“How’r ye, Flo?” said Mr. Packer.
“Morrow! Dick,” was the dutiful return. “Who’s that wid ye? Mr. Fitzmaurice, I suppose.”
“What a guess you made! If you go on this way, you’ll be tried for witchcraft at last,” said Miss Flora.
“Mr. Fitzmaurice, ye’r welcome—glad to see ye in Ballymaccragh. Fine night—but could drive over the bog. Maybe ye’d step down to the wee back parlour, and have a glass of naagus, or a drop of the other,—naked, or in company.”
“A glass of naagus, or a drop of the other—naked or in company,” responded Dick’s affectionate niece, mimicking her respected relation like an echo; “do you think Captain Fitzmaurice drove thirteen miles to drink hot scalteeine? One would suppose you kept a potheine house.”
“But I wanted to introduce him to the naabors.”
“The naabors!” returned the young lady, mimicking Uncle Dick to the life. “And a blessed lot the neighbours are! Kelly, and Brophy, and Kinsella,—a parcel of savages, who only know when whisky’s over-proof, and a bullock fit for market. But, Dick, why don’t you take heart when you are in Athlone, and treat yourself to a new pair of fye-for-shames? And look at his cravat!” so saying, she caught the ample bow, and whisked it round, until it met the spot where the hangman would have placed it. “Now, be off, Dick; keep yourself and naabors out of my sight for the evening, and I’ll settle sixpence a-day on you for life!”
I think our introduction to “my aunt” was about as affectionate and reverential; and I began to comprehend the meaning of the word “clipper.” No matter; she was the finest animal in the collection; and what was it to me, if she denounced the scarlet turban of the lady hostess, and traced its importation to the same ship that, thirteen years before, had wafted Uncle Dick’s unmentionables from China? We laughed at the company and ourselves, flirted, danced three sets before supper, two ditto after it,—passed every thing, next morning, on the road—and I popped her down at her papa’s, at half-past seven—she to dream of marriage, and I of God knows what.
It was two o’clock before I toddled into the mess-room. Others had been nearly as late as I; for the little snub-nosed major and Captain O’Boyle were just concluding their breakfast, when I joined them, and ordered mine.
“Cursed nuisance country routs,” growled the short commander;—“horse kicked by a vicious mule—kettle not boiled after supper—rheumatism left hip—and lost three rubbers at whist, and five pound ten at lammy.”