The Greatest Works of Bram Stoker - 45+ Titles in One Edition. Брэм Стокер
on her whin I got her home; but a car-dhriver can no more shpake soft to only wan girrul nor he can dhrive his car in his own shanty."
"Well! but Andy, what would you do if you were to get married?"
"Faix, surr, an' the woman must settle that whin she comes. But, begor! it's not for a poor man like me— nor for the likes iv me—that the fairies does be keepin' their eyes out. I tell yer 'an'r that poor min isn't iv much account anyhow! Shure poverty is the worst iv crimes; an' there's no hidin' it like th' others. Patches is saw a mighty far way off; and shure enough they're more frightfuller nor even the polis!"
"By G-eorge! Andy," said I, "I'm afraid you're a cynic."
"A cynic, sir; an', faix, what sin am I up to now?"
"You say poverty is a crime."
"Begor! but it's worse! Most crimes is forgave afther a bit; an' the law is done wid ye whin ye're atin' yer skilly. But there's some people—aye! an' lashins iv thim too—what 'd rather see ye in a good shute iv coffin than in a bad shute iv clothes!"
"Why, Andy, you're quite a philosopher!"
"Bedad, that's quare; but whisper me now, surr, what kind iv a thing's that?"
"Well! it's a very wise man — one who loves wisdom."
"Begor! yer 'an'r, lovin' girruls is more in my shtyle; but I thought maybe it was some new kind iv a Protestan'."
"Why a Protestant?"
"Sorra wan iv me knows! I thought maybe they can believe even less nor the ould wans."
Andy's method of theological argument was quite too difficult for me, so I was silent; but my companion was not. He, however, evidently felt that theological disquisition was no more his forte than my own, for he instantly changed to another topic:—
"I'll be goin' back to Knockcalltecrore to-morra, yer 'an'r. I've been tould to call fur Mr. Caicy, th' attorney— savin' yer prisence—to take him back to Carnaclif. Is there any missage ye'd like to send to any wan?" He looked at me so slyly that his meaning was quite obvious.
"Thanks, Andy, but I think not; unless you tell Mr. Dick that we have had a pleasant journey this morning."
"Nothin' but that?—to nobody?"
"Who to, for instance, Andy?"
"There's Miss Norah, now! Shure girruls is always fond iv gettin' missages, an' most iv all from people what they're not fond iv!"
"Meaning me?"
"Oh, yis! oh, yis! if there's wan more nor another what she hates the sight iv, it's yer 'an'r! Shure didn't I notice it in her eye ere yistherday night, beyant at the boreen gate? Faix! but it's a nice eye Miss Norah has! Now, yer 'an'r, wouldn't an eye like that be betther for a young gintleman to luk into, than the quare eye iv yer fairy girrul—the wan that ye wor lukin' for, an' didn't find!"
The sly way in which Andy looked at me as he said this was quite indescribable. I have seen sly humour in the looks of children where the transparent simplicity of their purpose was a foil to their manifest intention to pretend to deceive. I have seen the arch glances of pretty young women when their eyes contradicted with resistless force the apparent meaning of their words; but I have never seen any slyness which could rival that of Andy. However, when he had spoken as above, he seemed to have spent the last bolt in his armoury; and for the remainder of the drive to Recess he did not touch again on the topic, or on a kindred one.
When I was in the hotel porch waiting the arrival of the long car, Andy came up to me:—
"What day will I be in Galway for yer 'an'r?" " How do you mean, Andy? I didn't tell you I was coming back."
Andy laughed a merry, ringing laugh:— " Begor! yer 'an'r, d'ye think there's only wan way iv tellin' things? Musha! but spache 'd be a mighty precious kind iv a thing if that was the way!"
"But, Andy, is not speech the way to make known what you wish other people to know?"
"Ah, go to God! I'd like to know if ye take it for granted whin ye ask a girrul a question an' she says ' no,' that she manes it—or that she intends ayther that ye should think she manes it. Faix! it 'd be a harrd wurrld to live in, if that was so; an' there 'd be mighty few widdys in it ayther!" " Why widows, Andy?"
"Shure, isn't wives the shtuff that widdys is made iv!" " Oh! I see. I'm learning, Andy—I'm getting on!" "Yis! yer 'an'r. Ye haven't got on the long cap now; but I'm afeerd it's only a leather medal ye'd get as yit. Niver mind! surr. Here's the long car comin'; an' whin ye tellygraph to Misther Dick to smd me over to Galway fur to bring ye back, I'll luk up Miss Norah an' ax her to condescind to give ye some lessons in the differ betwixt ' yes ' an' ' no ' as shpoke by girruls. I'm tould now, it's a mighty intherestin' kind iv a shtudy for a young gintleman!"
There was no answering this Parthian shaft.
"Good-bye! Andy," I said, as I left a sovereign in his hand.
"Good luck! yer 'an'r; though what's the use iv wishin' luck to a man, whin the fairies is wid him!"
The last thing I saw was Andy waving his ragged hat as we passed the curve of the road round the lake before Recess was hidden from our view.
When I got to Galway I found Mr. Caicy waiting for me. He was most hearty in his welcome; and told me that as there was nearly an hour to wait before the starting of the Dublin express, he had luncheon on the table, and that we could discuss our business over it. We accordingly adjourned to his house, and after explaining to him what I wanted done with regard to the purchase of the property at Knockcalltecrore, I told him that Dick knew all the details, and would talk them over with him when he saw him on the next evening.
I began my eastward journey with my inner man in a most comfortable condition. Indeed, I concluded that there was no preparation for a journey like a bottle of ' Sneyd's 47' between two. I got to Dublin in time for the night mail, and on the following morning walked into Mr. Chapman's office at half-past ten o'clock.
He had all the necessary information for me; indeed, his zeal and his kindness were such that then and there I opened my heart to him, and was right glad that I had done so when I felt the hearty grasp of his hand as he wished me joy and and all good fortune. He was, of course, on the side of prudence. He was my own lawyer and my father's friend; and it was right and fitting that he should be. But it was quite evident that in the background of his musty life there was some old romance — musty old attorneys always have romances—so at least say the books. He entered heartily into my plan; and suggested that, if I chose, he would come with me to see the school and the schoolmistress in Paris.
"It will be better, I am sure," he said, " to have an old man like myself with you, and who can in our negotiations speak for her father. Indeed, my dear boy, from being so old a friend of your father's, and having no children of my own, I have almost come to look on you as my son, so it will not be much of an effort to regard Miss Norah as my daughter. The schoolmistress will, in the long run, be better satisfied with my standing in loco parentis than with your's." It was a great relief to me to find my way thus smoothed, for I had half expected some objection or remonstrance on his part. His kind offer was, of course, accepted; and the next morning found us in Paris.
We went to see the school and the schoolmistress. All was arranged as we wished. Mr. Chapman did not forget that Norah wished to have all the extra branches of study, or that I wished to add all that could give a charm to her life. The schoolmistress opened her eyes at the total of Koran's requirements, which Mr. Chapman summed up as " all extras "—the same including the use of a saddle-horse, and visits to the opera and such performances as should be approved of, under the special care and with the special accompaniment of Madame herself.
I could see that for the coming year Norah's lines would lie in pleasant places in so far as Madame Lepecheaux could accomplish it. The date of her coming was to be fixed by letter, and as soon as possible.
Mr. Chapman had suggested that it might be well to arrange with Madame Lepecheaux that Norah should be able to get what clothes she might require^