On the present occasion it was resolved that Dick should sustain the character of a girl, and much fun was anticipated from the punishment that the remainder of the party would inflict upon any presumptuous individual who should dare to molest the modest fair one.
At the end of the double range of tents called “Dame-street,” was one called “the Larkers;” and as this was uniformly crowded by citizens of Dublin, it was scarcely possible for any one, residing but for a month in town, not to be recognised by some person present, who immediately passed the name of the new-comer round, and he was surprised (if a raw one) to hear himself addressed by name, by persons whom he never saw in his life before.
It was at the entrance of this tent that a countryman stood, attired in the usual large frieze over-coat (which, from its being worn in summer as well as winter, might lead a stranger to suppose that there seldom or never is a hot day in Ireland), and accompanied by a pretty, bashful-looking girl, apparently fresh from the “interior.” After gaping for a considerable time, some gentlemen, amused by the wonderment that he exhibited, and probably somewhat touched by his companion’s charms, called to him to “come in.” With some reluctance he accepted the invitation, and, fearful of intruding upon the “gintlemin,” seated himself awkwardly upon the end of a form; up it tilted, and down he went, to the great delight of the beholders. Having gathered himself up, he reseated himself more firmly, placing “Biddy” near him, she having declined all offers of other accommodation pressed on her by the company.
Paddy O’Neill (the name by which he announced himself), having been pretty well plied with punch, had grown very voluble, and seemed to be beginning to feel himself quite at home, had told many queer stories, and made his entertainers laugh very heartily, when two elderly gentlemen, closely muffled, entered rather stealthily, and sliding over, suddenly seated themselves behind Paddy. Biddy, who had been hitherto quite silent, answering every compliment or remark addressed to her only with a smile, gave Paddy a nudge, and whispered something into his ear, that caused him to turn and gaze at the new arrivals.
“Arrah, thin, Docthor M——, agrah, who’d ha’ thought o’ meetin’ you here?” said he, addressing one of them, who sprang at the mention of his name, as if he had sat on the point of a stray nail; he and his companion Dr H——, both senior fellows of Trinity College, having disguised themselves, as they thought effectually, for the purpose of seeing, for the first time in their lives, the fair, and the fun of it, without being recognised in such an uncanonical assemblage. With this object they had avoided exposing themselves to the risk of walking down the tent, but had merely slipped in to reconnoitre from behind the shelter of the frieze-coated customer, who now, so inopportunely and innocently, had announced the name of one of them.
“Hold your tongue, sir!” said Dr M.; “you mistake me, sir.”
“Arrah, docthor darlint, sure iv I mistake ye, ye need’nt get into sich a comflusthration about id; bud sure I know ye too well to mistake ye. Sure, aint I the boy that had the misforthin to dhrop yer honor’s riverince into the bog-hole, whin ye wint out to make believe ye were snipe shootin’, down at Colonel Thrench’s, last Candlemas was a twelmonth.”
“I don’t know you, sir!” roared the doctor in an agony, hoping by his ferocity to overawe the countryman into silence; but Paddy had taken too much punch to notice the tone, and seemed incapable of entertaining or following up more than one idea at a time, and the one now before him was that of forcing himself, will he nill he, upon the recollection of the worthy doctor.
“Ye don’t know me!—well, listen to that!—ye don’t know me!—oh, well, iv that does’nt flog! Arrah, thin, maybe ye don’t recollect the bog-hole that ye wanted me to carry ye over, an’ ye war so mortial heavy that my fut slipped, an’ I had the luck to fall an my face, jist at the very edge iv the slush, an’ ye pitched right-over, head foremost, into the very middle iv id; an’ iv id was’nt for the good luck that yer legs stuck out, jist the laste taste in life, by which I got a hould iv ye, sure would’nt ye be lost intirely? An’ don’t ye”——
“Hold your tongue, you infernal scoundrel!” roared the enraged doctor, who saw that every eye was fixed upon him, and every one’s attention drawn to the spot, from the eagerness of manner and stentorian voice of Paddy, whose reminiscence had produced a roar of laughter. Escape, too, was utterly hopeless, for the tent had been filling, and the doorway was blocked up by those who were pressing forward from the outside to get a view of the speaker. “Hold your tongue, sirrah; you mistake me for some one else. I never was thrown into a bog-hole in my life.”