“Faith, and it’s the way yez always was, Jim Baldwin,” cried Mince Pie Mulligan. “Whin you an’ me was luggin’ the buckets of butter an’ jugs of the most iligant molasses to th’ cushtomers, it was you, Jim Baldwin, as was always a-savin’ your tin cints to buy a book. An’ when you was a-coortin’ Dan Hogan’s pretty daughter, ye’d actually mourn over the ice-cream ye filled her up wid bekase it wasn’t books wid a gilt bindin’!”
At this point Mr. Mulligan squared himself off, and distributed a general wink around the circle, including Eleanor, who glared at him like a basilisk. Mrs. Hill-Smith felt acutely for her dear Eleanor, but, being secretly consumed with curiosity about antecedents as new to her as they were to Constance Maitland, could not forbear remaining. The Slaters were well established socially and financially at the time of Mrs. Hill-Smith’s birth, and she was as innocent of the phase of American life which Senator Mulligan was describing as if she had been born and reared in the royal apartments of Windsor Castle. Rochefoucauld has said there is something not unpleasant to us in the misfortunes of our best friends—and it was certainly true of Mrs. Hill-Smith—for while she was eyeing Eleanor Baldwin with an expression of the tenderest sympathy, she was inwardly rejoicing that there was no blot of butter or molasses upon the escutcheon of the Slaters. But a relentless fate seemed to direct Senator Mulligan’s tongue, and turning to her the Senator said, cheerfully, and without the least encouragement:
“And I’m tould ye are the granddaughter of Cap’n Josh Slater, that I knew like me ould hat, when I was but la’ad, and he was Cap’n of the River Queen, one o’ the floatin’ palaces of the day on the Ohio River.”
Mrs. Hill-Smith trembled a little, but answered, coldly:
“I think you must have been misinformed.”
“Well, hardly,” responded Senator Mulligan, blithely, “since it was your own father as tould me, not half an hour ago. I knew th’ ould man well—an’ he was an honest ould cuss, but for tobacco-chewin’ an’ bad whiskey ye’ll not find his match betune here and the lakes o’ Killarney. He knew how to turn th’ honest pinny though, did ould man Slater. No givin’ of widders an’ orphans the turn of the scale, nor the turn of a hair neither—he was out for the last rid cint. He was a good-lookin’ ould chap, when he was washed up and had on a clean shirt—and now, I’ll say, I think you’re like him—raymarkably like him—and it’s up to you to prove that he wasn’t your grandfather, begorra!”
Had a bomb with a burning fuse dropped at Mrs. Hill-Smith’s feet, she could not have been any more astounded. She looked from Mince Pie Mulligan’s laughing face to Eleanor Baldwin’s, and then glanced helplessly around the circle. It was impossible not to see that the British Ambassador, Thorndyke, and the wretched Castlestuart-Stuart, who was primarily responsible for the whole dreadful business, were all enjoying themselves extremely. Constance Maitland alone seemed to feel some sympathy for the unfortunates. It was, however, chiefly on account of Mrs. Baldwin, who began to be painfully embarrassed, that Constance said, smilingly, to Senator Mulligan:
“Your reminiscences are very interesting, and what you say of Mrs. Baldwin’s father must give her cause for honest pride. You have described a phase of American life of which nobody need be ashamed.”
“Except them as has been through it,” promptly responded Senator Mulligan. “There’s some things human nature”—he called it “natur”—“will always be ashamed of as long as it is human nature. One of ’em is that more people blush for a rise in their family than for a fall. And it ain’t so foolish as it seems; because, if you were born on top of the pile, and all your people were, bedad, you don’t do any of these outlandish things such as me young friend,” indicating Castlestuart-Stuart, “has been tellin’ us about. By the way,” asked Senator Mulligan, explosively, of the terrible Castlestuart-Stuart, “who was it give the dinner anyhow?”
And what should that scion of aristocracy, the Honourable Edward George Francis Castlestuart-Stuart, do but answer: