"Ha, ha, ha! Oh, if I were near her--that's all! drinking my health!
She's tipsy, the she scoundrel, she never sends me that message unless when she's tipsy"--
"Not tipsy, your honor, only unwell--she's a little touched wid the falling sickness--she always takes it after rinsing her mouth, sir; for she's fond of a sweet breath, your honor."
"Ah, she's a confounded blackguard--a living quicksand, and nothing else. Lanty, my lad, if the Mississippi was brandy grog, she'd dry the river--drinking at this hour!--well, never mind, I was drunk myself last night, and I'm half drunk yet. Here, you devil's tinder box, mix me a glass of brandy and water."
"Wouldn't you do it better yourself, sir?"
"No, you whelp, don't you see how my hands, and be hanged to them, tremble and shake. Put in another glass, I say--carry it to my mouth now; hold, you croil--here's the glorious, pious, and immortal memory!
Ho! Lanty, there's nothing like being a good Protestant after all--so I'll stand to glorious Bill, to the last; nine times nine, and one cheer more! hurra!"
He then laid himself back, and attempted to whistle the Boyne Water, but having only one tusk in front, the sound produced resembled the wild whistle of the wind through the chink of a door--shrill and monotonous; after which he burst out into a chuckling laugh, tickled, probably, at the notion of that celebrated melody proving disloyal in spite of him, as refusing, as it were, to be whistled.
At this moment Miss Isabel, or as he most frequently called her Miss Jezabel Puzzle, came in with a gleaming eye and an unsteady step--her hair partially dishevelled, and her dress most negligently put on. The moment Deaker saw her, his whole manner changed, notwithstanding his previous violence--the swagger departed from him, his countenance fell, and he lay mute and terror-stricken before her. It was indeed clear that her sway over him was boundless, and such was the fact. On this occasion she simply looked at him significantly, held up her hand in a menacing attitude, and having made a mock curtesy, immediately left the room.
"Lanty," said he in an undertone, when she had gone, "Lanty, you clip, go and tell her to forgive me; I said too much, and I'm sorry for it, say--go you scoundrel."
"Faix I'll do no such thing, sir," replied Lanty, alarmed at the nature of the message; "I know better than to come across her now; she'd whale the life out o' me. Sure she's afther flailing the cook out o' the kitchen--and Tom Corbet the butler has one of his ears, he says, hangin'
off him as long as a blood-hound's."
"Speak easy," said Doaker, in a voice of terror, "speak lower, or she may hear you--Isn't it strange," he said to himself, "that I who never feared God or man, should quail before this Jezabel!"
"Begad, an' here's one, your honor, that'll make her quail, if he meets her."
"Who is it," asked the other eagerly, "who is it you imp?"
"Why, Mr. M'Clutchy, sir; he's ridin' up the avenue."
"Ay, Val the Vulture--Val the Vulture--I like that fellow--like him for his confoundedly clever roguery; only he's a hypocrite, and doesn't set the world at defiance as I do;--no, he's a cowardly, skulking hypocrite, nearly as great a one as M'Slime, but doesn't talk so much about religion as that oily gentleman."
In a few moments M'Clutchy entered. "Good morrow, Val. Well, Val--well, my Vulture, what's in the wind now? Who's to suffer? Are you ready for a pounce? Eh?"
"I was sorry to hear that your health's not so good, sir, as it was."
"You lie, my dear Vulture, you lie in your throat, I tell you. You're watching for my carcase, snuffing the air at a distance under the hope of a gorge. No--you didn't care the devil had me, provided you could make a haul by it."
"I hope sir, there's no----"
"Hope! You rascally hypocrite, what's hope good for? Hope to rot in the grave is it? To melt into corruption and feed the worms? What a precious putrid carcase I'll make, when I'm a month in the dirt. Maybe you wouldn't much relish the scent of me then, my worthy Vulture. Curse your beak, at all events! what do you want? what did you come for?"
Val, who knew his worthy sire well, knew also the most successful method of working out any purpose with him. He accordingly replied, conscious that hypocrisy was out of the question--
"The fact is, sir, I want you to aid me in a piece of knavery."
"I'll do it--I'll do it. Hang me if I don't. Come--I like that--it shows that there's no mock modesty between us--that we know one another.
What's the knavery?"
"Why, sir, I'm anxious, in the first place, to have Hickman, the head agent, out, and in the next, to get into his place, if possible. Now, I know that you can assist me in both, if you wish."
"How?" asked Deaker, who was quite as able a tactician as his son; and who, in fact, had contrived to put himself so completely! in possession of the political influence of the county as to be able to return any one he wished. "How is it to be done? Tell me that?"
"I have understood from George Gamble, Lord Cumber's own man, that he wants money."
"Tut," replied Deaker, who now forgot a great deal of his swearing, and applied himself to the subject, with all the coolness and ability of a thorough man of business.
"Tut, Val, is that your news? When was he ever otherwise? Come to the point; the thing's desirable--but how can it be done?"
"I think it can; but it must be by very nice handling indeed."
"Well--your nice handling then?"
"The truth is, that Hickman, I suspect, is almost sick of the agency--thanks to Lord Cumber's extravagance, and an occasional bit of blister which I, through the tenantry, lay on him at home. Cumber, you know, is an unsteady scoundrel, and in the ordinary I transactions of life, has no fixed principle, for he is possessed of little honor, and I am afraid not much honesty."
"Oh murder! this from Val the Vulture! Let me look at you! Did M'Slime bite you? or have you turned Methodist? Holy Jupiter, what a sermon!
Curse your beak, sir; go on, and no preaching."
"Not much honesty as I said. Now, sir, if you, who have him doubly in your power--first, by the mortgage; and, secondly, as his political godfather, who can either put him in, or keep him out of the country--if you were to write him a friendly, confidential letter, in which, observe, you are about to finally arrange your affairs; and you are sorry--quite sorry--but the truth is, something must be done about the mortgage--you are very sorry--mark--but you are old, and cannot leave your property in an unsettled state. Just touch that part of it so--"
"Yes--touch and go."
"Exactly--touch and go. Well, you pass then to the political portion of it. Hickman's political opinions are not well known, or at least doubtful. Indeed you have reason to believe that he will not support his lordship or his family--is not in the confidence of government--displeased at the Union--and grumbles about corruption.
His lordship is abroad you know, and cannot think for himself. You speak as his friend--his tried friend--he ought to have a man on his property who is staunch, can be depended on, and who will see that full justice is done him in his absence. Hickman, too, is against Ascendancy principles. Do you see, sir?"
"Proceed--what next?"
"Why, we stop there for the present; nothing more can be done until we hear from the scoundrel himself."
"And what do you imagine will be the upshot?"
"Why, I think it not at all unlikely that he will place himself and his interests, pecuniary and political, altogether in your hands, and consequently you will probably have the guiding of him."
"Well, Val, you are an able knave to be sure; but never mind; I like you all the better. The true doctrine is always--eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow you die,--take as much out of life and your fellow-men as you can. There's no knavery in the grave, my Vulture. There the honest man and the knave are alike; and this being the case, what the devil is public opinion worth?"
"It's worth a great deal if we use it for our own purposes while we're here; otherwise I agree with you that it's valueless in itself."
"You're a cursed clever fellow, Val, an able knave, as I said--but I don't like your son; he's a dishonest blockhead, and I needn't tell you that the man who has not brains enough to be dishonest is a most contemptible scoundrel."
"Are you not able to get up?" asked Val, in a very dutiful and affectionate voice.
"Able enough now, but my head swam a while ago at a deuced rate. I was drunk, as usual, last night, and could do nothing, not even put a tumbler to my mouth, until I took a stiff glass of brandy and water, and that has set me up again. When shall I write to young Topertoe, the Cumber blade?"
"The sooner the better, now; but I think you ought to rise and take some exercise."
"So I shall, immediately, and to-morrow I write then, according to your able instructions, most subtle and sagacious Val. Are you off?"
"Yes, good-bye, sir, and many thanks."
"None of your stuff I say, but be off out of this--" and as he spoke Val disappeared.