Having yet two hours to spare, the party resolved to consume them by sauntering about until the hour appointed for dinner, which being come, and all having assembled at one point, near the Bailey, they proceeded together to the chosen spot, where they found Murphy awaiting them with a most rueful countenance. He had been vainly trying to invent some plausible excuse for his patron, as he dreaded that all the blame would be thrown upon Bob’s hard driving at setting out.
“The bottom’s fell out o’ the blaggard rotten ould bashket, ma’am, an’ the knives an’ forks has fell an the road.”
“Oh, well,” said Mr Sharpe (who did not seem to be either so astonished or angry as one might have expected), “give them a rub in a napkin; a little dust won’t do them any harm.”
“Why, thin, the sorra a one o’ them there is to rub,” said Murphy, “barrin’ this one crukked ould fork.”
Despite his loss, Mr Sharpe could not refrain from laughing when Murphy held up an article, which had certainly been packed for a joke, it was so distorted, one prong being tolerably straight, but the other sticking out as if it was going to march. However, collecting himself, he asked sternly, “Do you mean to tell me that all the knives and forks were lost upon the road?” “Jist so, sir,” was the reply.
“The glass; is it safe?”
“Bruck, sir—all in smithereens; sorra as much ov id together as ud show what the patthern was.”
“And the spoons,” roared Mr Sharpe, as if the thought had only just struck him.
“Spoons! sir. Oh, be my sowl you’d betther look for thim yourself; here’s the bashket.”
“This is a costly party to me,” said Mr Sharpe, “but it can’t be helped now; so don’t let my loss cause any diminution of your pleasure or enjoyment.”