"Weally, Mistwess O'Gwady, I cannot think of deadly arbitrament with a lady."

"Less would you like it with a man, _poltroon_!" said she, with an exaggerated expression of contempt in her manner. "However," she added, "if you _are_ a coward, you shall have a coward's punishment." She went to a corner where stood a great variety of handsome canes, and laying hold of one, began soundly to thrash Furlong, who feared to make any resistance or attempt to disarm her of the cane, for the pistol was yet in her other hand.

The bell was answered by the servant, who, on finding the door locked, and hearing the row inside, began to knock and inquire loudly what was the matter. The question was more loudly answered by Furlong, who roared out, "Bweak the door! bweak the door!" interlarding his directions with cries of "mu'der!"

The door at length was forced, Furlong rescued, and the old lady separated from him. She became perfectly calm the moment other persons appeared, and was replacing the pistols in her pocket, when Furlong requested the "dweadful weapons" might be seized. The old lady gave up the pistols very quietly, but laid hold of her bird and put it back into her pocket.

"This is a dweadful violation!" said Furlong, "and my life is not safe unless she is bound ove' to keep the peace."

"Pooh! pooh!" said one of the gentlemen from the adjacent office, who came to the scene on hearing the uproar, "binding over an old lady to keep the peace--nonsense!"

"I insist upon it," said Furlong, with that stubbornness for which fools are so remarkable.

"Oh--very well!" said the sensible gentleman, who left the room.

A party, pursuant to Furlong's determination, proceeded to the head police-office close by the Castle, and a large mob gathered as they went down Cork-hill and followed them to Exchange-court, where they crowded before them in front of the office, so that it was with difficulty the princ.i.p.als could make their way through the dense ma.s.s.

At length, however, they entered the office; and when Major Sir heard any gentleman attached to the Government wanted his a.s.sistance, of course he put any other case aside, and had the accuser and accused called up before him.

Furlong made his charge of a.s.sault and battery, with intent to murder, &c., &c. "Some mad old rebel, I suppose," said Major Sir. "Do you remember '98, ma'am?" said the major.

"Indeed I do, sir--and I remember _you_ too: Major Sir I have the honour to address, if I don't mistake."

"Yes, ma'am. What then?"

"I remember well in '98 when you were searching for rebels, you thought a man was concealed in a dairy-yard in the neighbourhood of my mother's house, major, in Stephen's Green; and you thought he was hid in a hay- rick, and ordered your sergeant to ask for the loan of a spit from my mother's kitchen to probe the haystack."

"Oh! then, madam, your mother was _loyal_, I suppose."

"Most loyal, sir."

"Give the lady a chair," said the major.

"Thank you, I don't want it--but, major, when you asked for the spit, my mother thought you were going to practise one of your delightfully ingenious bits of punishment, and asked the sergeant _who it was you were going to roast_?"

The major grew livid on the bench where he sat, at this awkward reminiscence of one of his friends, and a dead silence reigned through the crowded office. He recovered himself, however, and addressed Mrs. O'Grady in a mumbling manner, telling her she must give security to keep the peace, herself--and find friends as sureties. On asking her had she any friends to appear for her, she declared she had.

"A gentleman of the nicest honour, sir," said the dowager, pulling her cuckoo from her pocket, and holding it up in view of the whole office.

A shout of laughter, of course, followed. The affair became at once understood in its true light; a mad old lady--a paltry coward--&c., &c.

Those who know the excitability and fun of an Irish mob will not wonder that, when the story got circulated from the office to the crowd without, which it did with lightning rapidity, the old lady, on being placed in a hackney-coach which was sent for, was hailed with a chorus of "Cuckoo!" by the mult.i.tude, one half of which ran after the coach as long as they could keep pace with it, shouting forth the spring-time call, and the other half followed Furlong to the Castle, with hisses and other more articulate demonstrations of their contempt.

CHAPTER XLV

The fat and fair Widow Flanagan had, at length, given up shilly- shallying, and yielding to the fervent entreaties of Tom Durfy, had consented to name the happy day. She _would_ have some little ways of her own about it, however, and instead of being married in the country, insisted on the nuptial knot being tied in Dublin. Thither the widow repaired with her swain to complete the stipulated time of residence within some metropolitan parish before the wedding could take place. In the meanwhile they enjoyed all the gaiety the capital presented, the time glided swiftly by, and Tom was within a day of being made a happy man, when, as he was hastening to the lodgings of the fair widow, who was waiting with her bonnet and shawl on to be escorted to the botanical gardens at Glasnevin, he was accosted by an odd-looking person of somewhat sinister aspect.

"I believe I have the honour of addressing Mister Durfy, sir?" Tom answered in the affirmative. "_Thomas_ Durfy, Esquire, I think, sir?"

"Yes."

"This is for you, sir," he said, handing Tom a piece of dirty printed paper, and at the same time laying his hand on Tom's shoulder and executing a smirking sort of grin, which he meant to be the pattern of politeness, added, "You'll excuse me, sir, but I arrest you under a warrant from the High Sheriff of the city of Dublin; always sorry, sir, for a gintleman in defficulties, but it's my duty."

"You're a bailiff, then?" said Tom.

"Sir," said the b.u.m,

"'Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part--there all the honour lies.'"

"I meant no offence," said Tom. "I only meant--"

"I understand, sir--I understand. These little defficulties startles gintlemen at first--you've not been used to arrest, I see, sir?"

"Never in my life did such a thing happen before," said Tom. "I live generally, thank G.o.d, where a bailiff daren't show his face."

"Ah, sir," said the bailiff with a grin, "them rustic habits betrays the children o' nature often when they come to town; but we are _so fisticated_ here in the metropolis, that we lay our hands on strangers aisy. But you'd better not stand in the street, sir, or people will understand it's an arrest, sir; and I suppose you wouldn't like the exposure. I can simperise in a gintle-man's feelings, sir. If you walk aisy on, sir, and don't attempt to escape or rescue, I'll keep a gentlemanlike distance."

Tom walked on in great perplexity for a few steps, not knowing what to do.

The hour of his rendezvous had struck; he knew how impatient of neglect the widow always was; he at one moment thought of asking the bailiff to allow him to proceed to her lodgings at once, there boldly to avow what had taken place and ask her to discharge the debt; but this his pride would not allow him to do. As he came to the corner of a street, he got a tap on the elbow from the bailiff, who, with a jerking motion of his thumb and a wink, said in a confidential tone to Tom, "Down this street, sir-- that's the way to the _pres'n_ (prison)."

"Prison!" exclaimed Tom, halting involuntarily at the word.

"Shove on, sir--shove on!" hastily repeated the sheriff's officer, urging his orders by a nudge or two on Tom's elbow.

"Don't shove me, sir!" said Tom, rather angrily, "or by G--"

"Aisy, sir--aisy!" said the bailiff; "though I feel for the defficulties of a gintleman, the caption must be made, sir. If you don't like the pris'n, I have a nice little room o' my own, sir, where you can wait, for a small consideration, until you get bail."

"I'll go there, then," said Tom. "Go through as private streets as you can."

"Give me half-a-guinea for my trouble, sir, and I'll ambulate you through lanes every _fut_ o' the way."

"Very well," said Tom.

They now struck into a shabby street, and thence wended through stable lanes, filthy alleys, up greasy broken steps, through one close, and down steps in another--threaded dark pa.s.sages whose debouchures were blocked up with posts to prevent vehicular conveyance, the acc.u.mulated dirt of years sensible to the tread from its lumpy unevenness, and the stagnant air rife with pestilence. Tom felt increasing disgust at every step he proceeded, but anything to him appeared better than being seen in the public streets in such company; for, until they got into these labyrinths of nastiness, Tom thought he saw in the looks of every pa.s.ser-by, as plainly told as if the words were spoken, "There goes a fellow under the care of the bailiff." In these by-ways, he had not any objection to speak to his companion, and for the first time asked him what he was arrested for.

"At the suit of Mr. M'Kail, sir."

"Oh! the tailor?" said Tom.

"Yes, sir," said the bailiff. "And if you would not consider it trifling with the feelings of a gintleman in defficulties, I would make the playful observation, sir, that it's quite in character to be arrested at the _suit_ of a tailor. He! he! he!"

"You're a wag, I see," said Tom.

"Oh no, sir, only a poetic turn: a small affection I have certainly for Judy Mot, but my rale pa.s.sion is the muses. We are not far now, sir, from my little bower of repose--which is the name I give my humble abode-- small, but snug, sir. You'll see another gintleman there, sir, before you.

He is waitin' for bail these three or four days, sir--can't pay as he ought for the 'commodation, but he's a friend o' mine, I may almost say, sir--a litherary gintleman--them litherary gintlemen is always in defficulties mostly. I suppose you're a litherary gintleman, sir--though you're rather ginteely dhressed for one?"