“Ain't you, faith?” replied the officer; “it looks devilish like it, though. Don't you think so, ma'am?”
“I never listens to no nonsense like that ere,” replied the lady. “All I say is, that a gentleman as I've the honor of being acquainted with, 'as been robbed the other night of a pocket-book stuffed with banknotes, and a case of Hirish pistols that he kept to shoot robbers, and sich other wulgar wretches as is to be found nowhere but in Hireland.”
“Stuffed!” exclaimed the priest, disdainfully; “as much stuffed, ma'am, as you are.”
The officer's very veins tingled with delight on hearing the admission which was involved in the simple priest's exclamation. He kept it, however, to himself, on account of the large reward that lay in the background.
“I stuffed!” exclaimed the indignant lady, whose thin face had for a considerable time been visible, for it was long past dawn; “I defy you, sir,” she replied, “you large, nasty, Hirish farmer, as feeds upon nothing but taters. I stuffed!—no lady—you nasty farmer—goes without padding, which is well known to any man as is a gentleman. But stuffed! I defy you, nasty Paddy; I was never stuffed. Those as stuff use 'oss 'air; now I never uses 'oss 'air.”
“If you weren't stuffed, then,” replied the priest, who took a natural disrelish to her affectation of pride and haughtiness, knowing her as he now did—“many a better woman was. If you weren't, ma'am, it wasn't your own fault. Sir Thomas Gourlay's English cook need never be at a loss for plenty to stuff herself with.”
This was an extinguisher. The heaven of her complexion was instantly concealed by a thick cloud in the shape of a veil. She laid herself back in the corner of the carriage, and maintained the silence of a vanquished woman during the remainder of the journey.
On arriving in town the passengers, as is usual, betook themselves to their respective destinations. Father M'Mahon, with his small bundle under his arm, was about to go to the Brazen Head Tavern, when he found himself tapped on the shoulder by our friend Darby, who now held a pistol in his hand, and said:
“There are eight of us, Mr. Finnerty, and it is useless to shy Abraham. You're bagged at last, so come off quietly to the office.”
“I don't understand you,” replied the priest, who certainly felt surprised at seeing himself surrounded by so many constables, for it was impossible any longer to mistake them. “What do you mean, my friend? or who do you suppose me to be?”