The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes. John Brougham

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "Who the devil are you? Get off o' my toe, you impudent little scoundrel," said the Squire, "or I'll fling a pill-box at you."

      "Bless you, that would be no use," piped the diminutive jock, settling himself in his saddle.

      "Move, I say, or bang goes this bottle of doctor's stuff right in yer eye."

      "Fire away," says the imp, with a little bit of a laugh, like the squeak of a mouse, "I don't fear any of your doctor's bedevilment."

      "What brings you here, anyway?" demanded Bulworthy. He was now out of pain, and consequently waxing arrogant.

      "You," squeaked the little rider.

      "It's a lie. I never invited you."

      "Oh, yes, you did, and moreover, I must say, treated me like a prince; boarded and lodged me gloriously."

      "Pooh! you're a fool. Where did I lodge you?"

      "Here, in your foot," said the little devil, with a grin, accompanying the observation with the slightest touch of the needle; enough, however, to extort a yell from the Squire. "What do you think of that, my hero?" the jockey continued. "It will be better for you to keep a civil tongue in that foolish head of yours."

      "Oh, I will! I will!" groaned Bulworthy. "If you'll only obleege me by dismountin', I'll promise anything."

      "Oh, yes, that's mighty likely," said the imp, "after being asked here to amuse myself. A pretty sort of a host you are."

      "If you'll believe me, there's some mistake, sir, indeed there is," said Bulworthy, apologetically, "I don't remember ever havin' had the honor of your acquaintance."

      "You don't, don't you; then, here goes, to put you in mind, you forgetful old savage;" with that, he commenced a series of equestrian manœuvres with the Squire's intractable toe, now sawing with the diminutive chifney bit, now tickling the sides with a slender, but very cutting kind of a whip, finishing up his exercises by plunging both spurs into the flesh, making the tortured limb jump like a Galway hunter over a stone wall.

      "Stop! stop!" roared the sufferer, while the perspiration rained from his forehead like a shower-bath.

      "You know me now, do you, eh?"

      "Yes, yes," gasped the Squire. "I'll never forget you again – never, never!"

      "Will you be civil?" – a slight touch of the needle.

      "Oh, murdher! yes."

      "And temperate?" – another small puncture.

      "I will, I will."

      "Very well, then. I'll not only dismount, as I'm a little tired, but I'll give you a word or two of good advice." So saying, the little jockey got out of his seat, put his saddle on his shoulders, and having with great difficulty clambered up the flannel precipice of Bulworthy's leg, managed, with the assistance of his waistcoat buttons, to mount upon the table, where, sitting down upon a pill-box, he crossed his legs, and leisurely switching his top-boots, regarded the Squire with a look of intense cunning.

      "Well, only to think," said Bulworthy to himself, "that such a weeny thing as that could give a man such a heap of oneasiness; a fella that I could smash with my fist as I would a fly: may I never get up from this if I don't do it, and then may-be I'll get rid of the murdherin' torment altogether."

      With that, he suddenly brought his great hand down on the table with a bang that, as he supposed, exterminated jockey, pill-box, and all.

      "Ha, ha!" he roared, "there's an end to you, my fine fella."

      "Not a bit of it," squealed the little ruffian; "what do you say to this?" he continued, as he flourished one of the top-boots over his head, and buried the spur through the Squire's finger, fastening it firmly to the table. "See what you got for your wicked intentions, and that ain't the worst of it neither, for I'm going to serve that elegant big thumb of yours the same way. But I'll take my time about it, for there's no fear of your hands ever stirring from that spot until I like." So saying, the tantalizing fiend made several fierce attempts to transfix the doomed member, each time just grazing the skin with the sharp needle. At last he drove it right up to the heel, and there the two boots stuck, while the little blackguard danced the "Foxhunter's jig," in his stocking-feet, cutting pigeon-wings among the pill-boxes, like a professor.

      Bulworthy now roared louder than ever, vainly endeavoring to free his tortured hand from its strange imprisonment, and the more he roared, the more his tormentor grinned, and cut capers about the table.

      "Oh, pull out them thunderin' spurs," cried he, in agony. "This is worse than all; mercy, mercy! Misther jockey, I beg your pardon for what I did; it was the drink; there's whisky in me."

      "I know that well enough," chirped the grinning imp. "If there wasn't, I couldn't have the power over you that you see."

      "Oh, won't you look over it this oncet? I'll be on me Bible oath I won't offend you again."

      "Are you in earnest this time?"

      "Bad luck attend me if I'm not."

      "Well, then, I'll trust you, though you don't deserve it," replied the little schemer, and, after two or three tugs, he succeeded in pulling out one of the spurs. "Do you feel easier?" inquired he, with a grin.

      "It's like getting half-way out of purgatory," said the Squire, with a sigh of relief. "There's a fine fella, lug out the other, won't you?"

      "I must make some conditions first."

      "Let them be short, for gracious sake!"

      "First and foremost, are you going to be quiet and reasonable?"

      "I am, I am!"

      "Secondly, are you going to pay me for the trouble I've had?"

      "Whatever you ask, only be quick about it."

      "It won't tax you much, you have only to make over to me all the bottles and jars you have in the house."

      "Take them, and welcome."

      "If you'll promise me not to meddle with them, I'll leave them in your keeping, only they're mine, remember."

      "Every drop," cried the Squire, eagerly. "I won't touch another mouthful."

      "That's all right; you keep your word and I'll keep mine; there, you may have the use of your fist once more," he continued, as he plucked out the other spur, giving the released hand a parting kick that thrilled through every joint.

      "And now," said he, as he pulled on his tiny boots, "I have a word or two more to say to you; you made a foolish wish just now; that you'd like to change places with that miserable cobbler over the way; are you still of the same way of thinking?"

      "Should I have your companionship there," inquired Bulworthy.

      "Certainly not; he couldn't afford to keep me," replied the gout-fiend, contemptuously.

      "Then, without meanin' the slightest offence to you, my little friend," said the other, "it wouldn't grieve me much to get rid of your acquaintance at any sacrifice, even to the disgust of walking into that rascally cobbler's shoes. I'm only afraid that, clever as you are, you can't manage that for me."

      "Don't СКАЧАТЬ