“Darby, my good man, and most impertinent scoundrel, if you wish to retain your present situation, never open your lips against that excellent gentleman, Mr. Hickman. Mark my words—out you go, if I ever discover that you mention him with disrespect.”
“Well, I won't then; and God forgive me for spakin' the truth—when it's not right.”
“Did you see the Mulhollands?”
“Mr. Hickman again, sir, an' bad luck to—— Beg pardon, sir, I forgot. Throth, sir, when I mentioned the duty work an' the new aveny, they whistled at you.”
“Whistled at me!”
“Yes, sir; an' said that Mr. Hickman tould them to give you neither duty fowl nor duty work, but to do their own business, and let you do yours. Ay, and 'twas the same from all the rest.”
“Well,” said Val, going to the window and looking abroad for a minute or two,—“well—so much for Ballymackscud; now for its next neighbor, Ballymackfud.”
“Mr. Hickman again, sir. The divil sweep the same Hickman, any way,” said Darby, in an aside, which he knew the other could easily hear. “Out of the whole townland, sir, all I got was two men for the aveny—a goose from Barney Scadden, and her last ten, along wid half-a-dozen eggs, from that dacent creature, widow M'Murt. Throth four fine little clildre she has, if they had anything on them, or anything to keep body and sowl together.”
“You warned them all, of course?”
“Every sowl in the townland of Ballymackt 'ud; and there's the upshot. But it's all Mr. Hickman, sir; for he tould them—'I will have none of this work,' says he; 'the tenants musn't be harrished and fleeshed in this manner,' says he. Yes, your honor, that's the upshot from Ballymackfud—two day's work—a sick goose (for I disremembered to mention that Barney said, wid a wink, that she'd require great attintion, as she was in a delicate state of health)—one ould hen, and a half-a-dozen eggs; which wouldn't be the case, only for Hickman—not but he's a very respectable gentleman—by all accounts.”