Tales and Novels Volume VIII Part 17

_Phil._ Against a woman?--no fear--not a finger against a woman.

_Honor._ But I say not against any Rooney, man or woman. Oh, Phil! dear, don't let there be any fighting betwixt the McBride and Rooney factions.

_Phil._ And how could I hinder if I would? The boys will be having a row, especially when they get the spirits--and all the better.

_Honor._ To be drinking! Oh! Phil, the mischief that drinking does!

_Phil._ Mischief! Quite and clane the contrary--when the s.h.i.+llelah's up, the pike's down. 'Tis when there'd be no fights at fairs, and all sober, then there's rason to dread mischief. No man, Honor, dare be letting the whiskey into his head, was there any mischief in his heart.

_Honor._ Well, Phil, you've made it out now cliverly. So there's most danger of mischief when men's sober--is that it?

_Phil._ Irishmen?--ay; for sobriety is not the nat'ral state of the _craturs_; and what's not nat'ral is hypocritical, and a hypocrite is, and was, and ever will be my contempt.

_Honor._ And mine too. But--

_Phil._ But here's my hand for you, Honor. They call me a beau and a buck, a slasher and dasher, and flouris.h.i.+ng Phil. All that I am, may be; but there's one thing I am not, and will never be--and that's a bad brother to you. So you have my honour, and here's my oath to the back of it. By all the pride of man and all the consate of woman--where will you find a bigger oath?--happen what will, this day, I'll not lift my hand against Randal Rooney!

_Honor._ Oh, thanks! warm from the heart. But here's my father--and where's breakfast?

_Phil._ Oh! I must be at him for a horse: you, Honor, mind and back me.

_Enter Old McBRIDE._

_Old McB._ Late I am this fair day all along with my beard, that was thicker than a hedgehog's. Breakfast, where?

_Honor._ Here, father dear--all ready.

_Old McB._ There's a jewel! always supple o' foot. Phil, call to them to bring out the horse bastes, while I swallow my breakfast--and a good one, too.

_Phil._ Your horse is all ready standing, sir. But that's what I wanted to ax you, father--will you be kind enough, sir, to sh.e.l.l out for me the price of a _daacent_ horse, fit to mount a man like me?

_Old McB._ What ails the baste you have under you always?

_Phil._ Fit only for the hounds:--not to follow, but to feed 'em.

_Old McB._ Hounds! I don't want you, Phil, to be following the hounds at-all-at-all.

_Honor._ But let alone the hounds. If you sell your bullocks well in the fair to-day, father dear, I think you'll be so kind to spare Phil the price of a horse.

_Old McB._ Stand out o' my way, Honor, with that wheedling voice o' your own--I won't. Mind your own affairs--you're leaguing again me, and I'll engage Randal Rooney's at the bottom of all--and the cement that sticks you and Phil so close together. But mind, Madam Honor, if you give him the meeting at the fair the day--

_Honor._ Dear father, I'm not going--I give up the fair o' purpose, for fear I'd see him.

_Old McB._ (_kissing her_) Why then you're a piece of an angel!

_Honor._ And you'll give my brother the horse?

_Old McB._ I won't! when I've said I won't--I wont.

[_b.u.t.tons his coat, and exit._

_Phil._ Now there's a sample of a father for ye!

_Old McB._ (_returning_) And, Mistress Honor, may be you'd be staying at home to--Where's Randal Rooney to be, pray, while I'd be from home?

_Honor._ Oh! father, would you suspect--

_Old McB._ (_catching her in his arms, and kissing her again and again_) Then you're a true angel, every inch of you. But not a word more in favour of the horse--sure the money for the bullocks shall go to your portion, every farthing.

_Honor._ There's the thing! (_Holding her father_) I don't wish that.

_Phil._ (_stopping her mouth_) Say no more, Honor--I'm best pleased so.

_Old McB._ (_aside_) I'll give him the horse, but he sha'n't know it.

(_Aloud_) I won't. When I say I won't, did I ever?

[_Exit Old McBRIDE._

_Phil._ Never since the world _stud_--to do you justice, you are as obstinate as a mule. Not all the bullocks he's carrying to the fair the day, nor all the bullocks in Ballynavogue joined to 'em, in one team, would draw that father o' mine one inch out of his way.

_Honor._ (_aside, with a deep sigh_) Oh, then what will I do about Randal ever!

_Phil._ As close a fisted father as ever had the grip of a guinea! If the guineas was all for you--wilcome, Honor! But that's not it. Pity of a lad o' spirit like me to be cramped by such a hunx of a father.

_Honor._ Oh! don't be calling him names, Phil: stiff he is, more than close--and any way, Phil dear, he's the father still--and ould, consider.

_Phil._ He is,--and I'm fond enough of him, too, would he only give me the price of a horse. But no matter--spite of him I'll have my swing the day, and it's I that will tear away with a good horse under me and a good whip over him in a capital style, up and down the street of Ballynavogue, for you, Miss Car'line Flaherty! I know who I'll go to, this minute--a man I'll engage will lend me the loan of his bay gelding; and that's Couns.h.i.+llor Gerald O'Blaney. [_Going, HONOR stops him._

_Honor._ Gerald O'Blaney! Oh, brother!--Mercy!--Don't! any thing rather than that--

_Phil._ (_impatiently_) Why, then, Honor?

_Honor._ (_aside_) If I'd tell him, there'd be mischief. (_Aloud._) Only--I wouldn't wish you under a compliment to one I've no opinion of.

_Phil._ Phoo! you've taken a prejudice. What is there again Couns.h.i.+llor O'Blaney?

_Honor._ _Couns.h.i.+llor!_ First place, why do you call him _couns.h.i.+llor_?

he never was a raal couns.h.i.+llor sure--nor jantleman at all.

_Phil._ Oh! couns.h.i.+llor by courtesy--he was an attorney once--just as we _doctor_ the apotecary.

_Honor._ But, Phil, was not there something of this man's being dismissed the courts for too sharp practice?

_Phil._ But that was long ago, if it ever was. There's sacrets in all families to be forgotten--bad to be raking the past. I never knew you so sharp on a neighbour, Honor, before:--what ails ye?

_Honor._ (_sighing_) I can't tell ye. [_Still holding him._

_Phil._ Let me go, then!--Nonsense!--the boys of Ballynavogue will be wondering, and Miss Car'line most.