“I left them at my door,” said the man.
“So did I leave mine,” said Murphy, “and here I am barefooted—it is most extraordinary.”
“Has the house been robbed?” said the innocent elector.
“Not a one o' me knows, sir!” said the boy; “but how could it be robbed and the doors all fast this mornin'?”
The landlady now appeared, and fired at the word “robbed!”
“Robbed, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Kelly; “no, sir—no one was ever robbed in my house—my house is respectable and responsible, sir—a vartuous house—none o' your rantipole places, sir, I'd have you to know, but decent and well behaved, and the house was as quiet as a lamb all night.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Kelly,” said Murphy—“not a more respectable house in Ireland—I'll vouch for that.”
“You're a gentleman, Misther Murphy,” said Mrs. Kelly, who turned down the passage, uttering indignant ejaculations in a sort of snorting manner, while her words of anger were returned by Murphy with expressions of soothing and condolence as he followed her down-stairs.
The storm still continued above, and while there they shouted and swore and complained, Murphy gave his notion of the catastrophe to the landlady below, inferring that the men were drunk and poured the water over their own clothes. To repeat this idea to themselves he re-ascended, but the men were incredulous. The little man he found buttoning on a pair of black gaiters, the only serviceable decency he had at his command, which only rendered his denuded state more ludicrous. To him Murphy asserted his belief that the whole affair was enchantment, and ventured to hope the small individual would have more faith in fairy machinations for the future; to which the little abortion only returned his usual “Pho! pho! nonsense!”
Through all this scene of uproar, as Murphy passed to and fro, whenever he encountered the landlord, that worthy individual threw him a knowing look; and the exclamation of, “Oh, Misther Murphy—by dad!” given in a low chuckling tone, insinuated that the landlord not only smoked but enjoyed the joke.