"Well, there's some sinse in that name, then; but who'd think of sich a thing as a tumbler and a c.o.c.k in a pistle? And what's that place that open and shuts, sir?"

"The pan."

"Well, there's sinse in that name too, bekase there's fire in the thing; and it's as nath'ral to say pan to that as to a fryin'-pan--isn't it, Misther d.i.c.k?"

"Oh! there was a great gunmaker lost in you, Andy," said d.i.c.k, as he screwed on the locks, which he had regulated to his mind, and began to examine the various departments of the pistol-case, to see that it was properly provided. He took the instrument to cut some circles of thin leather, and Andy again asked him for the name o' _that_ thing?

"This is called the punch, Andy."

"So there is the punch as well as the tumbler, sir."

"Ay, and very strong punch it is, you see, Andy;" and d.i.c.k, struck it with his little mahogany mallet, and cut his patches of leather.

"And what's that for, sir?--the leather I mane."

"That's for putting round the ball."

"Is it for fear 't would hurt him too much when you shot him."

"You're a queer customer, Andy," said d.i.c.k, smiling.

"And what weeshee little b.a.l.l.s thim is, sir."

"They are always small for duelling-pistols."

"Oh, then _thim_ is jewellin' pistles. Why, musha, Misther d.i.c.k, is it goin' to fight a jule you are?" said Andy, looking at him with earnestness.

"No, Andy, but the master is; but don't say a word about it."

"Not a word for the world. The masther's goin' to fight! G.o.d send him safe out iv it! amin. And who is he going to fight, Misther d.i.c.k?"

"Murphy, the attorney, Andy."

"Oh, won't the masther disgrace himself by fightin' the 'torney?"

"How dare you say such a thing of your master?"

"I ax your pard'n, Misther d.i.c.k: but sure you know what I mane. I hope he'll shoot him."

"Why, Andy, Murtough was always very good to you, and now you wish him to be shot."

"Sure, why wouldn't I rather have him kilt more than the masther?"

"But neither may be killed."

"Misther d.i.c.k," said Andy, lowering his voice, "wouldn't it be an iligant thing to put two b.a.l.l.s into the pistle instead o' one, and give the masther a chance over the 'torney?"

"Oh, you murdherous villain!"

"Arrah! why shouldn't the masther have a chance over him!--sure he has childre, and 'Torney Murphy has none."

"At any rate, Andy, I suppose you'd give the masther a ball additional for every child he has, and that would make eight. So you might as well give him a blunderbuss and slugs at once."

d.i.c.k loaded the pistol-case, having made all right, and desired Andy to mount a horse, carry it by a back road out of the demesne, and wait at a certain gate he named until he should be joined there by himself and the squire, who proceeded at the appointed time to the ground.

Andy was all ready, and followed his master and d.i.c.k with great pride, bearing the pistol-case after them to the ground, where Murphy and Tom Durfy were ready to receive them; and a great number of spectators were a.s.sembled, for the noise of the business had gone abroad, and the ground was in consequence crowded.

Tom Durfy had warned Murtough Murphy, who had no experience as a pistol man, that the squire was a capital shot, and that his only chance was to fire as quickly as he could. "Slap at him, Morty, my boy, the minute you get the word; and if you don't hit him itself, it will prevent his dwelling on his aim."

Tom Durfy and d.i.c.k the Devil soon settled the preliminaries of the ground and mode of firing, and twelve paces having been marked, both the seconds opened their pistol-cases and prepared to load. Andy was close to d.i.c.k all the time, kneeling beside the pistol-case, which lay on the sod; and as d.i.c.k turned round to settle some other point on which Tom Durfy questioned him, Andy thought he might s.n.a.t.c.h the opportunity of giving his master "the chance" he suggested to his second. "Sure, if Misther d.i.c.k wouldn't like to do it, that's no raison I wouldn't," said Andy to himself, "and, by the powers! I'll pop in a ball _onknownst_ to him." And, sure enough, Andy contrived, while the seconds were engaged with each other, to put a ball into each pistol before the barrel was loaded with powder, so that when d.i.c.k took up his pistols to load, a bullet lay between the powder and the touch-hole.

Now, this must have been discovered by d.i.c.k, had he been cool: but he and Tom Durfy had wrangled very much about the point they had been discussing, and d.i.c.k, at no time the quietest person in the world, was in such a rage that the pistols were loaded by him without noticing Andy's ingenious interference, and he handed a harmless weapon to his brother-in-law when he placed him on his ground.

The word was given. Murtough, following his friend's advice, fired instantly--bang he went, while the squire returned but a flash in the pan. He turned a look of reproach upon d.i.c.k, who took the pistol silently from him, and handed him the other, having carefully looked to the priming after the accident which happened to the first.

Durfy handed his man another pistol also; and before he left his side, said in a whisper, "Don't forget--have the first fire."

Again the word was given. Murphy blazed away a rapid and harmless shot; for his hurry was the squire's safety, while Andy's murderous intentions were his salvation.

"D----n the pistol!" said the squire, throwing it down in a rage. d.i.c.k took it up with manifest indignation, and d----d the powder.

"Your powder's damp, Ned."

"No, it's not," said the squire, "it's you who have bungled the loading."

"Me!" said d.i.c.k, with a look of mingled rage and astonishment. "_I_ bungle the loading of pistols! _I_, that have stepped more ground and arranged more affairs than any man in the country! Arrah, be aisy, Ned!"

Tom Durfy now interfered, and said for the present it was no matter, as, on the part of his friend, he begged to express himself satisfied.

"But it's very hard _we_'re not to have a shot," said d.i.c.k, poking the touch-hole of the pistol with a p.r.i.c.ker, which he had just taken from the case which Andy was holding before him.

"Why, my dear d.i.c.k," said Durfy, "as Murphy has had two shots, and the squire has not had the return of either, he declares he will not fire at him again; and, under these circ.u.mstances, I must take my man off the ground."

"Very well," said d.i.c.k, still poking the touch-hole, and examining the point of the p.r.i.c.ker as he withdrew it.

"And now Murphy wants to know, since the affair is all over and his honour satisfied, what was your brother-in-law's motive in a.s.saulting him this morning, for he himself cannot conceive a cause for it."

"Oh, be _aisy_, Tom."

"'Pon my soul it's true!"

"Why, he sent him a blister--a regular apothecary's blister--instead of some law process, by way of a joke, and Ned wouldn't stand it."

Durfy held a moment's conversation with Murphy, who now advanced to the squire, and begged to a.s.sure him there must be some mistake in the business, for that he had never committed the impertinence of which he was accused.

"All I know is," said the squire, "that I got a blister, which my messenger said you gave him."

"By virtue of my oath, squire, I never did it! I gave Andy an enclosure of the law process."

"Then it's some mistake that vagabond has made," said the squire. "Come here, you sir!" he shouted to Andy. Now Andy at this moment stood trembling under the angry eye of d.i.c.k the Devil, who, having detected a bit of lead on the point of the p.r.i.c.ker, guessed in a moment Andy had been at work, and the unfortunate rascal, from the furious look of d.i.c.k, had a misgiving that he _had_ made some blunder. "Why don't you come here when I call you?" said the squire. Andy laid down the pistol-case, and sneaked up to the squire. "What did you do with the letter Mr. Murphy gave you for me yesterday?"