In due time, however, his great prevailing weakness, vanity, became well known to his family, who, already aware of his peculiar aversion to any kind of employment that was not social, immediately seized upon it, and instead of taking rational steps to remove it, they nursed it into stronger life by pandering to it as a convenient means of regulating, checking, or stimulating the whole habits of his life. His family were not aware of the moral consequences which they were likely to produce by conduct such as this, nor of the pains they were ignorantly taking to lay the foundation of his future misfortune and misery.
“Art, my good boy, will you take your spade and clane out the remaindher o' that drain, between the Hannigans and us,” said his father.
“Well, will Frank come?”
“Sure you know he can't; isn't he weedin' that bit of blanther in Crackton's park, an' afther that sure he has to cut scraws on the Pirl-hill for the new barn.”
“Well, I'll help him if he helps me; isn't that fair? Let us join.”
“Hut, get out o' that, avourneen; go yourself; do what you're bid, Art.”
“Is it by myself? murdher alive, father, don't ax me; I'll give him my new Cammon if he comes.”
“Throth you won't; the sorra hand I'd ever wish to see the same Cammon in but your own; faix, it's you that can handle it in style. Well now, Art, well becomes myself but I thought I could play a Cammon wid the face o' clay wanst in my time, but may I never sin if ever I could match you at it; oh, sorra taste o' your Cammon you must part wid; sure I'd rather scower the drain myself.”
“Bedad I won't part wid it then.”
“I'd rather, I tell you, scower it myself—an' I will, too. Sure if I renew the ould cough an me I'll thry the Casharawan, (* Dandelion) that did me so much good the last time.”