Come on in and have something. I drink tea myself atthis hour."
If he had said toast and water it would have seemed no more than wassuitable to such a frame of mind. As I followed him to the house Ithought that when the day came that Flurry Knox could not be botheredwith fighting old Welby things were becoming serious, but I kept thisopinion to myself and merely offered an admiring comment on the rosesthat were blooming on the front of the house.
"I put up every stick of that trellis myself with my own hands," saidFlurry, still gloomily; "the roses were trailing all over the place forthe want of it. Would you like to have a look at the garden whilethey're getting tea? I settled it up a bit since you saw it last."
I acceded to this almost alarmingly ladylike suggestion, marvellinggreatly.
Flurry certainly was a changed man, and his garden was a changedgarden. It was a very old garden, with unexpected arbours madlyovergrown with flowering climbers, and a flight of grey steps leadingto a terrace, where a moss-grown sundial and ancient herbaceous plantsstrove with nettles and briars; but I chiefly remembered it as a placewhere washing was wont to hang on black-currant bushes, and the kennelterrier matured his bones and hunted chickens. There was now rabbitwire on the gate, the walks were cleaned, the beds weeded. There waseven a bed of mignonette, a row of sweet pea, and a blazing party ofsunflowers, and Michael, once second in command in many a filibusteringexpedition, was now on his knees, ingloriously tying carnations tolittle pieces of cane.
We walked up the steps to the terrace. Down below us the rich andsouthern blue of the sea filled the gaps between scattered fir-trees;the hillside above was purple with heather; a bay mare and her foalwere moving lazily through the bracken, with the sun glistening on itand them. I looked back at the house, nestling in the hollow of thehill, I smelled the smell of the mignonette in the air, I regardedMichael's labouring back among the carnations, and without anyconnection of ideas I seemed to see Miss Sally Knox, with hergolden-red hair and slight figure, standing on the terrace beside herkinsman.
"Michael! Do ye know where's Misther Flurry?" squalled a voice fromthe garden gate, the untrammelled voice of the female domestic at largeamong her fellows. "The tay's wet, and there's a man over with amessage from Aussolas. He was tellin' me the owld hairo beyant isgivin' out invitations----"
A stricken silence fell, induced, no doubt, by hasty danger signalsfrom Michael.
"Who's 'the old hero beyant'?" I asked, as we turned toward the house.
"My grandmother," said Flurry, permitting himself a smile that hadabout as much sociability in it as skim milk; "she's giving a tenants'dance at Aussolas. She gave one about five years ago, and I declareyou might as well get the influenza into the country, or a mission atthe chapel. There won't be a servant in the place will be able toanswer their name for a week after it, what with toothache andheadache, and blathering in the kitchen!"
We had tea in the drawing-room, a solemnity which I could not but beaware was due to the presence of a new carpet, a new wall-paper, and anew piano. Flurry made no comment on these things, but something toldme that I was expected to do so, and I did.
"I'd sell you the lot to-morrow for half what I gave for them," said myhost, eyeing them with morose respect as he poured out his third cup oftea.
I have all my life been handicapped by not having the courage of mycuriosity. Those who have the nerve to ask direct questions on mattersthat do not concern them seldom fail to extract direct answers, but inmy lack of this enviable gift I went home in the dark as to what hadbefallen my landlord, and fully aware of how my wife would despise mefor my shortcomings. Philippa always says that she never asksquestions, but she seems none the less to get a lot of answers.
On my own avenue I met Miss Sally Knox riding away from the house onher white cob; she had found no one at home, and she would not turnback with me, but she did not seem to be in any hurry to ride away. Itold her that I had just been over to see her relative, Mr. Knox, whohad informed me that he meant to give up the hounds, a fact in whichshe seemed only conventionally interested. She looked pale, and hereyelids were slightly pink; I checked myself on the verge of asking herif she had hay-fever, and inquired instead if she had heard of thetenants' dance at Aussolas. She did not answer at first, but rubbedher cane up and down the cob's clipped toothbrush of a mane. Then shesaid:
"Major Yeates--look here--there's a most awful row at home!"
I expressed incoherent regret, and wished to my heart that Philippa hadbeen there to cope with the situation.
"It began when mamma found out about Flurry's racing Sultan, and thencame our dance----"
Miss Sally stopped; I nodded, remembering certain episodes of LadyKnox's dance.
"And--mamma says--she says----"
I waited respectfully to hear what mamma had said; the cob fidgetedunder the attentions of the horseflies, and nearly trod on my toe.
"Well, the end of it is," she said with a gulp, "she said such thingsto Flurry that he can't come near the house again, and I'm to go overto England to Aunt Dora, next week. Will you tell Philippa I came tosay good-bye to her? I don't think I can get over here again."
Miss Sally was a sufficiently old friend of mine for me to take herhand and press it in a fatherly manner, but for the life of me I couldnot think of anything to say, unless I expressed my sympathy with hermother's point of view about detrimentals, which was obviously not thething to do.
Philippa accorded to my news the rare tribute of speechless attention,and then was despicable enough to say that she had foreseen the wholeaffair from the beginning.
"From the day that she refused him in the ice-house, I suppose," said Isarcastically.
"That _was_ the beginning," replied Philippa.
"Well," I went on judicially, "whenever it began, it was high time forit to end. She can do a good deal better than Flurry."
Philippa became rather red in the face.
"I call that a thoroughly commonplace thing to say," she said. "I daresay he has not many ideas beyond horses, but no more has she, and hereally does come and borrow books from me----"
"Whitaker's Almanack," I murmured.
"Well, I don't care, I like him very much, and I know what you're goingto say, and you're wrong, and I'll tell you why----"
Here Mrs. Cadogan came into the room, her cap at rather more than itsusual warlike angle over her scarlet forehead, and in her hand akitchen plate, on which a note was ceremoniously laid forth.
"But this is for you, Mrs. Cadogan," said Philippa, as she looked at it.
"Ma'am," returned Mrs. Cadogan with immense dignity, "I have nolearning, and from what the young man's afther telling me that broughtit from Aussolas, I'd sooner yerself read it for me than thim gerrls."
My wife opened the envelope, and drew forth a gilt-edged sheet of pinkpaper.
"Miss Margaret Nolan presents her compliments to Mrs. Cadogan," sheread, "and I have the pleasure of telling you that the servants ofAussolas is inviting you and Mr. Peter Cadogan, Miss Mulrooney, andMiss Gallagher"--Philippa's voice quavered perilously--"to a dance onnext Wednesday. Dancing to begin at seven o'clock, and to go on tillfive.--Yours affectionately, MAGGIE NOLAN."
"How affectionate she is!" snorted Mrs. Cadogan; "them's Dublinmanners, I dare say!"
"P.S.," continued Philippa; "steward, Mr. Denis O'Loughlin; stewardess,Mrs. Mahony."
"Thoughtful provision," I remarked; "I suppose Mrs. Mahony's dutieswill begin after supper."
"Well, Mrs. Cadogan," said Philippa, quelling me with a glance, "Isuppose you'd all like to go?"
"As for dancin'," said Mrs. Cadogan, with her eyes fixed on a levelwith the curtain-pole, "I thank God I'm a widow, and the only dancin'I'll do is to dance to my grave."
"Well, perhaps
Julia, and Annie, and Peter----" suggested Philippa,considerably overawed.
"I'm not one of them that holds with loud mockery and harangues,"continued Mrs. Cadogan, "but if I had any wish for dhrawing down talk Icould tell you, ma'am, that the like o' them has their share of danceswithout going to Aussolas! Wasn't it only last Sunday week I wintfollyin' the turkey that's layin' out in the plantation, and the wholeo' thim hysted their sails and back with them to their lovers at thegate-house, and the kitchen-maid having a Jew-harp to be playing forthem!"
"That was very wrong," said the truckling Philippa. "I hope you spoketo the kitchen-maid about it."
"Is it spake to thim?" rejoined Mrs. Cadogan. "No, but what I done wasto dhrag the kitchenmaid round the passages by the hair o' the head!"
"Well, after that, I think you might let her go to Aussolas," said Iventurously.
The end of it was that every one in and about the house went toAussolas on the following Wednesday, including Mrs. Cadogan. Philippahad gone over to stay at the Shutes, ostensibly to arrange about ajumble sale, the real object being (as a matter of history) to inspectthe Scotch young lady before whom Bernard Shute had dumped hisaffections in his customary manner. Being alone, with every prospectof a bad dinner, I accepted with gratitude an invitation to dine andsleep at Aussolas and see the dance; it is only on very specialoccasions that I have the heart to remind Philippa that she had neitherpart nor lot in what occurred--it is too serious a matter for trivialgloryings.
Mrs. Knox had asked me to dine at six o'clock, which meant that Iarrived, in blazing sunlight and evening clothes, punctually at thathour, and that at seven o'clock I was still sitting in the library,reading heavily-bound classics, while my hostess held loudconversations down staircases with Denis O'Loughlin, the red-beardedRobinson Crusoe who combined in himself the offices of coachman,butler, and, to the best of my belief, valet to the lady of the house.The door opened at last, and Denis, looking as furtive as his prototypeafter he had sighted the footprint, put in his head and beckoned to me.
"The misthress says will ye go to dinner without her," he said veryconfidentially; "sure she's greatly vexed ye should be waitin' on her.'Twas the kitchen chimney cot fire, and faith she's afther giving BiddyMahony the sack, on the head of it! Though, indeed, 'tis little we'dregard a chimney on fire here any other day."
Mrs. Knox's woolly dog was the sole occupant of the dining-room when Ientered it; he was sitting on his mistress's chair, with all the air ofoutrage peculiar to a small and self-important dog when routine hasbeen interfered with. It was difficult to discover what had caused thedelay, the meal, not excepting the soup, being a cold collation; it washeavily flavoured with soot, and was hurled on to the table by Crusoein spasmodic bursts, contemporaneous, no doubt, with Biddy Mahony'sfits of hysterics in the kitchen. Its most memorable feature was anoble lake trout, which appeared in two jagged pieces, a matter lightlyalluded to by Denis as the result of "a little argument" betweenhimself and Biddy as to the dish on which it was to be served. Furtherconversation elicited the interesting fact that the combatants hadpulled the trout in two before the matter was settled. A brief glanceat my attendant's hands decided me to let the woolly dog justify hisexistence by consuming my portion for me, when Crusoe left the room.
Old Mrs. Knox remained invisible till the end of dinner, when sheappeared in the purple velvet bonnet that she was reputed to have wornsince the famine, and a dun-coloured woollen shawl fastened by asplendid diamond brooch, that flashed rainbow fire against the lastshafts of sunset. There was a fire in the old lady's eye, too, thelight that I had sometimes seen in Flurry's in moments of crisis.
"I have no apologies to offer that are worth hearing," she said, "but Ihave come to drink a glass of port wine with you, if you will so farhonour me, and then we must go out and see the ball. My grandson islate, as usual."
She crumbled a biscuit with a brown and preoccupied hand; her claw-likefingers carried a crowded sparkle of diamonds upwards as she raised herglass to her lips.
The twilight was falling when we left the room and made our waydownstairs. I followed the little figure in the purple bonnet throughdark regions of passages and doorways, where strange lumber lay about;there was a rusty suit of armour, an upturned punt, moulderingpictures, and finally, by a door that opened into the yard, a lady'sbicycle, white with the dust of travel. I supposed this latter to havebeen imported from Dublin by the fashionable Miss Maggie Nolan, but onthe other hand it was well within the bounds of possibility that itbelonged to old Mrs. Knox. The coach-house at Aussolas was on a parwith the rest of the establishment, being vast, dilapidated, and ofunknown age. Its three double doors were wide open, and the guestsoverflowed through them into the cobble-stoned yard; above their headsthe tin reflectors of paraffin lamps glared at us from among theChristmas decorations of holly and ivy that festooned the walls. Thevoices of a fiddle and a concertina, combined, were uttering a polkawith shrill and hideous fluency, to which the scraping and stamping ofhobnailed boots made a ponderous bass accompaniment.
Mrs. Knox's donkey-chair had been placed in a commanding position atthe top of the room, and she made her way slowly to it, shaking handswith all varieties of tenants and saying right things without showingany symptom of that flustered boredom that I have myself exhibited whenI went round the men's messes on Christmas Day. She took her seat inthe donkey-chair, with the white dog in her lap, and looked with herhawk's eyes round the array of faces that hemmed in the space where thedancers were solemnly bobbing and hopping.
"Will you tell me who that tomfool is, Denis?" she said, pointing to ayoung lady in a ball dress who was circling in conscious magnificenceand somewhat painful incongruity in the arms of Mr. Peter Cadogan.
"That's the lady's-maid from Castle Knox, yer honour, ma'am," repliedDenis, with something remarkably like a wink at Mrs. Knox.
"When did the Castle Knox servants come?" asked the old lady, verysharply.
"The same time yer honour left the table, and----Pillilew! What'sthis?"
There was a clatter of galloping hoofs in the courtyard, as of a troopof cavalry, and out of the heart of it Flurry's voice shouting to Denisto drive out the colts and shut the gates before they had the peoplekilled. I noticed that the colour had risen to Mrs. Knox's face, and Iput it down to anxiety about her young horses. I may admit that when Iheard Flurry's voice, and saw him collaring his grandmother's guestsand pushing them out of the way as he came into the coach-house, Irather feared that he was in the condition so often defined to me atPetty Sessions as "not dhrunk, but having dhrink taken." His face waswhite, his eyes glittered, there was a general air of exaltation abouthim that suggested the solace of the pangs of love according to themost ancient convention.
"Hullo!" he said, swaggering up to the orchestra, "what's thishumbugging thing they're playing? A polka, is it? Drop that, JohnCasey, and play a jig."
John Casey ceased abjectly.
"What'll I play, Masther Flurry?"
"What the devil do I care? Here, Yeates, put a name on it! You're asort of musicianer yourself!"
I know the names of three or four Irish jigs; but on this occasion mymemory clung exclusively to one, I suppose because it was the one Ifelt to be peculiarly inappropriate.
"Oh, well, 'Haste to the Wedding,'" I said, looking away.
Flurry gave a shout of laughter.
"That's it!" he exclaimed. "Play it up, John! Give us 'Haste to theWedding.' That's Major Yeates's fancy!"
Decidedly Flurry was drunk.
"What's wrong with you all that you aren't dancing?" he continued,striding up the middle of the room. "Maybe you don't know how. Here,I'll soon get one that'll show you!"
He advanced upon his grandmother, snatched her out of the donkey-chair,and, amid roars of applause, led her out, while the fiddle squealed itsway through the inimitable twists of the tune, and the concertinasurged and panted after it. Whatever Mrs. Knox may have thought of hergrandson's behaviour, she was evidently goi
ng to make the best of it.She took her station opposite to him, in the purple bonnet, thedun-coloured shawl, and the diamonds, she picked up her skirt at eachside, affording a view of narrow feet in elastic-sided cloth boots, andfor three repeats of the tune she stood up to her grandson, and footedit on the coach-house floor. What the cloth boots did I could notexactly follow; they were, as well as I could see, extremelyscientific, while there was hardly so much as a nod from the plumes ofthe bonnet. Flurry was also scientific, but his dancing did not altermy opinion that he was drunk; in fact, I thought he was making ratheran exhibition of himself. They say that that jig was twenty pounds inMrs. Knox's pocket at the next rent day; but though this statement isopen to doubt, I believe that if she and Flurry had taken the hat roundthere and then she would have got in the best part of her arrears.
After this the company settled down to business. The dances lasted asweltering half-hour, old women and young dancing with equal andtireless zest. At the end of each the gentlemen abandoned theirpartners without ceremony or comment, and went out to smoke, while theladies retired to the laundry, where families of teapots stewed on thelong bars of the fire, and Mrs. Mahony cut up mighty "barm-bracks," andthe tea-drinking was illimitable.
At ten o'clock Mrs. Knox withdrew from the revel; she said that she wastired, but I have seldom seen any one look more wide awake. I thoughtthat I might unobtrusively follow her example, but I was intercepted byFlurry.
"Yeates," he said seriously, "I'll take it as a kindness if you'll seethis thing out with me. We must keep them pretty sober, and get themout of this by daylight. I--I have to get home early."
I at once took back my opinion that Flurry was drunk; I almost wishedhe had been, as I could then have deserted him without a pang. As itwas, I addressed myself heavily to the night's enjoyment. Wan withheat, but conscientiously cheerful, I danced with Miss Maggie Nolan,with the Castle Knox lady's-maid, with my own kitchenmaid, who fellinto wild giggles of terror whenever I spoke to her, with Mrs. Cadogan,who had apparently postponed the interesting feat of dancing to hergrave, and did what she could to dance me into mine. I am bound toadmit that though an ex-soldier and a major, and therefore equippedwith a ready-made character for gallantry, Mrs. Cadogan was the onlyone of my partners with whom I conversed with any comfort.
At intervals I smoked cigarettes in the yard, seated on the oldmounting-block by the gate, and overheard such conversation about theprice of pigs in Skebawn; at intervals I plunged again into thecoach-house, and led forth a perspiring wallflower into the scrimmageof a polka, or shuffled meaninglessly opposite to her in the longdouble line of dancers who were engaged with serious faces in executinga jig or a reel, I neither knew nor cared which. Flurry remained asundefeated as ever; I could only suppose it was his method of showingthat his broken heart had mended.
"It's time to be making the punch, Masther Flurry," said Denis, as theharness-room clock struck twelve; "sure the night's warm, and the men'sall gaping for it, the craytures!"
"What'll we make it in?" said Flurry, as we followed him into thelaundry.
"The boiler, to be sure," said Crusoe, taking up a stone of sugar, andpreparing to shoot it into the laundry copper.
"Stop, you fool, it's full of cockroaches!" shouted Flurry, amidsympathetic squalls from the throng of countrywomen. "Go get a bath!"
"Sure yerself knows there's but one bath in it," retorted Denis, "andthat's within in the Major's room. Faith, the tinker got his own shareyestherday with the same bath, sthriving to quinch the holes, and theyas thick in it as the stars in the sky, and 'tis weeping still, aftherall he done!"
"Well, then, here goes for the cockroaches!" said Flurry. "Whatdoesn't sicken will fatten! Give me the kettle, and come on, you KittyCollins, and be skimming them off!"
There were no complaints of the punch when the brew was completed, andthe dance thundered on with a heavier stamping and a louder hilaritythan before. The night wore on; I squeezed through the unyielding packof frieze coats and shawls in the doorway, and with feet that momentlyswelled in my pumps I limped over the cobble-stones to smoke my eighthcigarette on the mounting-block. It was a dark, hot night. The oldcastle loomed above me in piled-up roofs and gables, and high up in itsomewhere a window sent a shaft of light into the sleeping leaves of awalnut-tree that overhung the gateway. At the bars of the gate twoyoung horses peered in at the medley of noise and people; away in anouthouse a cock crew hoarsely. The gaiety in the coach-house increasedmomently, till, amid shrieks and bursts of laughter, Miss Maggie Nolanfed coquettishly from it with a long yell, like a train coming out of atunnel, pursued by the fascinating Peter Cadogan brandishing a twig ofmountain ash, in imitation of mistletoe. The young horses stampeded inhorror, and immediately a voice proceeded from the lighted windowabove, Mrs. Knox's voice, demanding what the noise was, and announcingthat if she heard any more of it she would have the place cleared.
An awful silence fell, to which the young horses' fleeing hoofs lentthe final touch of consternation. Then I heard the irrepressibleMaggie Nolan say: "Oh God! Merry-come-sad!" which I take to be areflection on the mutability of all earthly happiness.
Mrs. Knox remained for a moment at the window, and it struck me asremarkable that at 2.30 A.M. she should still have on her bonnet. Ithought I heard her speak to some one in the room, and there followed alaugh, a laugh that was not a servant's, and was puzzlingly familiar.I gave it up, and presently dropped into a cheerless doze.
With the dawn there came a period when even Flurry showed signs offailing. He came and sat down beside me with a yawn; it struck me thatthere was more impatience and nervousness than fatigue in the yawn.
"I think I'll turn them all out of this after the next dance is over,"he said; "I've a lot to do, and I can't stay here."
I grunted in drowsy approval. It must have been a few minutes laterthat I felt Flurry grip my shoulder.
"Yeates!" he said, "look up at the roof. Do you see anything up thereby the kitchen chimney?"
He was pointing at a heavy stack of chimneys in a tower that stood upagainst the grey and pink of the morning sky. At the angle where oneof them joined the roof smoke was oozing busily out, and, as I stared,a little wisp of flame stole through.
The next thing that I distinctly remember is being in the van of a rushthrough the kitchen passages, every one shouting "Water! Water!" andnot knowing where to find it, then up several flights of the narrowestand darkest stairs it has ever been my fate to ascend, with a bucket ofwater that I snatched from a woman, spilling as I ran. At the top ofthe stairs came a ladder leading to a trap-door, and up in the darkloft above was the roar and the wavering glare of flames.
"My God! That's sthrong fire!" shouted Denis, tumbling down the ladderwith a brace of empty buckets; "we'll never save it! The lake won'tquinch it!"
The flames were squirting out through the bricks of the chimney,through the timbers, through the slates; it was barely possible to getthrough the trap-door, and the booming and crackling strengthened everyinstant.
"A chain to the lake!" gasped Flurry, coughing in the stifling heat ashe slashed the water at the blazing rafters; "the well's no good! Goon, Yeates!"
The organising of a double chain out of the mob that thronged andshouted and jammed in the passages and yard was no mean feat ofgeneralship; but it got done somehow. Mrs. Cadogan and Biddy Mahonyrose magnificently to the occasion, cursing, thumping, shoving; andstable buckets, coal buckets, milk pails, and kettles were unearthedand sent swinging down the grass slope to the lake that lay inglittering unconcern in the morning sunshine. Men, women, and childrenworked in a way that only Irish people can work on an emergency. Alltheir cleverness, all their good-heartedness, and all their love of aruction came to the front; the screaming and the exhortations wereincessant, but so were also the buckets that flew from hand to hand upto the loft. I hardly know how long we were at it, but there came atime when I looked up from the yard and saw that the billows ofreddened smoke from the top of t
he tower were dying down, and Ibethought me of old Mrs. Knox.
I found her at the door of her room, engaged in tying up a bundle ofold clothes in a sheet; she looked as white as a corpse, but she wasnot in any way quelled by the situation.
"I'd be obliged to you all the same, Major Yeates, to throw this overthe balusters," she said, as I advanced with the news that the fire hadbeen got under. "'Pon my honour, I don't know when I've been as vexedas I've been this night, what with one thing and another! 'Tis amonstrous thing to use a guest as we've used you, but what could we do?I threw all the silver out of the dining-room window myself, and thepoor peahen that had her nest there was hurt by an entree dish, andhalf her eggs were----"
There was a curious sound not unlike a titter in Mrs. Knox's room.
"However, we can't make omelettes without breaking eggs--as they say--"she went on rather hurriedly; "I declare I don't know what I'm saying!My old head is confused----"
Here Mrs. Knox went abruptly into her room and shut the door.Obviously there was nothing further to do for my hostess, and I foughtmy way up the dripping back staircase to the loft. The flames hadceased, the supply of buckets had been stopped, and Flurry, standing ona ponderous crossbeam, was poking his head and shoulders out into thesunlight through the hole that had been burned in the roof. Denis andothers were pouring water over charred beams, the atmosphere was stillstifling, everything was black, everything dripped with inky water.Flurry descended from his beam and stretched himself, looking like adrowned chimney-sweep.
"We've made a night of it, Yeates, haven't we?" he said, "but we'vebested it anyhow. We were done for only for you!" There was moreemotion about him than the occasion seemed to warrant, and his eyes hada Christy Minstrel brightness, not wholly to be attributed to the dirton his face. "What's the time?--I must get home."
The time, incredible as it seemed, was half-past six. I could almosthave sworn that Flurry changed colour when I said so.
"I must be off," he said; "I had no idea it was so late."
"Why, what's the hurry?" I asked.
He stared at me, laughed foolishly, and fell to giving directions toDenis. Five minutes afterwards he drove out of the yard and away at acanter down the long stretch of avenue that skirted the lake, with atroop of young horses flying on either hand. He whirled his whip roundhis head and shouted at them, and was lost to sight in a clump oftrees. It is a vision of him that remains with me, and it alwayscarried with it the bitter smell of wet charred wood.
Reaction had begun to set in among the volunteers. The chain took tositting in the kitchen, cups of tea began mysteriously to circulate,and personal narratives of the fire were already foreshadowing theamazing legends that have since gathered round the night's adventure.I left to Denis the task of clearing the house, and went up to changemy wet clothes, with a feeling that I had not been to bed for a year.The ghost of a waiter who had drowned himself in a boghole would havepresented a cheerier aspect than I, as I surveyed myself in theprehistoric mirror in my room, with the sunshine falling on my unshornface and begrimed shirt-front.
I made my toilet at considerable length, and, it being now nearly eighto'clock, went downstairs to look for something to eat. I had left thehouse humming with people; I found it silent as Pompeii. The sheetedbundles containing Mrs. Knox's wardrobe were lying about the hall; acouple of ancestors who in the first alarm had been dragged from thewalls were leaning drunkenly against the bundles; last night's dessertwas still on the dining-room table. I went out on to the hall-doorsteps, and saw the entree-dishes in a glittering heap in a nasturtiumbed, and realised that there was no breakfast for me this side of lunchat Shreelane.
There was a sound of wheels on the avenue, and a brougham came intoview, driving fast up the long open stretch by the lake. It was theCastle Knox brougham, driven by Norris, whom I had last seen drunk atthe athletic sports, and as it drew up at the door I saw Lady Knoxinside.
"It's all right, the fire's out," I said, advancing genially and fullof reassurance.
"What fire?" said Lady Knox, regarding me with an iron countenance.
I explained.
"Well, as the house isn't burned down," said Lady Knox, cutting shortmy details, "perhaps you would kindly find out if I could see Mrs.Knox."
Lady Knox's face was many shades redder than usual. I began tounderstand that something awful had happened, or would happen, and Iwished myself safe at Shreelane, with the bedclothes over my head.
"If 'tis for the misthress you're looking, me lady," said Denis's voicebehind me, in tones of the utmost respect, "she went out to the kitchengarden a while ago to get a blasht o' the fresh air afther the night.Maybe your ladyship would sit inside in the library till I call her?"
Lady Knox eyed Crusoe suspiciously.
"Thank you, I'll fetch her myself," she said.
"Oh, sure, that's too throuble----" began Denis.
"Stay where you are!" said Lady Knox, in a voice like the slam of adoor.
"Bedad, I'm best plased she went," whispered Denis, as Lady Knox setforth alone down the shrubbery walk.
"But is Mrs. Knox in the garden?" said I.
"The Lord preserve your innocence, sir!" replied Denis, with seemingirrelevance.
At this moment I became aware of the incredible fact that Sally Knoxwas silently descending the stairs; she stopped short as she got intothe hall, and looked almost wildly at me and Denis. Was I looking ather wraith? There was again a sound of wheels on the gravel; she wentto the hall door, outside which was now drawn up Mrs. Knox'sdonkey-carriage, as well as Lady Knox's brougham, and, as if overcomeby this imposing spectacle, she turned back and put her hands over herface.
"She's gone round to the garden, asthore," said Denis in a hoarsewhisper; "go in the donkey-carriage. 'Twill be all right!" He seizedher by the arm, pushed her down the steps and into the little carriage,pulled up the hood over her to its furthest stretch, snatched the whipout of the hand of the broadly-grinning Norris, and with terrificobjurgations lashed the donkey into a gallop. The donkey-boy graspedthe position, whatever it might be; he took up the running on the otherside, and the donkey-carriage swung away down the avenue, with all itsincongruous air of hooded and rowdy invalidism.
I have never disguised the fact that I am a coward, and therefore when,at this dynamitical moment, I caught a glimpse of Lady Knox's hat overa laurustinus, as she returned at high speed from the garden, I slunkinto the house and faded away round the dining-room door. "This minuteI seen the misthress going down through the plantation beyond," saidthe voice of Crusoe outside the window, "and I'm afther sending JohnnyRegan to her with the little carriage, not to put any more delay on yerladyship. Sure you can see him making all the haste he can. Maybeyou'd sit inside in the library till she comes."
Silence followed. I peered cautiously round the window curtain. LadyKnox was looking defiantly at the donkey-carriage as it reeled at topspeed into the shades of the plantation, strenuously pursued by thewoolly dog. Norris was regarding his horses' ears in expressionlessrespectability. Denis was picking up the entree-dishes with decoroussolicitude. Lady Knox turned and came into the house; she passed thedining-room door with an ominous step, and went on into the library.
It seemed to me that now or never was the moment to retire quietly tomy room, put my things into my portmanteau, and----
Denis rushed into the room with the entree-dishes piled up to his chin.
"She's diddled!" he whispered, crashing them down on the table. Hecame at me with his hand out. "Three cheers for Masther Flurry andMiss Sally," he hissed, wringing my hand up and down, "and 'twasyerself called for 'Haste to the Weddin'' last night, long life to ye!The Lord save us! There's the misthress going into the library!"
Through the half-open door I saw old Mrs. Knox approach the libraryfrom the staircase with a dignified slowness; she had on a weddinggarment, a long white burnous, in which she might easily have beenmistaken for a small, stout clergyman. She waved back Crusoe, the
doorclosed upon her, and the battle of giants was entered upon. I satdown--it was all I was able for--and remained for a full minute instupefied contemplation of the entree-dishes.
Perhaps of all conclusions to a situation so portentous, that whichoccurred was the least possible. Twenty minutes after Mrs. Knox mether antagonist I was summoned from strapping my portmanteau to face theappalling duty of escorting the combatants, in Lady Knox's brougham, tothe church outside the back gate, to which Miss Sally had preceded themin the donkey-carriage. I pulled myself together, went down stairs,and found that the millennium had suddenly set in. It had apparentlydawned with the news that Aussolas and all things therein werebequeathed to Flurry by his grandmother, and had established itselffinally upon the considerations that the marriage was past praying for,and that the diamonds were intended for Miss Sally.
We fetched the bride and bridegroom from the church; we fetched oldEustace Hamilton, who married them; we dug out the champagne from thecellar; we even found rice and threw it.
The hired carriage that had been ordered to take the runaways acrosscountry to a distant station was driven by Slipper. He was shaved; hewore an old livery coat and a new pot hat; he was wondrous sober. Onthe following morning he was found asleep on a heap of stones ten milesaway; somewhere in the neighbourhood one of the horses was grazing in afield with a certain amount of harness hanging about it. The carriageand the remaining horse were discovered in a roadside ditch, two milesfarther on; one of the carriage doors had been torn off, and in theinterior the hens of the vicinity were conducting an exhaustive searchafter the rice that lurked in the cushions.
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Some Experiences of an Irish R.M. Page 11
