Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil BlasLever, Charles
General
Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- Fiction
"There are two of them, then; and the other, I suppose, is on the Austin
road?"
He nodded.
"What a piece of business!" sighed I; "and how far have I come astray?"
"A good bit."
"A mile or two?"
"Twenty."
"Will you be kind enough to be a little more communicative, and just say
where this road leads to; if I can join the Austin road without turning
back again; and where?"
Had I propounded any one of these queries, it is just possible I might
have had an answer; but, in my zeal, I outwitted myself. I drew my
check for too large an amount, and consequently was refused payment
altogether.
"Well," said I, after a long and vain wait for an answer, "what am I to
do with my horse? There is a stable, I hope?"
"There an't," said he, with a grunt.
"So that I can't bait my beast?"
"No!"
"Bad enough! Can I have something to eat myself,--a cup of coffee--?"
A rude burst of laughter stopped me, and the flannel man actually
shook with the drollery of his own thoughts. "It bean't Astor House, I
reckon!" said he, wiping his eyes.
"Not very like it, certainly," said I, smiling.
"What o' that? Who says it ought to be like it?" said he, and his fishy
eyes flared up, and his yellow cheeks grew orange with anger. "I an't
very like old Hickory, I s'pose! and maybe I don't want to be! I'm a
free Texan! I an't a nigger nor a blue-nose! I an't one of your old
country slaves, that black King George's boots, and ask leave to pay his
taxes! I an't."
"And I," said I, assuming an imitation of his tone, for experiment's
sake, "I am no lazy, rocking-chair, whittling, tobacco-chewing Texan!
but a traveller, able and willing to pay for his accommodation, and who
will have it, too!"
"Will ye? Will ye, then?" cried he, springing up with an agility I could
not have believed possible; while, rushing into the hut, he reappeared
with a long Kentucky rifle, and a bayonet a-top of it. "Ye han't long to
seek yer man, if ye want a flash of powder! Come out into the bush and
'see it out,' I say!"
The tone of this challenge was too insulting not to call for at least
the semblance of acceptance; and so, fastening my mare to a huge staple
beside the door, I unslung my rifle, and cried, "Come along, my friend;
I'm quite ready for you!"
Nothing daunted at my apparent willingness, he threw back the hammer of
his lock, and said, "Hark ye, young un! You can't give me a cap or two?
Mine are considerable rusty!"
The request was rather singular, but its oddity was its success; and so,
opening a small case in the stock of my rifle, I gave him some.
"Ah, them 's real chaps,--the true 'tin jackets,' as we used to say at
St. Louis!" cried he, his tongue seeming wonderfully loosened by the
theme. "Now, lad, let's see if one of your bullets fit this bore; she's
a heavy one, and carries twenty to the pound; and I 've nothing in her
now but some loose chips of iron for the bears."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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