“Out ov fashin,” quoth Tim sullenly, “but I’ll give yez one as good,” and “Patrick’s Day” set them all in motion for a quarter of an hour.
“Oh, we’re quite tired ov that!” at length lisped the housemaid “do, piper, give us a walse or co-dhreelle. Do you play ‘Tanty-polpitty?’ Jem Sidebottom and I used to dance it beautifully when I lived at Mr A——’s!”
“What does yez call it?” asked Tim rather sneeringly.
“Tanty-polpitty,” replied the damsel, drawing herself up with an air enough to kill a piper!
“Phew!” returned the musician contemptuously, “that’s out ov fashin too; but I’ll give yez one as good;” and the “Boyne” followed, played neither faster nor slower than he had been taught it, which was in right time, and any thing but dancing time, to the no small annoyance of the dancers. Another and another jig and reel was demanded, and to all and each Tim Callaghan replied, “I haven’t that, but I’ll give yez one as good;” and the “King,” the “Boyne,” and the “Day,” followed each other in due succession.
Was there anything more provoking! There stood four active, zealous votaries of Terpsichore, with toes pointed and heads erect, anxiously awaiting a further developement of Tim Callaghan’s powers! There stood the dancers, looking beseechingly at the piper; there sat the piper staring at the dancers, wondering what the deuce they waited for, quite satisfied that they had got all that could reasonably be expected from him.
“An’ have you nothin’ else in yer chanther?” at last angrily demanded the butler.
“E—ah?” drawled Tim Callaghan, as if he did not understand the querist.
The question was repeated in a higher key.
“Arrah, how bad yez are for sortins!” retorted the piper; “yer masther wud be contint wid what I gave yez, an’ thankful into the bargin!”