"Really, Captain O'Blunderbuss," stammered the knight, "as a gentleman—as a—ahem—a person being in the Commission of the Peace—I—must protest against—this—this intrusion——"
"Inthrusion do ye call it?" vociferated the captain: then, after a few moments' pause, during which he surveyed Sir Christopher in a most ferocious manner, he suddenly assumed a milder demeanour, and, coolly ringing the bell, said, "Be Jasus! I'll save ye the throuble of giving any orthers at all, my frind."
"Captain O'Blunderbuss," cried Sir Christopher, plucking up a spirit, "I will not be treated in this manner! One would think that I am not master in my own house. I have already told you that I am very particularly occupied with business—in consequence of my recent appointment to——"
"To the Commission of the Pace!" added the captain. "Well, my frind—and we are going to dhrink success to the Commission and the Pace and all the rist of it. My good fellow," he continued, addressing himself to the footman who now entered the room, "bring up the whiskey and hot wather; with the sugar and a lemon—d'ye hear?"
"Don't do any such thing," exclaimed Sir Christopher, now in a furious passion. "Who are you, sir, that thus dares to give orders in the house of—of an ex-sheriff and an actual magistrate?" demanded the knight, in a stern and pompous tone, for the presence of the servant seemed to be a kind of protection beneath the shield of which the old gentleman grew every moment more valourous.
"Be the powers! and that same is soon answered," said the captain, rising from his chair and drawing himself up to his full height. "Is it myself that ye are afther enquiring about, Sir Christopher? Be Jasus, then—it's Capthain O'Bluntherbuss, I am—of Bluntherbuss Park, Connemara; and it's a pair of pisthols I've got for any man who dares to insulth that same Capthain O'Bluntherbuss. So, if you're for war-r-r, Sir Christopher-r-r," roared the gallant gentleman, "it shall be war-r-r; and if ye're for pace, let it be pace—and potheen!"
The captain looked so very terrible—grew so awfully red in the face—seemed to swell out so tremendously at the chest—and raised his voice to such a thundering tone, as he enunciated his name and that of his imaginary estate, that Sir Christopher's valour, like the courage of Bob Acres, oozed rapidly away, and the servant drew back as near the door as possible so as to be able to beat a retreat, in case of need, without any assistance from the warlike Irishman's foot.
"Is it war-r-r, or pace?" demanded the captain, seeing that the enemy was discomfited.
"Peace—peace, captain,—by all means," returned the knight, in a tremulous voice. "You'll alarm Lady Blunt—and—and make the dear baby cry—"
"It's pace—and potheen, sirrah," said the military gentleman, addressing himself in a tone of stern determination to the domestic, who instantly disappeared. "Now, my dear frind, ye're too impatient be half," continued the captain, resuming his chair and again speaking to the knight: "you don't give me time to explain to ye the nature of my business and the rayson of me calling; for sure and it was to tell ye how plazed your nev-vy Misther Frank Curtis is to think that ye're put in the Commission of the Pace—and how sorry he is to think that ye should have lost any thing by that scounthrel Howard—and how plazed he is to learn that your son and heir is flourishing just like a green bay-leaf—and how sorry he is to think that your frind Torrens should have got himself into such a tirrible pother—and how plazed he is to be able to send ye back the thrifling amount of five hunthred pounds which ye was kind enough to advance him t'other day—"