O’Bla. A sacret pipe I’ve got fixed to the big veshel, and the pipe goes under the wall for me into the tan-pit, and a sucker I have in the big veshel, which I pull open by a string in a crack, and lets all off all clane into the tan-pit.
Pat. That’s capital!—but the water?
O’Bla. From the pump, another pipe—and the girl’s pumping asy, for she’s to wash to-morrow, and knows nothing about it; and so the big veshel she fills with water, wondering what ails the water that it don’t come—and I set one boy and another to help her—and the pump’s bewitched, and that’s all:—so that’s settled.
Pat. And cliverly. Oh! counshillor, we are a match for the shuper any day or night.
O’Bla. For him and all his tribe, coursing officers and all. I’d desire no better sport than to hear the whole pack in full cry after me, and I doubling, and doubling, and safe at my form at last. With you, Pat, my precious, to drag the herring over the ground previous to the hunt, to distract the scent, and defy the nose of the dogs.
Pat. Then I am proud to sarve you, counshillor.
O’Bla. I know you are, and a very honest boy. And what did you do for me, with Catty Rooney?
Pat. The best.—Oh! it’s I blarny’d Catty to the skies, and then egged her on, and aggravated her against the McBrides, till I left her as mad as e’er a one in Bedlam—up to any thing! And full tilt she’s off to Flaherty’s, the publican, in her blue jock—where she’ll not be long afore she kicks up a quarrel, I’ll engage; for she’s sarching the house for Honor McBride, who is not in it—and giving bad language, I warrant, to all the McBride faction, who is in it, drinking. Oh! trust Catty’s tongue for breeding a riot! In half an hour, I’ll warrant, you’ll have as fine a fight in town as ever ye seen or hard.
O’Bla. That’s iligantly done, Pat. But I hope Randal Rooney is in it?
Pat. In the thick of it he is, or will be. So I hope your honour did not forgit to spake to Mr. Carver about that little place for me?