“‘The fellow,’ says she, ‘can neither ride nor drink, I hear; what is he good for? I wish to God he had broke his neck instead of that poor dummy, Bob Purcell.’”
“Egad, Pat, I took your part like a true friend, and stuck to you like a brick.”
“‘By my oath,’ says I, ‘Miss Flora, you were, never more mistaken in your life. It would do your heart good to see him seated on the saddle. Why, he brought Marmaluke in, a beautiful second at Knockcroghary, and only he rode over a blind beggarman and broke his back, he’d have won the cup in a common canter. Then, as to head—I never saw him fairly on the carpet but twice. He’ll take off his two bottles without trouble, and troop the guard after it, steady as the serjeant-major.’”
“‘And where the devil does the fellow hide himself?’ says she. ‘Dick, ye’ll deliver a friendly message for me. Tell him I’ll run him one round of the course for a new bonnet, weight for age,—and say, if he does not trot out to mama’s soirée—ay—that’s the name she called it—next Sunday, I’ll go myself to his cursed den, and draw him like a badger. If I don’t, may I never get a husband!’ There’s no use refusing, Pat, for she swore, d——n her if she wouldn’t.”
“Oh, my gentle Lucy!” I ejaculated, “no oath would fall from, thy sweet lips but the murmured vow of eternal constancy!”
“Eternal what?” responded Captain O’Boyle, who had but partially overheard my rhapsody—“If it’s Lucy Dogherty ye mean, I wish ye had been at the brag-table with her last Monday evening, when Mrs. Middleton laid down three natural aces,—Lord—she swore like a trooper. But you’ll go to the soirée, as they call ‘tea and turn out’ in this town, or Flora Maginnis will drop into your den, with a ‘God save all here.’ What will I say about a round of the course? Pon my sowl! it’s worth yir while to lose a bonnet, just to see how beautifully she sticks upon the pig-skin—‘ye’ll come, won’t ye, and I’ll call for ye.”
“I suppose I may as well go with a good grace,” I replied—“your friend, Miss Flora, being a lady, ‘not to be refused,’ as ‘the fancy, call it.”
“That’s right. Give us a glass of water, with a sketch of spirits thro’ it. I wonder what the divil tempts me to eat broiled bacon in the morning!”
Captain O’Boyle’s request being complied with, he bolted the diluted alcohol, and presently took himself off.
On the appointed night, he called and conducted me to the Sunday soiree of “Mother Maginnis,” as the mama of Miss Flora was familiarly termed at the mess. Why this maternal appellation had been conferred upon the lady, I could never exactly learn—but by that soubriquet she had been known for half-a-score years successively to every marching regiment. We found the company already assembled. Some played brag, some played loo, but Captain O’Boyle led me direct to the piano, where, encircled by a crowd of red-coats, ’two ladies were playing a duet; and, on its termination, in due form he presented me to Miss Flora.