Chapter 24

_Parlour of the Inn._

_CHRISTY and Miss GALLAGHER._

_Christy._ (_to Miss GALLAGHER, slapping her on her back_) Hould up your head, child; there’s money bid for you.

_Miss G._ Lord, father, what a thump on the back to salute one with. Well, sir, and if money is bid for me, no wonder: I suppose, it’s because I have money.

_Christy._ That’s all the rason--you’ve hit it, Florry. It’s money that love always looks for now. So you may be proud to larn the news I have for you, which will fix Mr. Gilbert, your bachelor, for life, I’ll engage--and make him speak out, you’ll see, afore night-fall. We have the new inn, dear!--I’ve got the promise here under her own hand-writing.

_Miss G._ Indeed!--Well, I’m sure I shall be glad to get out of this hole, which is not fit for a rat or a Christian to live in--and I’ll have my music and my piano in the back parlour, genteel.

_Christy._ Oh! Ferrinafad, are you there? It’s your husband must go to that expinse, my precious, if he chooses, _twingling_ and _tweedling_, instead of the puddings and apple pies--that you’ll settle betwix yees; and in the honeymoon, no doubt, you’ve cunning enough to compass that, and more.

_Miss G._ To be sure, sir, and before I come to the honeymoon, I promise you; for I won’t become part or parcel of any man that ever wore a head, except he’s music in his soul enough to allow me my piano in the back parlour.

_Christy._ Asy! asy! Ferrinafad--don’t be talking about the piano-forte, till you are married. Don’t be showing the halter too soon to the shy horse--it’s with the sieve of oats you’ll catch him; and his head once in the sieve, you have the halter on him clane. Pray, after all, tell me, Florry, the truth--did Mr. Gilbert ever ax you?

_Miss G._ La, sir, what a coarse question. His eyes have said as much a million of times.

_Christy._ That’s good--but not in law, dear. For, see, you could not _shue_ a man in the four courts for a breach of promise made only with the eyes, jewel. It must be with the tongue afore witness, mind, or under the hand, sale, or mark--look to that.

_Miss G._ But, dear sir, Mr. Gilbert is so tongue-tied with that English bashfulness.

_Christy._ Then Irish impudence must cut the string of that tongue, Florry. Lave that to me, unless you’d rather yourself.

_Miss G._ Lord, sir--what a rout about one man, when, if I please, I might have a dozen lovers.

_Christy._ Be the same more or less. But one rich bachelor’s worth a dozen poor, that is, for the article of a husband.

_Miss G._ And I dare say the drum-major is rich enough, sir--for all Scotchmen, they say, is fond of money and _a_conomie; and I’d rather after all be the lady of a military man. (_Sings._)

“I’ll live no more at home, But I’ll follow with the drum, And I’ll be the captain’s lady, oh!”

_Christy._ Florry! Florry! mind you would not fall between two stools, and nobody to pity you.

_Enter BIDDY._

_Miss G._ Well, what is it?

_Biddy._ The bed. I was seeing was the room empty, that I might make it; for it’s only turned up it is, when I was called off to send in dinner. So I believe I’d best make it now, for the room will be wanting for the tea-drinking, and what not.

_Miss G._ Ay, make the bed do, sure it’s asy, and no more about it;--you’ve talked enough about it to make twinty beds, one harder nor the other,--if talk would do. (_BIDDY goes to make the bed._) And I’m sure there’s not a girl in the parish does less in the day, for all the talk you keep. Now I’ll just tell all you didn’t do, that you ought this day, Biddy.

[_While Miss GALLAGHER is speaking to BIDDY, Mr. GALLAGHER opens a press, pours out, and swallows a dram._

_Christy._ Oh, that would be too long telling, Florry, and that’ll keep cool. Lave her now, and you may take your scould out another time. I want to spake to you. What’s this I wanted to say? My memory’s confusing itself. Oh, this was it--I didn’t till you how I got this promise of the inn: I did it nately--I got it for a song.

_Miss G._ You’re joking,--and I believe, sir, you’re not over and above sober. There’s a terrible strong smell of the whiskey.

_Christy._ No, the whiskey’s not strong, dear, at-all-at-all!--You may keep smelling what way you plase, but I’m as sober as a judge, still,--and, drunk or sober, always knows and knewed on which side my bread was buttered:--got it for a song, I tell you--a bit of a complimentary, adulatory scroll, that the young lady fancied--and she, slap-dash, Lord love her, and keep her always so! writes at the bottom, _granted the poet’s petition_.

_Miss G._ And where on earth, then, did you get that song?

_Christy._ Where but in my brains should I get it? I could do that much any way, I suppose, though it was not my luck to be edicated at Ferrinafad.

[_Miss GALLAGHER looks back, and sees BIDDY behind her.--Miss GALLAGHER gives her a box on the ear._

_Miss G._ Manners! that’s to teach ye.

_Biddy._ Manners!--Where would I larn them--when I was only waiting the right time to ax you what I’d do for a clane pillow-case?

_Miss G._ Why, turn that you have inside out, and no more about it.

_Christy._ And turn yourself out of this, if you plase. (_He turns BIDDY out by the shoulders._) Let me hear you singing _Baltiorum_ in the kitchen, for security that you’re not hearing my sacrets. There, she’s singing it now, and we’re snug;--tell me when she stops, and I’ll stop myself.

_Miss G._ Then there’s the girl has ceased singing. There’s somebody’s come in, into the kitchen; may be it’s the drum-major. I’ll go and see.

[_Exit Miss GALLAGHER._

_CHRISTY, solus._

There she’s off now! And I must after her, else she’ll spoil her market, and my own. But look ye, now--if I shouldn’t find her agreeable to marry this Mr. Gilbert, the man I’ve laid out for her, why here’s a good stick that will bring her to rason in the last resort; for there’s no other way of rasoning with Ferrinafad.

[_Exit CHRISTY._