Handy Andy Volume Ii Part 24

"That's the genteel name for it," says Larry.

"Oh!" exclaimed Goggins, enthusiastically, "I know the satisfaction of catching a man, but it's nothing at all compared to catching an idea. For the man, you see, can give hail and get off, but the idea is your own for ever. And then a rhyme--when it has puzzled you all day, the pleasure you have in _nabbing_ it at last!"

"Oh, it's po'thry you're spakin' about," said Larry.

"To be sure," said Goggins; "do you think I'd throw away my time on prose?

You're burning that bacon, Tim," said he to his _sub_.

"Poethry, agen the world!" continued he to Larry, "the Castilian sthraime for me!--Hand us that whisky"--he put the bottle to his mouth and took a swig--"That's good--you do a bit of private here, I suspect," said he, with a wink, pointing to the bottle.

Larry returned a significant grin, but said nothing. Oh, don't be afraid o' me--I would n't'peach--"

"Sure it's agen the law, and you're a gintleman o' the law," said Larry.

"That's no rule," said Goggins: "the Lord Chief Justice always goes to bed, they say, with six tumblers o' potteen under his belt; and dhrink it myself."

"Arrah, how do you get it?" said Larry.

"From a gentleman, a friend o' mine, in the Custom-house."

"A-dad, that's quare," said Larry, laughing.

"Oh, we see queer things, I tell you," said Goggins, "we gentlemen of the law."

"To be sure you must," returned Larry; "and mighty improvin' it must be.

Did you ever catch a thief, sir?"

"My good man, you mistake my profession," said Goggins, proudly; "we never have anything to do in the _criminal_ line, that's much beneath _us_."

"I ax your pardon, sir."

"No offence--no offence."

"But it must be mighty improvin', I think, ketching of thieves, and finding out their thricks and hidin'-places, and the like?"

"Yes, yes," said Goggins, "good fun; though I don't do it, I know all about it, and could tell queer things too."

"Arrah, maybe you would, sir?" said Larry.

"Maybe I will, after we nibble some rashers--will you take share?"

"Musha, long life to you," said Larry, always willing to get whatever he could. A repast was now made, more resembling a feast of savages round their war-fire than any civilised meal; slices of bacon broiled in the fire, and eggs roasted in the turf-ashes. The viands were not objectionable; but the cooking! Oh!--there was neither gridiron nor frying-pan, fork nor spoon; a couple of clasp-knives served the whole party. Nevertheless, they satisfied their hunger and then sent the bottle on its exhilarating round. Soon after that, many a story of burglary, robbery, swindling, petty larceny, and every conceivable crime, was related for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the circle; and the plots and counterplots of thieves and thief-takers raised the wonder of the peasants. Larry Hogan was especially delighted; more particularly when some trick of either villany or cunning came out.

"Now women are troublesome cattle to deal with mostly," said Goggins.

"They are remarkably 'cute first, and then they are spiteful after; and for circ.u.mventin' _either_ way are sharp hands. You see they do it quieter than men; a man will make a noise about it, but a woman does it all on the sly. There was Bill Morgan--and a sharp fellow he was, too--and he had set his heart on some silver spoons he used to see down in a kitchen windy, but the servant-maid, somehow or other, suspected there was designs about the place, and was on the watch. Well, one night, when she was all alone, she heard a noise outside the windy, so she kept as quiet as a mouse. By-and-by the sash was attempted to be riz from the outside, so she laid hold of a kittle of boiling wather and stood hid behind the shutter. The windy was now riz a little, and a hand and arm thrust in to throw up the sash altogether, when the girl poured the boiling wather down the sleeve of Bill's coat. Bill roared with the pain, when the girl said to him, laughing, through the windy, 'I _thought_ you came for something.'"

"That was a 'cute girl," said Larry, chuckling.

"Well, now, that's an instance of a woman's cleverness in preventing. I'll teach you one of her determination to discover and prosecute to conviction; and in this case, what makes it curious is, that Jack Tate had done the bowldest thing, and run the greatest risks, 'the eminent deadly,'

as the poet says, when he was done up at last by a feather-bed."

"A feather-bed," repeated Larry, wondering how a feather-bed could influence the fate of a bold burglar, while Goggins mistook his exclamation of surprise to signify the paltriness of the prize, and therefore chimed in with him.

"Quite true--no wonder you wonder--quite below a man of his pluck; but the fact was, a sweetheart of his was longing for a feather-bed, and Jack determined to get it. Well, he marched into a house, the door of which he found open, and went up-stairs, and took the best feather-bed in the house, tied it up in the best quilt, crammed some caps and ribbons he saw lying about into the bundle, and marched down-stairs again; but you see, in carrying off even the small thing of a feather-bed, Jack showed the skill of a high pract.i.tioner, for he descendhered the stairs backwards."

"Backwards!" said Larry, "what was that for?"

"You'll see by-and-by," said Goggins; "he descendhered backwards when suddenly he heard a door opening, and a faymale voice exclaim, 'Where are you going with that bed?'

"'I am going up-stairs with it, ma'am,' says Jack, whose backward position favoured his lie, and he began to walk up again.

"'Come down here,' said the lady, 'we want no beds here, man.'

"'Mr. Sullivan, ma'am, sent me home with it himself,' said Jack, still mounting the stairs.

"'Come down, I tell you,' said the lady, in a great rage. 'There's no Mr.

Sullivan lives here--go out of this with your bed, you stupid fellow.'

"'I beg your pardon, ma'am,' says Jack, turning round, and marching off with the bed fair and aisy. Well, there was a regular s.h.i.+lloo in the house when the thing was found out, and cart-ropes wouldn't howld the lady for the rage she was in at being diddled; so she offered rewards, and the d.i.c.kens knows all; and what do you think at last discovered our poor Jack?"

"The sweetheart, maybe," said Larry, grinning in ecstasy at the thought of human perfidy.

"No," said Goggins, "honour even among sweethearts, though they do the trick sometimes, I confess; but no woman of any honour would betray a great man like Jack. No--'t was one of the paltry ribbons that brought conviction home to him; the woman never lost sight of hunting up evidence about her feather-bed, and, in the end, a ribbon out of one of her caps settled the hash of Jack Tate."

From robbings they went on to tell of murders, and at last that uncomfortable sensation which people experience after a feast of horrors began to pervade the party; and whenever they looked round, _there_ was the coffin in the background.

"Throw some turf on the fire," said Goggins, "'t is burning low; and change the subject; the tragic muse has reigned sufficiently long--enough of the dagger and the bowl--sink the socks and put on the buckskins.

Leather away, Jim--sing us a song."

"What is it to be?" asked Jim.

"Oh--that last song of the Solicitor-General's," said Goggins, with an air as if the Solicitor-General were his particular friend.

"About the robbery?" inquired Jim.

"To be sure," returned Goggins.

"Dear me," said Larry, "and would so grate a man as the Solicithor-General demane himself by writin' about robbers?"

"Oh!" said Goggins, "those in the heavy profession of the law must have their little private moments of rollickzation; and then high men, you see, like to do a bit of low by way of variety. 'The Night before Larry was stretched' was done by a bishop, they say; and 'Lord Altamont's Bull' by the Lord Chief Justice; and the Solicitor-General is as up to fun as any bishop of them all. Come, Jim, tip us the stave!"

Jim cleared his throat and obeyed his chief.

THE QUAKER'S MEETING

I

"A traveller wended the wilds among, With a purse of gold and a silver tongue; His hat it was broad, and all drab were his clothes, For he hated high colours--except on his nose, And he met with a lady, the story goes.

Heigho! _yea_ thee and _nay_ thee.