O’Bla. ‘Tis little use, I confess. We Irish is wonderful soon tired of goodness, if there’s no spice of fun along with it; and poor Carver’s soft, and between you and I, he’s a little bothered, but, Mrs. Rooney, you won’t repate?
Catty. Repate!—I! I’m neither watch nor repater—I scorn both; and between you and I, since you say so, counshillor, that’s my chiefest objection to Carver, whom I wouldn’t know from Adam, except by reputation. But it’s the report of the country, that he has common informers in his pay and favour; now that’s mane, and I don’t like it.
O’Bla. Nor I, Mrs. Rooney. I had experience of informers in the distillery line once. The worst varmin that is ever encouraged in any house or country. The very mintion of them makes me creep all over still.
Catty. Then ‘tis Carver, they say, that has the oil of Rhodium for them; for they follow and fawn on him, like rats on the rat catcher—of all sorts and sizes, he has ‘em. They say, he sets them over and after one another; and has lations of them that he lets out on the craturs’ cabins, to larn how many grains of salt every man takes with his little prates, and bring information if a straw would be stirring.
O’Bla. Ay, and if it would, then, it’s Carver that would quake like the aspin leaf—I know that. It’s no malice at all in him; only just he’s a mighty great poltroon.
Catty. Is that all? Then I’d pity and laugh at him, and I go to him preferably to any other magistrate.
O’Bla. You may, Mrs. Rooney—for it’s in terror of his life he lives, continually draming day and night, and croaking of carders and thrashers, and oak boys, and white boys, and peep-o’-day boys, and united boys, and riband-men, and men and boys of all sorts that have, and that have not, been up and down the country since the rebellion.
Catty. The poor cratur! But in case he’d prove refractory, and would not take my examinations, can’t I persecute my shute again the McBrides for the bit of the bog of Ballynascraw, counshillor?—Can’t I harash ‘em at law?
O’Bla. You can, ma’am, harash them properly. I’ve looked over your papers, and I’m happy to tell you, you may go on at law as soon and as long as you plase.
Catty. (speaking very rapidly) Bless you for that word, counshillor; and by the first light to-morrow, I’ll drive all the grazing cattle, every four-footed baast off the land, and pound ‘em in Ballynavogue; and if they replevy, why I’ll distrain again, if it be forty times, I will go. I’ll go on distraining, and I’ll advertise, and I’ll cant, and I’ll sell the distress at the end of the eight days. And if they dare for to go for to put a plough in that bit of reclaimed bog, I’ll come down upon ‘em with an injunction, and I would not value the expinse of bringing down a record a pin’s pint; and if that went again me, I’d remove it to the courts above and wilcome; and after that, I’d go into equity, and if the chancillor would not be my friend, I’d take it over to the House of Lords in London, so I would as soon as look at ‘em; for I’d wear my feet to the knees for justice—so I would.