The dinner was later than the hour named, and the delay arose from the absence of one who, of all others, ought to have been present, namely, the bridegroom. But James Casey was missing, and Jack Dwyer had been closeted from time to time with several long-headed greybeards, canvassing the occurrence, and wondering at the default on the bridegroom's part. The person who might have been supposed to bear this default the worst supported it better than any one. Matty was all life and spirits, and helped in making the feast ready, as if nothing wrong had happened; and she backed Father Phil's argument to sit down to dinner at once;—“that if James Casey was not there, that was no reason dinner should be spoiled, he'd be there soon enough; besides, if he didn't arrive in time, it was better he should have good meat cold, than everybody have hot meat spoiled: the ducks would be done to cindhers, the beef boiled to rags, and the chickens be all in jommethry.”
So down they sat to dinner: its heat, its mirth, its clatter, and its good cheer we will not attempt to describe; suffice it to say, the viands were good, the guests hungry, and the drink unexceptionable; and Father Phil, no bad judge of such matters, declared he never pronounced grace over a better spread. But still, in the midst of the good cheer, neighbours (the women particularly) would suggest to each other the “wondher” where the bridegroom could be; and even within ear-shot of the bride elect, the low-voiced whisper ran, of “Where in the world is James Casey?”
Still the bride kept up her smiles, and cheerfully returned the healths that were drunk to her; but old Jack was not unmoved; a cloud hung on his brow, which grew darker and darker as the hour advanced, and the bridegroom yet tarried. The board was cleared of the eatables, and the copious jugs of punch going their round; but the usual toast of the united healths of the happy pair could not be given, for one of them was absent. Father Phil hardly knew what to do; for even his overflowing cheerfulness began to forsake him, and a certain air of embarrassment began to pervade the whole assembly, till Jack Dwyer could bear it no longer, and, standing up, he thus addressed the company:—
“Friends and neighbours, you see the disgrace that's put on me and my child.”
A murmur of “No, no!” ran round the board.
“I say, yis.”
“He'll come yet, sir,” said a voice.
“No, he won't,” said Jack, “I see he won't—I know he won't. He wanted to have everything all his own way, and he thinks to disgrace me in doing what he likes, but he shan't”; and he struck the table fiercely as he spoke; for Jack, when once his blood was up, was a man of desperate determination. “He's a greedy chap, the same James Casey, and he loves his bargain betther than he loves you, Matty, so don't look glum about what I'm saying: I say he's greedy: he's just the fellow that, if you gave him the roof off your house, would ax you for the rails before your door; and he goes back of his bargain now, bekase I would not let him have it all his own way, and puts the disgrace on me, thinkin' I'll give in to him, through that same; but I won't. And I tell you what it is, friends and neighbours; here's the lease of the three-cornered field below there,” and he held up a parchment as he spoke, “and a snug cottage on it, and it's all ready for the girl to walk into with the man that will have her; and if there's a man among you here that's willing, let him say the word now, and I'll give her to him!”
The girl could not resist an exclamation of surprise, which her father hushed by a word and look so peremptory, that she saw remonstrance was in vain, and a silence of some moments ensued; for it was rather startling, this immediate offer of a girl who had been so strangely slighted, and the men were not quite prepared to make advances, until they knew something more of the why and wherefore of her sweetheart's desertion.
“Are yiz all dumb?” exclaimed Jack, in surprise. “Faix, it's not every day a snug little field and cottage and a good-looking girl falls in a man's way. I say again, I'll give her and the lase to the man that will say the word.”