O’Bla. How could I hear, backwards, as you see, from the street, and given up to my business?
Catty. Business! oh! here is a fine business—the McBrides have driven all before them, and chased the Roonies out of Ballynavogue. (In a tone of deep despair.) Oh! Catty Rooney! that ever you’d live to see this day!
O’Bla. Then take this glass (offering a glass of whiskey) to comfort your heart, my good Mrs. Rooney.
Catty. No, thank you, counshillor, it’s past that even! ogh! ogh!—oh! wirrastrew!—oh! wirrastrew, ogh!—(After wringing her hands, and yielding to a burst of sorrow and wailing, she stands up firmly.) Now I’ve ased my heart, I’ll do. I’ve spirit enough left in me yet, you’ll see; and I’ll tell you what I came to you for, counshillor.
O’Bla. Tell me first, is Randal Rooney in it, and is he hurt?
Catty. He was in it: he’s not hurt, more shame for him! But, howsomever, he bet one boy handsomely; that’s my only comfort. Our faction’s all going full drive to swear examinations, and get justice.
O’Bla. Very proper—very proper: swear examinations—that’s the course, and only satisfaction in these cases to get justice.
Catty. Justice!—revenge sure! Oh! revenge is sweet, and I’ll have it. Counshillor dear, I never went before Mr. Carver—you know him, sir—what sort is he?
O’Bla. A mighty good sort of gentleman—only mighty tiresome.
Catty. Ay, that’s what I hard—that he is mighty fond of talking to people for their good. Now that’s what I dread, for I can’t stand being talked to for my good.