The consequences of the calamity which was hanging over Bryan M'Mahon's head, had become now pretty well understood, and occasioned a very general and profound sympathy for the ruin in which it was likely to involve him. Indeed, almost every one appeared to feel it more than he himself did, and many, who on meeting him, were at first disposed to offer him consolation, changed their purpose on witnessing his cheerful and manly bearing under it. Throughout the whole country there was but one family, with another exception, that felt gratified at the blow which had fallen on him. The exception we speak of was no other than Mr, Hycy Burke, and the family was that of the Hogans. As for Teddy Phats, he was not the man to trouble himself by the loss of a moment's indifference upon any earthly or other subject, saving and excepting always that it involved the death, mutilation, or destruction in some shape, of his great and relentless foe, the Gauger, whom he looked upon as the impersonation of all that is hateful and villainous in life, and only sent into this world to war with human happiness at large. That great professional instinct, as the French say, and a strong unaccountable disrelish of Hycy Burke, were the only two feelings that disturbed the hardened indifference of his nature.
One night, shortly after Bryan's visit to his landlord, the Hogans and Phats were assembled in the kiln between the hours of twelve and one o'clock, after having drunk nearly three quarts of whiskey among them. The young savages, as usual, after the vagabond depredations or mischievous exercises of the day, were snoring as we have described them before; when Teddy, whom no quantity of liquor could affect beyond a mere inveterate hardness of brogue and an indescribable effort at mirth and melody, exclaimed—“Fwhy, dhen, dat's the stuff; and here's bad luck to him that paid fwor it.”
“I'll not drink it, you ugly keout,” exclaimed Philip, in his deep and ruffianly voice; “but come—all o' yez fill up and drink my toast. Come, Kate, you crame of hell's delights, fill till I give it. No,” he added abruptly, “I won't drink that, you leprechaun; the man that ped for it is Hycy Burke, and I like Hycy Burke for one thing, an' I'll not dhrink bad luck to him. Come, are yez ready?”
“Give it out, you hulk,” said Kate, “an' don't keep us here all night over it.”
“Here, then,” exclaimed the savage, with a grin of ferocious mirth, distorting his grim colossal features into a smile that was frightful and inhuman—“Here's may Bryan M'Mahon be soon a beggar, an' all his breed the same! Drink it now, all o' yez, or, by the mortal counthryman, I'll brain the first that'll refuse it.”
The threat, in this case, was a drunken one, and on that very account the more dangerous.
“Well,” said Teddy, “I don't like to drink it; but if—”
“Honomondiaul! you d——d disciple,” thundered the giant, “down wid it, or I'll split your skull!”
Teddy had it down ere the words were concluded.
“What!” exclaimed Hogan, or rather roared again, as he fastened his blazing eyes on Kate—“what, you yalla mullotty, do you dar to refuse?”