The Bunsby papers Part 10

"A pretty thing _I've_ done for myself," groaned Bulworthy, suffering alike from thirst, hunger, and cold, as he vainly strove, by slapping his hands against his chest, to make the blood circulate warmly through his finger-ends. "Ov coorse that cobblin' scoundrel will never consent to come back to his starvation and poverty--he'd be a greater fool even than I was if he did. Ah! if I ever do get back to a good dinner again, there shan't be a poor devil within a mile of me that'll ever want one while I live. Here comes the cripple; the only chance I have is to pretend that I'm in a sort of second-hand paradise here." So saying, he commenced to sing, in a voice of exaggerated jollity, a verse of

"The jug o' punch,"

accompanying the tune by vigorous whacks of his hammer upon the piece of sole-leather he was beating into the requisite toughness.

The united sounds of merriment and industry smote upon Dan's heart like a knell.

"Listen at the happy ragam.u.f.fin, working away like a whole hive o'

bees, and chirpin' like a pet canary-bird," said he to himself. "Oh, it's aisy seen he won't want to renew his acquaintance wid this murdherin' gout an' the useless money--but, hit or miss, it won't do to let him see me down in the mouth."

So, putting on a careless swagger, and forcing a tone of joyousness into his voice:

"Hallo, cobbler," he cried, "there you are, bellusin' away like a bagpiper. What an iligant thing it is to see such poor wretches whistlin' themselves into an imitation of comfort."

"How do you know but I'm crammed full of real comfort, bad luck to yer mockin' tongue?" said Bulworthy, disgusted at the other's satisfied demeanor.

"It's pleased I am to see your foggy moon of a face, anyway," he went on. "Where's me s.h.i.+llin'?"

"Why, you poor, miserable attenuation of humanity, how dare you address yourself to me in that orthodox manner?" observed Dan, with an ambitious attempt at Bulworthy's magniloquence.

"Miserable, eh?" replied the other, with a chirp. "Is it me miserable, wid such a home as this?"

"It's all over," thought Dan, "the ould brute's as happy as a bird. Bad luck to the minute that my own pelt made a cage for him."

"Go home," Bulworthy continued, with a grin. "Home to yer wretched hospital of a gazebo."

"Wretched!" retorted Dan, "you wouldn't call it wretched if you saw the dinner I had to-day; enough, yer sowl to glory, to satisfy half a dozen families."

"That were starvin' around you," cried Bulworthy, with a severe internal spasm, induced by the mention of the dinner.

"Aha! you're beginnin' to think of that now, are you?" said Dan, tauntingly. "How do you like dinin' on spoonfuls of air, and rich men's promises to pay? Bedad, I'm thinkin I have the best of you there."

"Hould yer prate, you ould Turk, an' give me me s.h.i.+llin'," roared Bulworthy, getting impatient.

"The divil a s.h.i.+llin' you get out o' me, that I can tell you. I've got the upper hand of ye this time, an' I'll keep it. It's hungry enough that you've seen me before now, an' t.i.t for tat's fair play all the world over."

"He's content and comfortable, there's no mistake about that," thought Bulworthy, "and I'm booked for starvation all the rest of my miserable days."

"Gout's my lot; I can see that with half an eye," said Dan to himself.

"The ould blaggard will never consent to get into these legs again."

"Squire!" cried the cobbler, suddenly, "do you know that the hunger sometimes puts desperate thoughts into a man's head? You owe me a s.h.i.+llin'. I want something to ate. Are you goin' to give it to me?"

"Supposin' I didn't?" said Dan, coolly.

"Bad luck attind me if I don't shake it out o' you, you iron-hearted ould Craysus," replied the other, doggedly.

"I'd like to see you thryin' that," said Dan, flouris.h.i.+ng a huge blackthorn stick dangerously. "You're wake wid the want, an' I'm sthrong wid vittles an' wine. It's aisy to foretell whose head would be cracked first."

"Oh, murdher, Squire, jewel, it's right that you are, for I _am_ just as wake as wather itself, an' the jaws of me is fairly rustin' in their sockets for the want of dacent exercise," cried the now subdued Bulworthy. "For the tindher mercy of goodness, then, av you've got the laste taste ov compa.s.sion in yer throat, give us a thrifle, av it was only the price ov a salt herrin' or a rasher o' bakin'."

"Oh, ho! it's there you are," thought Dan, as, rendered more hopeful by this injudicious outburst, he a.s.sumed a still more severe aspect.

"It's good for you to feel that way," said he, "an' it's mighty little else you can ever expect while you're throublin' the earth, you impidint cobbler. Look at me, you ungrateful thief o' the world--what's all your hungry nibblin's compared wid the sharp tooth that's perpetually gnawin' at my exthremities? To be sure, the jingle of the goold here in my pockets, keeps the pain undher considherably."

"I know it, I know it," groaned Bulworthy. "Oh, av there was only a market for fools, wouldn't I fetch a high price?"

"Purvided that it wasn't overstocked," said Dan, with a mental addition, which he wisely kept to himself, as, suppressing the violent pain he was suffering, he burst into a merry laugh at the doleful appearance of his companion in distress. "Cheer up, man alive," cried he, through his enforced joyousness; "take example by your neighbors, and content yourself wid your condition. I'm sure it's a mighty agreeable one. See how comfortable I am, an' there's no knowin' what a numberless conglomeration of annoyances men in my responsible station have to put up wid."

"Why, then it's aisy for you to chat," replied Bulworthy, bitterly, "wid your belly full of prog, rattlin' yer money in yer pockets, and greggin' a poor empty Christian wid the c.h.i.n.k; but av you had only dined wid me to-day, you wouldn't be so b.u.mptious, I'll be bound."

"Me dine wid you, is it? bedad, an' that's a good joke," said Dan, with another explosion of laughter. "Ho, ho! my fine fella, av jokes was only nouris.h.i.+n', what a fine feed of fun you might have, to be sure."

"Oh, then, by the king of Agypt's baker, that was hanged for makin' his majesty's loaf short weight--the divil's cure to him--it's starved I'd be that way too, for the fun's pinched right out o' me," replied the Squire, in a melancholy tone.

"Why, you don't mane to be tellin' me that you're unhappy in yer present lot?" Dan asked, in the hope of coming to the point at once.

"Where would be the use in sayin' I'm not?" replied the other, cautiously.

"Only just for the pleasure of gettin' at the thruth."

"Bedad, he'd be a wise man that could crack that egg. If it comes to that, how do you like them legs o' yours? It isn't much dancin' you do now, I'm thinkin'."

"Well, not a great dale, seein' that it's a foolish sort of exercise for a man of my consequence," said Dan, shaking the guineas about in his pockets with increased vigor.

"An' how do you find the Misthress's timper now, might I ax?" inquired Bulworthy, with a meaning look.

"Aisy as an ould glove, I'm obliged to you," Dan replied, with wondrous placidity of countenance.

"Peg, my Peg's a real blessin' in a house; an' as for that jewel of a babby"----

"Howld yer decateful tongue, you circ.u.mventin' ould tory," cried Dan, shaking his fist in the other's face, rendered almost beside himself by the allusion to his lost treasures; "do you mind this, you chatin'

disciple, av you dare to brag ov havin' any property in them two people I'll give your dirty sowl notice to quit the tinimint that it's insultin' every second o' time you dhraw a breath."

"How can you help yerself, I'd like to know?" demanded Bulworthy, in an insolent tone. "Doesn't Peg belong to me now, an' the child?"

"Be the mortial o' war, av ye don't stop your tongue from waggin' in that way, bad luck to me av I don't take ye be the scruff o' the neck, an shake ye out o' me skin, you robber," shouted Dan, still more furiously--unfortunately losing sight of his discretion in the blindness of his rage, for Bulworthy, thinking he saw a gleaming of hope, determined to pursue his advantage; so he continued:

"The devil a toe will you ever come near them again, my fine fella.

Possession's nine points of the law; an' as it's your own countenance that I'm carryin', you can't swear me out o' my position. More betoken, there's no use in yer gettin' obsthropulous, for I've only to dhrop the lapstone gingerly upon yer toes, to make you yell out like a stuck pig."

At hearing these conclusive words, Dan's policy and his philosophy fled together, and he poured forth the feelings of his heart without concealment or restraint.

"You murdherin' ould vagabone," he cried; "you've got the upper hand of me, an' full well you know it; the divil take yer dirty money, that's weighin' down my pockets; but weighin' my heart down more nor that, av it wasn't that I don't know exactly what harum I'd be doin' to meself; may I never sin av I wouldn't pelt the life out o' you wid fistfulls of it; but it sarves me right, it sarves me right," he went on, swaying his body to and fro, as he sat on the little stool. "Oh! wirra, wirra!

what a born natheral I was to swap away my darlin' Peg, that's made out of the best parts of half a dozen angels, for that wizen-faced daughter of ould Nick beyont; an' the blessed babby, too, that's so fresh from the skies that the smell o' Heaven sticks about him yet; to get nothin'

for him but a pair of legs that can't lift me over a _thranieen_; oh!

it's mad that it's dhrivin' me, intirely."

"Don't take it so much to heart; gruntin', and growlin', an twistin'