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_ ACT II - SCENE I
GERALD O'BLANEY'S Counting-house.
O'BLANEY alone.
O'Bla.
Then I wonder that ould Matthew McBride is not here yet.
But is not this Pat Coxe coming up yonder?
Ay. Well, Pat, what success with Catty?
Enter PAT COXE, panting.
Take breath, man alive--What of Catty?
Pat.
Catty! Oh, murder! No time to be talking of Catty now! Sure the shupervizor's come to town.
O'Bla.
Blood!--and the malt that has not paid duty in the cellar! Run, for your life, to the back-yard, give a whistle to call all the boys that's ricking o' the turf, away with 'em to the cellar, out with every sack of malt that's in it, through the back-yard, throw all into the middle of the turf-stack, and in the wink of an eye build up the rick over all, snoog (snug).
Pat.
I'll engage we'll have it done in a crack.
[Exit PAT.]
O'Bla.
(calling after him)
Pat! Pat Coxe! man!
Re-enter PAT.
O'Bla.
Would there be any fear of any o' the boys informin?
Pat.
Sooner cut their ears off!
[Exit PAT.]
Enter Old McBRIDE, at the opposite side.
Old McB.
(speaking in a slow, drawling brogue)
Would Mr. Gerald O'Blaney, the counsellor, be within?
O'Bla.
(quick brogue)
Oh, my best friend, Matthew McBride, is it you, dear? Then here's Gerald O'Blaney, always at your sarvice. But shake hands; for of all men in Ireland, you are the man I was aching to lay my eyes on. And in the fair did ye happen to meet Carver of Bob's Fort?
Old McB.
(speaking very slowly)
Ay. did I--and he was a-talking to me, and I was a-talking to him--and he's a very good gentleman, Mr. Carver of Bob's Fort--so he is--and a gentleman that knows how things should be; and he has been giving of me, Mr. O'Blaney, a great account of you, and how you're thriving in the world--and so as that.
O'Bla.
Nobody should know that better than Mr. Carver of Bob's Fort--he knows all my affairs. He is an undeniable honest gentleman, for whom I profess the highest regard.
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 God; 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 chinking 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 scrap somewhere 59l. 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.
(Buttoning 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 glass 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 pronounce myself made for life--success to my parts!--and here's Pat too! Well, Pat Coxe, what news of the thing in hand?
[Enter PAT COXE.]
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.
Pat.
But, counshillor, there's the big veshel in the little passage--I got a hint from a friend, that the shuper got information of the spirits in that from some villain.
O'Bla.
And do you think I don't know a trick for that, too?
Pat.
No doubt: still, counshillor, I'm in dread of my life that that great big veshel won't be implied in a hurry.
O'Bla.
Won't it? but you'll see it will, though; and what's more,
them spirits will turn into water for the shupervisor.
Pat.
Water! how?
O'Bla.
Asy--the ould tan-pit that's at the back of the distillery.
Pat.
I know--what of it?
O'Bla. A sacret pipe I've got fixed to the big veshel, and the pipe goes under the wall for me into the tan-pit, and a sucker I have in the big veshel, which I pull open by a string in a crack, and lets all off all clane into the tan-pit.
Pat.
That's capital!--but the water?
O'Bla.
From the pump, another pipe--and the girl's pumping asy, for she's to wash to-morrow, and knows nothing about it; and so the big veshel she fills with water, wondering what ails the water that it don't come--and I set one boy and another to help her--and the pump's bewitched, and that's all:--so that's settled.
Pat.
And cliverly. Oh! counshillor, we are a match for the shuper any day or night.
O'Bla.
For him and all his tribe, coursing officers and all. I'd desire no better sport than to hear the whole pack in full cry after me, and I doubling, and doubling, and safe at my form at last. With you, Pat, my precious, to drag the herring over the ground previous to the hunt, to distract the scent, and defy the nose of the dogs.
Pat.
Then I am proud to sarve you, counshillor.
O'Bla.
I know you are, and a very honest boy. And what did you do for me, with Catty Rooney?
Pat.
The best.--Oh! it's I blarny'd Catty to the skies, and then egged her on, and aggravated her against the McBrides, till I left her as mad as e'er a one in Bedlam--up to any thing! And full tilt she's off to Flaherty's, the publican, in her blue jock--where she'll not be long afore she kicks up a quarrel, I'll engage; for she's sarching the house for Honor McBride, who is not in it--and giving bad language, I warrant, to all the McBride faction, who is in it, drinking. Oh! trust Catty's tongue for breeding a riot! In half an hour, I'll warrant, you'll have as fine a fight in town as ever ye seen or hard.
O'Bla.
That's iligantly done, Pat. But I hope Randal Rooney is in it?
Pat.
In the thick of it he is, or will be. So I hope your honour did not forgit to spake to Mr. Carver about that little place for me?
O'Bla.
Forgit!--Do I forgit my own name, do you think? Sooner forgit that then my promises.
Pat.
Oh! I beg your honour's pardon--I would not doubt your word; and to make matters sure, and to make Catty cockahoop, I tould her, and swore to her, there was not a McBride in the town but two, and there's twinty, more or less.
O'Bla.
And when she sees them twinty, more or less, what will she think?--Why would you say that?--she might find you out in a lie next minute, Mr. Overdo. 'Tis dangerous for a young man to be telling more lies than is absolutely requisite. The lie superfluous brings many an honest man, and, what's more, many a cliver fellow, into a scrape--and that's your great fau't, Pat.
Pat.
Which, sir?
O'Bla.
That, sir. I don't see you often now take a glass too much. But, Pat, I hear you often still are too apt to indulge in a lie too much.
Pat.
Lie! Is it I?--Whin upon my conscience, I niver to my knowledge tould a lie in my life, since I was born, excipt it would be just to skreen a man, which is charity, sure,--or to skreen myself, which is self-defence, sure--and that's lawful; or to oblige your honour, by particular desire, and that can't be helped, I suppose.
O'Bla.
I am not saying again all that--only
(laying his hand on PAT'S shoulder as he is going out)
against another time, all I'm warning you, young man, is,
you're too apt to think there never can be lying enough.
Now too much of a good thing is good for nothing.
[Exit O'BLANEY.]
PAT, alone.
Pat.
There's what you may call the divil rebuking sin--and now we talk of the like, as I've heard my mudther say, that he had need of a long spoon that ates wid the divil--so I'll look to that in time. But whose voice is that I hear coming up stairs? I don't believe but it's Mr. Carver--only what should bring him back agin, I wonder now? Here he is, all out of breath, coming.
[Enter Mr. CARVER.]
Mr. Carv.
Pray, young man, did you happen to see
--(panting for breath)
Bless me, I've ridden so fast back from Bob's Fort!
Pat.
My master, sir, Mr. O'Blaney, is it? Will I run?
Mr. Carv.
No, no--stand still till I have breath.--What I want is a copy of a letter I dropped some where or other--here I think it must have been, when I took out my handkerchief--a copy of a letter to his Excellency--of great consequence. (Mr. CARVER sits down and takes breath.)
Pat.
(searching about with officious haste)
If it's above ground, I'll find it. What's this?
--an old bill: that is not it. Would it be this, crumpled up?
--"To His Excellency the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland."
Mr. Carv.
(snatching)
No farther, for your life!
Pat.
Well then I was lucky I found it, and proud.
Mr. Carv.
And well you may be, young man;
for I can assure you, on this letter the fate of Ireland may depend.
(Smoothing the letter on his knee.)
Pat.
I wouldn't doubt it--when it's a letter of your honour's--I know your honour's a great man at the castle. And plase your honour, I take this opportunity of tanking your honour for the encouragement I got about that little clerk's place--and here's a copy of my hand-writing I'd wish to show your honour, to see I'm capable--and a scholard.
Mr. Carv.
Hand-writing! Bless me, young man, I have no time to look at your hand-writing, sir. With the affairs of the nation on my shoulders--can you possibly think?--is the boy mad?--that I've time to revise every poor scholar's copy-book?
Pat.
I humbly beg your honour's pardon, but it was only becaase I'd wish to show I was not quite so unworthy to be under (whin you've time) your honour's protection, as promised.
Mr. Carv.
My protection?--you are not under my protection, sir:--promised clerk's place?--I do not conceive what you are aiming at, sir.
Pat.
The little clerk's place, plase your honour--that my master, Counshillor O'Blaney, tould me he spoke about to your honour, and was recommending me for to your honour.
Mr. Carv.
Never--never heard one syllable about it, till this moment.
Pat.
Oh! murder:--but I expict your honour's goodness will--
Mr. Carv.
To make your mind easy, I promised to appoint a young man to that place, a week ago, by Counsellor O'Blaney's special recommendation. So there must be some mistake.
[Exit Mr. CARVER.]
PAT, alone.
Pat.
Mistake? ay, mistake on purpose. So he never spoke! so he lied!--my master that was praching me! And oh, the dirty lie he tould me! Now I can't put up with that, when I was almost perjuring myself for him at the time. Oh, if I don't fit him for this! And he got the place given to another!--then I'll git him as well sarved, and out of this place too--seen-if-I-don't! He is cunning enough, but I'm cuter nor he--I have him in my power, so I have! and I'll give the shupervizor a scent of the malt in the turf-stack--and a hint of the spirits in the tan-pit--and it's I that will like to stand by innocent, and see how shrunk O'Blaney's double face will look forenent the shupervizor, when all's found out, and not a word left to say, but to pay--ruined hand and foot! Then that shall be, and before nightfall. Oh! one good turn desarves another--in revenge, prompt payment while you live!
[Exit.] _
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