Humours of Irish Life Part 45

when you're done, stick it there on the floor. I'm obliged to ye, Kitty Malone,' says Mary again, an' takes a cup; 'an' if so be I choke meself wi' the full o' this thimble wi' a handle on it,' says Mary, an' squints at the cup, 'you'll do me the favour to tell Pat I died a fool. An' if such things go well wi' afternoon tay, Kitty, agra, I'd trouble ye for a look at a spoon.' "... Aw, me bould Mary," cried Anne and laughed in her glee. "Ye were the girl for Hannah, so ye were."

"Aw, 'deed ay," cried Judy, and t.i.ttered most boisterously. "Aw, me brave Hannah."

"Then begins the fun, me dears. First of all, Sally Hogan, in trying to lift a bit o' bread an' b.u.t.ter from a plate that Kitty held before her, must spill her tay over her lap an' start screechin' that she was kilt.

Then Mary Dolan must finish her cup at a gulp, an' forgettin' it was in Hannah's parlour she was at afternoon tay, an' not at home in the kitchen, must give the dregs a swirl an' sling them over her shoulder against the wall. Then Sally Hogan again, in tryin' to keep back a laugh at the tay leaves on the wall, an' the glare of Hannah across at them, must get a crumb in her throat an' bring the whole room to thump her on the back.

"Then Jane Flaherty gets a second cup wi' no sugar in it, an' makes a face like a monkey's, an' gives a big splutter, an' sets Kitty Malone off into a fit o' laughin'; an' Kitty sets Jane off, an' Jane sets Mary off, an' Mary sets Sally off; an' there sits Hannah in her calico shroud, beside the ace of diamonds, wi' a face on her like a child cuttin' its teeth, an' her arm out, an' her shoutin' for Kitty to take herself out o' the room. An' in the middle o' the whole hubbub the door opens, an' in tramps big John in his dirty boots, wi' his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves turned up, an' hay ropes round his legs, an' his hat on the back o' his head, an' his pipe in his mouth--in steps John, an' stands lookin' at them all.

"'Ho, ho,' roars John, an' marches across the calf-skin. 'What have we here? A tay party,' says he, 'as I'm a livin' sinner--an' me not to know a thing about it! Well, better late nor niver,' says he, then turns an'

looks at Hannah. 'Aw, how d'ye do, Mrs. Breen? says he, wi' a laugh. 'I hope I see ye well in your regimentals. An' how the blazes are the rest o' ye, me girls?' says he to the three along the wall. 'I'm glad to see ye all so hearty an' merry, so I am. But what in glory are ye all doin'

over there, away from the table? Why don't ye sit an' have your tay like Christians?' says he. 'Come over, girls--come over this mortial minute,'

says John,'an' I'll have a cup wi' ye meself, so I will.'

"Then Hannah rises in her calico shroud.

"'John,' says she, 'it's afternoon tay it'll be, an tables--'

"'Aw, sit ye down, Hannah,' shouts John, 'sit ye down, woman, an' be like another for once in a way.'

"'John,' says Hannah, again, an' looks knives an' forks at him, 'where's your manners the day?'

"'Aw, manners be danged,' roars John, an' throws his hat into the corner; 'give us a cup o' tay an' quit your nonsense. Come on, girls,'

says he to the women, 'come over, an' have a cup in comfort wi' me here at the table.'

"'John!' says Hannah again, 'ye can't sit at this table; it's--it's too small,' says she.

"'Then pull it out from the wall,' roars John, 'pull it out and let us get round it. Come on,' says he, an' grips an end o' the table, 'give it a lift across the floor!'

"'No, no, John,' shouts Hannah, an' grips t'other end to keep it from goin'; 'ye mustn't, John!'

"'Out wi' it,' roars John again.

"'No, no,' shouts Hannah, 'ye can't--aw, ye can't--aw, ye mustn'--no, no, John!'

"'Aw, to glory wi' you an' it,' shouts John. 'Here let me at it meself!...'

"An' the next minute Hannah was screechin' in her shroud; an' there was a clatter o' crockery, like as if a bull had gone slap at a dresser; an'

John was standin' like as if he was shot, in the middle of the floor; an' lyin' at his feet was the wee table, an' the ace of diamonds, an'

the whole o' Hannah's cups an' saucers, an' the taypot, an' all, in a thousand pieces.... Aw, heart alive ... heart alive!..."

Anne leant upon her rake and bowed her head in laughter. Two minutes grace she had; then said I:

"What had happened, Anne?"

She looked at me. "Happened? Sure, the table was only an ould dressin'-table, an' had only three legs, an' was propped wi' the lame side against the wall; an' when John put it down in the middle of the floor--Aw, now," cried Anne, "that's enough, that's enough.... Aw, me sides--me sides."

"Aw, me sides--me sides," cried Judy, shaking below her big sun-bonnet.

"Te-he!"

"Aw, women alive," cried I, sinking back on the hay. "Haw, haw!"

The Interpreters.

_From "The Adventures of Dr. Whitty."_

BY GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM.

At the end of January, after three weeks of violently stormy weather, the American barque, "Kentucky," went ash.o.r.e at Carrigwee, the headland which guards the northern end of Ballintra. She struck first on some rocks a mile from the sh.o.r.e, drifted over them and among them, and was washed up, frightfully shattered, on the mainland. The captain and the crew were saved, and made their way into the town of Ballintra. They were dispatched thence to Liverpool, all of them, except one sailor, a forecastle hand, whose right leg had been broken by a falling spar. This man was brought into Ballintra in a cart by Michael Geraghty, and taken to the workhouse hospital. He arrived in a state of complete collapse, and Dr. Whitty was sent for at once.

The sailor turned out to be a man of great strength and vigour. He recovered from the effects of the long exposure rapidly, had his leg set, and was made as comfortable as the combined efforts of the whole workhouse hospital staff could make him. Then it was noticed that he did not speak a word to anyone, and was apparently unable to understand a word that was said to him. The master of the workhouse, after a consultation with the matron and the nurse, came to the conclusion that he must be a foreigner. Dr. Whitty was sent for again and the fact reported to him.

"I was thinking," said the master, "that you might be able to speak to him, doctor, so as he'd be able to understand what you said."

"Well, I can't," said the doctor. "I'm not a professional interpreter, but I don't see that it much matters whether you're able to talk to him or not. Give him his food. He'll understand the meaning of a cup of tea when it's offered him, whatever language he's accustomed to speak.

That's all you need care about. As a matter of fact, he'll be just as well off without having you and the nurse and the matron sitting on the end of his bed and gossiping with him all day long."

"What's troubling me," said the master, "is that I've no way of finding out what religion he is."

"I don't see," said the doctor, "that his religion matters in the least to us. He's not going to die."

"I know that. But I have to enter his religion in the book. It's the rule that the religion of every inmate of the house or the hospital must be entered, and I'll get into trouble after if I don't do it."

"Well," said the doctor, "there's no use asking me about it. I can't talk to him any better than you can, and there isn't any way of telling by the feel of a man's leg whether he's a Catholic or a Protestant."

"That may be," said the master, who disliked this sort of flippant materialism, "but if I was to enter him down as a Catholic, and it turned out after that he was a Protestant, there'd be a row I'd never hear the end of; and if I was to have him down as a Protestant, and him being a Catholic all the time, there'd be a worse row."

Dr. Whitty was a good-natured man, and was always ready to help anyone who was in a difficulty. He felt for the master of the workhouse. He also had a natural taste for solving difficult problems, and the question of the sailor's religion attracted him.

"Tell me this, now," he said. "Had he any kind of a Prayer Book or a religious emblem of any sort on him when you were taking the clothes off him?"

"Not one. I looked myself, and the nurse went through his pockets after.

Barring a lump of s.h.i.+p's tobacco and an old knife, there wasn't a thing on him."

"That's not much use to us," said the doctor. "I never heard of a religion yet that forbid the use of tobacco or objected to people carrying penknifes. If you'd found a bottle of whiskey on him, now, it might have helped us. We'd have known then that he wasn't a Mohammedan."

"What'll I do at all?"

"I'll tell you what it is," said the doctor. "I'll go round the town and I'll collect all the people in it that can speak any language besides English. I'll bring them up here and let them try him one by one. It'll be a queer thing if we can't find somebody that will be able to make him understand a simple question."

Dr. Whitty called first at the Imperial Hotel, and had an interview with Lizzie Glynn.

"Lizzie," he said, "you've had a good education at one of the most expensive convents in Ireland. Isn't that a fact?"

"It is," she said. "And I took a prize one time for playing the piano."