"He won't do neither the one nor the t'other, ye bastes of the ear-rth!" exclaimed the Captain.
"I say now——" began Mac Grab: but, before he had time to utter another word, the redoubtable Captain wrenched the short stick from the hands of Mr. Proggs, and throwing it to a distance, boldly attacked the officers with his long sinewy arms in such an effectual manner, that they disappeared from the drawing-room in as short a space of time as their assailant had represented by that beautiful figure of rhetoric—"the twinkling of a bed-post."
Mrs. Curtis had deemed it most prudent to go off into a fit—Frank was nailed to the floor by the terror of being captured and dragged off to a debtor's prison—the footman considered it wise to remain a mere spectator of the fight;—and thus the Captain was unassisted in his gallant onslaught upon the sheriffs' officer and his man.
The Captain, however, had an advantage on his side: namely, that when he had once succeeded in driving the enemy back as far as the staircase, it was comparatively an easy matter to fling them headlong down—a feat which he performed without the least ceremony or hesitation, to the infinite alarm of the female-servants in the kitchen, who came rushing up into the hall from that lower region, screaming as heartily as they could under the conviction that the house was tumbling about their ears.
"Hold your pace! my dears," exclaimed Captain O'Blunderbuss, rushing down the stairs after the vanquished enemy,—his countenance purple with whiskey and excitement—every vein in his forehead swollen almost to bursting—and his fists clenched for a renewal of the onslaught.
"We'll make you smart for this, my man!" growled Mac Grab, as he rose painfully from the hall-floor.
"I'm jiggered if we don't too!" added Proggs, picking himself up as it were from the last step, and feeling his legs and arms to see if any of his bones were broken.
"Out of the house, ugly bastes that ye are!" thundered the Captain.
The officers had received sufficient evidence of the redoubtable gentleman's warlike propensities, to induce them to beat a rapid retreat,—and the moment they had evaporated by the front-door, the Captain banged it violently after them, securing it with bolts and chain.
"That's the way we serve out the riptiles in ould Ireland, my dears," he exclaimed, turning towards the female servants, who, having at length comprehended the nature of the amusement going on, had ceased to scream and were enjoying the animated scene as much as if it had been a play.