‘No, by the saints!’ cried Blake; ‘they stab each other with inky
pens, and suck each other dry with lawsuits, by the help of such
parchmint-scrapin’ vermin as Jack Feagus. ’Tis a dirty world we live
in, Desmond, my boy, but sure that’s all the more reason that the few
decent men should stick together. I’m goin’ on to Widdy Daly’s shebeen,
and if ye’re inclined for a drink at the stone cow, I’ll be proud of
your company.’
‘Later, perhaps,’ said Desmond. ‘I’ve Lady Dulcie to take care of now,
you see.’
‘Ah!’ said Blake, with a vinous smile at the girl, ‘’tis the best end
of the stick that ye’ve got hold of, Desmond Macartney. Whisky’s a good
familiar craythur, but ’tis a mighty poor substitute for the colleens.
Good luck to ye. Lady Dulcie, your obedient servant.’
He swaggered off, his recent anger quite forgotten, and a moment later
the quiet evening air rang tunably with a scrap of Irish song:
‘And thin he’d reply, with a wink of his eye,
“Arrah! Paddy, now can’t ye be aisy
‘’Tis a beautiful voice,’ said Desmond, standing still to listen.
‘’Twould have been better for poor Blake, maybe, if it hadn’t been so
fine; it’s just been the ruin of him.’
‘The horrid old man!’ said Dulcie.
‘I wonder uncle admits him to his table.’
‘Oh, sure, there’s no harm in poor Blake!’ said Desmond. ‘He’s nobody’s
enemy but his own, and there’s no better company in Ireland, till he
gets too much of the whisky inside him, or sees an attorney.’
‘What makes him hate lawyers so?’ asked Dulcie.
‘Sure he has reason,’ returned the boy, who had all an Irishman’s
apparently innate detestation of law and its exponents. ‘He lost one
half of his acres in trying to keep the other half, years ago, before
you and I were born, and Feagus, who acted for him, played him false.
That’s the story, at least, and I don’t find it hard to believe, for
he’s an ugly customer, that same Feagus.’
They passed together through the ruined arch, which had been in former
times the main point of ingress, through the outer wall of the Castle,
the rough and ponderous stones of which had, in these later years of
peace, gone to the building of stables, offices, and peasants’ cottages.
The main building, a huge castellated mansion with an aspect of great
age and rugged strength, contrasted strongly in its air of well-kept
prosperity with most proprietorial residences in that part of Ireland.
Skirting the side of the Castle, they came upon a garden and pleasaunce,
bright with flowering plants and emerald turf, commanding a view of the
sea, now shining with the glaring tints of sunset, which were reflected
too by the bay-windows of the Castle façade.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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