There was no mistake about the face that confronted the indomitable Mrs. Geogehagan, ambushed in a forest of egregiously-curled light ringlets, with blazing eyes set in it, and flying the scarlet flag of battle in cheeks that wore the brownish stains of ingrained rouge. Nelly’s hazel glance went to it timidly; and then—even if the pink bonnet—sadly the worse for wear—had not hung on a peg driven into the whitewashed wall behind, she would have recognized it with the same sinking of her heart. For it belonged to the flaunting woman who had accosted Josh upon that unforgettable evening at the theater; the patchouli-reeking, gin-perfumed creature who had thrust a red, ringed hand under the trooper’s stiff, reluctant elbow, and had called him ducky, had asked him to stand drink.... Oh! how glad was Mrs. Joshua that hand had not been offered like the rest!... Never could she have demeaned herself to touch it, not for diamonds and gold....
Meanwhile it had been dawning in the slow brain of the tall, thin, pimply young trooper who had been Pink Bonnet’s companion upon that memorable night, and was now sitting affectionately in her pocket, that the utterances of Mrs. Geogehagan were leveled at his wife. He had applied for permission to marry, and the inquiries of the Commanding Officer had been satisfactorily answered. There were persons who made quite a capital living—in those days as in these—out of whitewashing the feathers of the grimiest of soiled garrison doves.
You saw Trooper Toomey, yellow in the face and scowling, lumbering up at the nudge of an imperative elbow, from the form he had bestridden, with the air of a man nerving himself for a fight.
“Look a’ here, I’m blasted if I’ll stand this!”—he was beginning, when Mrs. Geogehagan cut him short.
“Toomey, me fine man,” she said almost mellifluously, “av ye show them dirty teeth av yours at me, ’tis taking lave of your mouth they’ll be with the dhrive in the gub I’ll land you,—so shut ut—an’ sit ye down!”
Thus cautioned, Toomey snapped his lank jaws together, threw his long leg across the form, and sat down sullenly, leaving Pink Bonnet to enter the arena alone.
In high, shrill accents she demanded to be informed without reserve whether she, the speaker, was or was not the lawful married wife of a low-bred white-livered ’ound what was afeared of standing up for her against them that for all their back-talk and sauce—was nothing but Irish Scum—and would, if all was knowed that might be knowed!—be held unworthy to sweep up the dust of her feet, or to eat off of the same table with her!...
“Hooroo, Jude!—an’ is that the talk you have?” retorted Mrs. Geogehagan, with overwhelming irony. “Married you are, bedad!—an’ proud av it as a mangy bitch wid a new tin collar. As for Toomey there!—sure, pay-cocks wid their tails spread is less consayted, I’ll go bail!” She broke off as the Dinner Call sounded; plunged at the hanging tray above the long table, and began—as did several of the other women—to rattle down the plates and basins, crockery mugs and wooden-handled knives, in an orderly jumble upon the upper end of the board, while the sulky Toomey, seizing upon two very large, very bright, and very deep tin dishes, and hanging a tin pail over his arm, hurried out to the cook-house to get the mess for the Room. And in his absence, such men as had been taking it easy without their belts, coats and stocks, put them on again, and the women tidied their hair.
You subsequently beheld Mrs. Geogehagan in her glory, serving broth, boiled meat, cabbage and potatoes, in strictly equal helpings, into the various bowls and platters assembled on the board. This onerous task being completed to the general satisfaction, the men chose their portions first, and were succeeded—according to the husband’s seniority of rank—by their wives. Then Mrs. Geogehagan, standing beside her Jems in front of the short form that stood at the upper end of the table—pronounced a pithy grace, which ran—unless my memory trips—something after this fashion: