The House by the Church-YardLe Fanu, Joseph Sheridan
General
The House by the Church-Yard
Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan
Country life -- Ireland -- Fiction; Ireland -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction
Nearly a dozen gentlemen broke out at once into voluble speech. Nutter
was in a confounded passion; but being a man of few words, showed his
wrath chiefly in his countenance, and stood with his legs apart and his
arms stuffed straight into his coat pockets, his back to the fire-place,
with his chest thrown daringly out, sniffing the air in a state of high
tension, and as like as a respectable little fellow of five feet six
could be to that giant who smelt the blood of the Irishman, and swore,
with a 'Fee! Faw!! Fum!!!' he'd 'eat him for his supper that night.'
'None of the corps can represent you, Nutter, you know,' said Captain
Cluffe. 'It may go hard enough with Puddock and O'Flaherty, as the
matter stands; but, by Jove! if any of us appear on the other side, the
general would make it a very serious affair, indeed.'
'Toole, can't you?' asked Devereux.
'Out of the question,' answered he, shutting his eyes, with a frown, and
shaking his head. 'There's no man I'd do it sooner for, Nutter knows;
but I can't--I've refused too often; besides, you'll want me
professionally, you know; for Sturk must attend that Royal Hospital
enquiry to-morrow all day--but hang it, where's the difficulty? Isn't
there?--pooh!--why there must be lots of fellows at hand. Just--a--just
think for a minute.'
'I don't care who,' said Nutter, with dry ferocity, 'so he can load a
pistol.'
'Tom Forsythe would have done capitally, if he was at home,' said one.
'But he's _not_,' remarked Cluffe.
'Well,' said Toole, getting close up to Devereux, in a coaxing
undertone, 'suppose we try Loftus.'
'Dan Loftus!' ejaculated Devereux.
'Dan Loftus,' repeated the little doctor, testily; 'remember, it's just
eleven o'clock. He's no great things, to be sure; but what better can we
get.'
'Allons, donc!' said Devereux, donning his cocked-hat, with a shrug, and
the least little bit of a satirical smile, and out bustled the doctor
beside him.
'Where the deuce did that broganeer, O'Flaherty, come from?' said
Cluffe, confidentially, to old Major O'Neill.
'A Connaughtman,' answered the major, with a grim smile, for he was
himself of that province and was, perhaps, a little bit proud of his
countryman.
'Toole says he's well connected,' pursued Cluffe; 'but, by Jupiter! I
never saw so-mere a Teague; and the most cross-grained devil of a
cat-a-mountain.'
'I could not quite understand why he fastened on Mr. Nutter,' observed
the major, with a mild smile.
'I'll rid the town of him,' rapped out Nutter, with an oath, leering at
his own shoebuckle, and tapping the sole with asperity on the floor.
'If you are thinking of any unpleasant measures, gentlemen, I'd rather,
if you please, know nothing of them,' said the sly, quiet major; 'for
the general, you are aware, has expressed a strong opinion about such
affairs; and as 'tis past my bed-hour, I'll wish you, gentlemen, a
good-night,' and off went the major.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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