Such of the travellers as had taken their places were already surrounded with the strangest medley of household gods it is possible to conceive. Like trophies, bird-cages, candlesticks, spits, cullenders, fenders, and bread-baskets bristled around them, making one marvel how they ever got in, or, still more, how they were ever to get out again; the croaking of invalids, with crying children, barking terriers, and scolding owners, making a suitable chorus to the confusion.
Still, amidst all the discomforts of the moment, amidst the last wranglings with landlords, and the last squabbles over broken furniture and missing movables, it must be owned that the prevailing temper of the scene was good-humor and jollity. The Irish temperament seems ever to discover something congenial in those incidents of confusion and bustle which to other people are seasons of unmitigated misery, and even out of its own sources of discomfiture can derive matter for that quaint humor with which it can always regard life. In this wise was it that few now dwelt much upon their own inconveniences, so long as they were free to laugh at those of their neighbors.
Before he was well aware of it, young Nelligan found himself in the very midst of this gathering, whose mirthful accents suddenly subsided at his approach, and an air of constraint and reserve seemed to take their place. Never very quick to appreciate such indications, he drew nigh to a very lofty “conveniency” in which, with an air of stately dignity, Mrs. Cronan sat enthroned on a backgammon-table, with a portentous-looking cap-case in her lap.
“My mother will be sorry not to have seen you before you went away, Mrs. Cronan,” said he to that lady, whose demure and frigid demeanor made the speech sound like a bold one.
“I 'd have left my card and my compliments, sir, if I wasn't so pressed for time,” responded she, with a haughty gravity.
“With P. P. C. on the corner,” said the Captain from his pony-gig alongside; “which means, pour prendre 'congo,' or 'congee,' I never knew which.”
“She 'll be very lonely now, for the few days we remain,” resumed Joe, conscious of some awkwardness, without knowing where or how.
“Not with the society of your distinguished acquaintances at 'The Nest,' sir!” the sarcastic import of which reply was more in the manner than the mere words; while the old Captain murmured,—
“Begad, she gave it to him there,—a regular double-headed shot!”
“We hope to follow you by the end of the week,” said Nelligan, trying to seem at ease.