"Oh, you villain!" cried d.i.c.k.

"A capital bargain!" said Tom Durfy.

"But not a safe covenant," added the attorney.

"Don't interrupt me, gentlemen," said the doctor. "I got some rose-pink accordingly, and I defy all the hosiers in Nottingham to make a tighter fit than I did on little Jinney; and a prettier pair of stockings I never saw."

"And she went to the ball?" said d.i.c.k.

"She did!"

"And the trick succeeded?" added Durfy.

"So completely," said the doctor, "that several ladies asked her to recommend her dyer to them! So you see what a woman will do to go to a dance. Poor little Jinney!--she was a merry minx. By-the-bye, she boxed my ears that night, for a joke I made about the stockings. 'Jinney,'

said I, 'for fear your stockings should fall down when you're dancing, hadn't you better let me paint a pair of garters on them?'"

The fellows laughed at the doctor's quaint conceit about the garters, but Murphy called them back to the business of the election.

"What next?" he said, "public-houses and tally-rooms to have pipers and fiddlers--ay--and we'll get up as good a march, too, as Scatterbrain, with all his yeomanry band;--think a cartfull of fiddlers would have a fine effect!"

"If we could only get a double-ba.s.s amongst them!" said d.i.c.k.

"Talking of double-ba.s.ses," said the doctor, "did you ever hear the story of the sailor in an admiral's ship, who, when some fine concert was to be given on board----"

"Hang your concerts and stories!" said Murphy; "let us go on with the election."

"Oh, the doctor's story!" cried Tom Durfy and d.i.c.k Dawson together.

"Well, sir," continued the doctor, "a sailor was handing in, over the side, from a boat which bore the instruments from sh.o.r.e, a great lot of fiddles. When some tenors came into his hand he said those were real good-sized fiddles; and when a violoncello appeared, Jack, supposing it was to be held between the hand and the shoulder, like a violin, declared 'He must be a strapping chap that fiddle belonged to!' But when the double-ba.s.s made its appearance, 'My eyes and limbs!' cried Jack, 'I _would_ like to see the chap as plays that!!!'"

"Well, doctor, are you done?" cried Murphy; "for, if you are, now for the election. You say, d.i.c.k, Major Dawson is to propose your brother-in-law?"

"Yes."

"And he'll do it well, too; the Major makes a very good straightforward speech."

"Yes," said d.i.c.k; "the old c.o.c.k is not a bad hand at it. But I have a suspicion he's going to make a greater oration than usual and read some long rigmarolish old records."

"That will never do!" said Murphy, "as long as a man looks Pat _in_ the face, and makes a good rattling speech 'out o' the face,' Pat will listen to him; but when a lad takes to heavy readings, Pat grows tired.

We must persuade the Major to give up the reading."

"Persuade _my_ father!" cried d.i.c.k. "When did you ever hear of his giving up his own opinion?"

"If he could be prevailed on even to shorten----" said Murphy.

"Oh, leave him to me," said d.i.c.k, laughing; "I'll take care he'll not read a word."

"Manage that, d.i.c.k, and you're a jewel!"

"I will," said d.i.c.k. "I'll take the gla.s.ses out of his spectacles the morning of the nomination, and then let him read, if he can."

"Capital, d.i.c.k; and now the next point of discussion is----"

"Supper, ready to come up, sir," said a servant, opening the door.

"Then, that's the best thing we could discuss, boys," said Murphy to his friends--"so up with the supper, Dan. Up with the supper! Up with the Egans! Down with the Scatterbrains--hurrah!--we'll beat them gaily."

"Hollow!" said Durfy.

"Not hollow," said d.i.c.k; "we'll have a tussle for it."

"So much the better," cried Murphy; "I would not give a fig for an easy victory--there's no fun in it. Give me the election that is like a race--now one ahead, and then the other; the closeness calling out all the energies of both parties--developing their tact and invention, and, at last, the return secured by a large majority."

"But think of the glory of a large one," said d.i.c.k.

"Ay," added Durfy, "beside crushing the hope of a pet.i.tion on the part of your enemy to pull down the majority."

"But think of Murphy's enjoyment," said the doctor, "in defending the seat, to say nothing of the bill of costs."

"You have me there, doctor," said Murphy; "a fair hit, I grant you; but see, the supper is on the table. To it, my lads; to it! and then a jolly gla.s.s to drink success to our friend Egan."

And gla.s.s after gla.s.s they did drink in all sorts and shapes of well-wishing toasts; in short, to have seen the deep interest those men took in the success of their friend, might have gladdened the heart of a philanthropist; though there is no knowing what Father Mathew, had he flourished in those times, might have said to their overflowing benevolence.

CHAPTER XVIII

The morning of nomination which dawned on Neck-or-Nothing Hall saw a motley group of O'Grady's retainers a.s.sembling in the stable-yard, and the out-offices rang to laugh and joke over a rude but plentiful breakfast--tea and coffee, there, had no place--but meat, potatoes, milk, beer, and whisky were at the option of the body-guard, which was selected for the honour of escorting the wild chief and his friend, the candidate, into the town. Of this party was the yeomanry-band of which Tom Durfy spoke, though, to say the truth, considering Tom's apprehensions on the subject, it was of slender force. One trumpet, one clarionet, a fife, a big drum, and a pair of cymbals, with a "_real_ n.i.g.g.e.r" to play them, were all they could muster.

After clearing off everything in the shape of breakfast, the "musicianers" amused the retainers, from time to time, with a tune on the clarionet, fife, or trumpet, while they waited the appearance of the party from the house. Uproarious mirth and noisy joking rang round the dwelling, to which none contributed more largely than the trumpeter, who fancied himself an immensely clever fellow, and had a heap of cut-and-dry jokes at his command, and practical drolleries in which he indulged to the great entertainment of all, but of none more than Andy, who was in the thick of the row, and in a divided ecstasy between the "_blaky-moor's_" turban and cymbals and the trumpeter's jokes and music; the latter articles having a certain resemblance, by-the-bye, to the former in clumsiness and noise, and therefore suited to Andy's taste.

Whenever occasion offered, Andy got near the big drum, too, and gave it a thump, delighted with the result of his ambitious achievement.

Andy was not lost on the trumpeter: "Arrah, maybe you'd like to have a touch at these?" said the joker, holding up the cymbals.

"Is it hard to play them, sir?" inquired Andy.

"Hard!" said the trumpeter; "sure they're not hard at all--but as soft and smooth as satin inside--just feel them--rub your fingers inside."

Andy obeyed; and his finger was chopped between the two brazen plates.

Andy roared, the bystanders laughed, and the trumpeter triumphed in his wit. Sometimes he would come behind an unsuspecting boor, and give, close to his ear, a discordant bray from his trumpet, like the note of a jacka.s.s, which made _him_ jump, and the crowd roar with merriment; or, perhaps, when the clarionet or the fife was engaged in giving the people a tune, he would drown either, or both of them, in a wild yell of his instrument. As they could not make reprisals upon him, he had his own way in playing whatever he liked for his audience; and in doing so indulged in all the airs of a great artist--pulling out one crook from another--blowing through them softly, and shaking the moisture from them in a tasty style--arranging them with a fastidious nicety--then, after the final adjustment of the mouth-piece, lipping the instrument with an affectation exquisitely grotesque; but before he began he always asked for another drink.

"It's not for myself," he would say, "but for the thrumpet, the crayther; the divil a note she can blow without a dhrop."

Then, taking a mug of drink, he would present it to the bell of the trumpet, and afterwards transfer it to his own lips, always bowing to the instrument first, and saying, "Your health, ma'am!"

This was another piece of delight to the mob, and Andy thought him the funniest fellow he ever met, though he _did_ chop his finger.