Handy Andy: A Tale of Irish Life. Volume 1Lover, Samuel
General
Handy Andy: A Tale of Irish Life. Volume 1
Lover, Samuel
Ireland -- Fiction
to return to my gentle crocodile. I was shown upstairs to the sick
room, and there, sir, I saw the unfortunate girl, speechless, at the
last gasp absolutely. The Killanmaul dandy had left her to
die--absolutely given her up; and _then_, indeed, I'm sent for! Well, I
was in a rage, and was rushing out of the house, when the crocodile
way-laid me in the hall. 'Oh, doctor, won't you do something for my
Jemima?' 'I can't, ma'am,' says I; 'but Mr. Fogarty can.' 'Mr.
Fogarty!' says she. 'Yes, ma'am,' says I. 'You have mistaken my
profession, Miss Jinkins--I'm a doctor, ma'am; but I suppose _you took
me for an undertaker_!'"
"Well, you hit her hard, doctor," said Murphy.
"Sir, you might as well hit a rhinoceros," returned the doctor.
"When shall we dine?" asked Jack Horan.
"As soon as Mrs. Fay can let us have the eatables," answered Murphy;
"and, by-the-bye, Jack, I leave the ordering of the dinner to you, for
no man understands better how to do that same; besides, I want to leave
my horse in my own stable, and I'll be up at the inn, after you, in a
brace of shakes."
The troop now approached the town. Those who lived there rode to their
own stables, and returned to the party at Mrs. Fay's: while they who
resided at a distance dismounted at the door of the inn, which soon
became a scene of bustle in all its departments from this large influx
of guests; and the preparation for the dinner, exceeding in scale what
Mrs. Fay was generally called upon to provide, except when the assizes,
or races, or other such cause of commotion, demanded all the resources
of her establishment, and more, if she had them. So the Dinnys, and the
Tims, and the Mickeys, were rubbing down horses, cleaning knives, or
drawing forth extra tables from their dusty repose; and the Biddys, and
Judys, and Nellys, were washing up plates, scouring pans, and
brightening up extra candlesticks, or doing deeds of doom in the
poultry-yard, where an audible commotion gave token of the premature
deaths of sundry supernumerary chickens.
Murphy soon joined his guests, grinning from ear to ear, and rubbing
his hands as he entered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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