The Emigrants Of Ahadarra: The Works of William Carleton, Volume TwoCarleton, William
General
The Emigrants Of Ahadarra: The Works of William Carleton, Volume Two
Carleton, William
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“Fwhat would her be?” asked Ted, with a face in which there might be
read such a compound of cunning, vacuity, and ferocity as could rarely
be witnessed in the same countenance.
“Can you come down to me to-night?”
“No; I'll be busy.”
“Where are you at work now?”
“In Glendearg, above.”
“Well, then, if you can't come to me, I must only go to you. Will you be
there tonight? I wish to speak to you on very particular business.”
“Shiss; you _will_, dhin, wanst more?” asked the other, significantly.
“I think so.”
“Shiss--ay--vary good. Fwen will she come?”
“About eleven or twelve; so don't be from about the place anywhere.”
“Shiss---dhin--vary good. Is dhat all?”
“That's all now. Are your turf _dry_ or _wet_* to-day?”
* One method of selling Poteen is by bringing in kishes of
turf to the neighboring markets, when those who are up to
the secret purchase the turf, or pretend to do so; and while
in the act of discharging the load, the Keg of Poteen is
quickly passed into the house of him who purchases the
turf.--Are your turf wet or dry? was, consequently, a pass-
word.
“Not vary dhry,” replied Ted, with a grin so wide that, as was
humorously said by a neighbor of his, “it would take a telescope to
enable a man to see from the one end of it to the other.”
Hycy nodded and laughed, and Ted, cracking his whip, proceeded up the
town to sell his turf.
Hycy now sauntered about through the market, chatting here and there
among acquaintances, with the air of a man to whom neither life nor
anything connected with it could occasion any earthly trouble. Indeed,
it mattered little what he felt, his easiness of manner was such that
not one of his acquaintances could for a moment impute to him the
possibility of ever being weighed down by trouble or care of any kind;
and lest his natural elasticity of spirits might fail to sustain this
perpetual buoyancy, he by no means neglected to fortify himself with
artificial support. Meet him when or where you might, be it at six
in the morning or twelve at night, you were certain to catch from his
breath the smell of liquor, either in its naked simplicity or disguised
and modified in some shape.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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