“The misthris ordhered them, sir.”
“I told you never to bring up bad oysters,” said she.
“Them's not bad, ma'am,” said Andy,
“Have you a nose?” says O'Grady.
“Yes, sir.”
“And can't you smell them, then?”
“Faix, I smelt them for the last three days, sir.”
“And how could you say they were good, then?” asked his mistress.
“Sure you tould me, ma'am, that if they didn't open their mouths they were good, and I'll be on my book oath them oysters never opened their mouths since I had them, for I laid them on a coolflag in the kitchen and put the jack-weight over them.”
Notwithstanding O'Grady's rage, Scatterbrain could not help roaring with laughter at Andy's novel contrivance for keeping oysters fresh. Andy was desired to take the “ancient and fish-like smell” out of the room, amidst jeers and abuse; and, as he fumbled his way to the kitchen in the dark, lamenting the hard fate of servants, who can never give satisfaction, though they do everything they are bid, he went head over heels down-stairs, which event was reported to the whole house as soon as it happened, by the enormous clatter of the broken dish, the oysters, and Andy, as they all rolled one over the other to the bottom.