Part 15 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: AN' PHAT DOES THIM LETTERS SHPELL?]
AN' PHAT DOES THIM LETTERS SHPELL?
”Sure Moll towld me wan magpie manes sorrow, two manes luck, three manes a weddin', an' four manes death; an' didn't I see four o' thim the day o'
the fair in Ennis whin O'Dougherty was laid out? An' whin O'Riley cut his arrum wid a bill-hook, an' the blood was runnin', didn't she tie a shtring on the arrum an' dip a raven's feather into the blood av a black cat's tail, an' shtop the bleedin'? An' didn't she bid me take care o' meself the day I met a red-headed woman afore dinner, an' it wasn't six months till I met the woman in the mornin', it a-rainin' an' ivery dhrop the full o' yer hat, an' me top-coat at home, an' that same night was I tuk wid the roomytics an' didn't shtir a toe fur a fortnight. Faix, she's an owld wan is Moll; phat she can't do isn't worth thryin'. If she goes fur to make a match, all the fathers in Ireland cudn't purvint it, an' it's no use o'
their settin' theirselves agin her, fur her head's as long as a summer day an' as hard as a s.h.i.+llalee.
”Did iver ye hear how she got a husband for owld Miss Rooney, the same that married Misther Dooley that kapes the Aygle Inn in Lisdoon Varna, an'
tuk him clane away from the Widdy Mulligan an' two more widdys that were comin' down upon him like kites on a young rabbit?
”Well, it's a mighty improvin' shtory, fur it shows that widdys can be baten whin they're afther a husband, that some doesn't belave, but they do say it takes a witch, the divil, an' an owld maid to do it, an' some think that all o' thim isn't aiquel to a widdy, aven if there's three o' thim an' but wan av her.
”The razon av it is this. Widdy wimmin are like lobsthers, whin they wanst ketch holt, begob, they've no consate av lettin' go at all, but will shtick to ye tighter than a toe-nail, till ye've aither to marry thim or murther thim, that's the wan thing in the end; fur if ye marry thim ye're talked to death, an' if ye murther thim ye 're only dacintly hanged out o'
the front dure o' the jail. Whin they're afther a husband, they're as busy as owld Nick, an' as much in airnest as a dog in purshoot av a flea.
More-be-token, they're always lookin' fur the proper man, an' if they see wan that they think will shuit, bedad, they go afther him as strait as an arrer, an' if he doesn't take the alarum an' run like a shape-thief, the widdy 'ull have him afore the althar an' married fast an' tight while he'd be sayin' a Craydo.
”They know so much be wan axpayrience av marryin', that, barrin' it's a widdy man that's in it, an' he knows as much as thimselves, they'll do for him at wanst, bekase it's well undhershtood that a bach'ler, aither young or owld, has as much show av outshtrappin' a widdy as a mouse agin a weasel.
”Now, this Misther Dooley was an owld bach'ler, nigh on five an' thirty, an' about fifteen years ago, come next Advint, he come from Cork wid a bit o' money, an' tuk the farm beyant Misther McCoole's on the lift as ye come out o' Galway. He wasn't a bad lookin' felly, an' liked the ladies, an'
the first time he was in chapel afther takin' the farm, aitch widdy an'
owld maid set the two eyes av her on him, an' the Widdy Mulligan says to herself, says she, 'Faix, that's just the man to take the place av me dear Dinnis,' fur, ye see, the widdys always do spake that-a-way av their husbands, a-givin' thim the good word afther they're dead, so as to make up fur the tongue las.h.i.+n's they give 'em whin they're alive. It's quare, so it is, phat widdys are like. Whin ye see a widdy at the wake schraimin'
fit to shplit yer head wid the noise, an' flingin' herself acra.s.s the grave at the berryin' like it was a bag o' male she was, an' thin spakin'
all the time av 'me poor dear hushband,' I go bail they lived together as paceful as a barrel full o' cats an' dogs; no more is it sorrow that's in it, but raimorse that's tarin' at her, an' the shquailin' an' kickin' is beways av a pinnance fur the gostherin' she done him whin he was livin', fur the more there's in a jug, the less noise it makes runnin' out, an'
whin ye've a heavy load to carry, ye nade all yer breath, an' so have none to waste tellin' how it's breakin' yer back.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The Widdy Mulligan]
”So it was wid the Widdy Mulligan, that kept the Shamrock Inn, for her Dinnis was a little ottomy av a gossoon, an' her the full av a dure, an'
the arrum on her like a smith an' the fut like a leg o' mutton. Och, she was big enough thin, but she's a horse entirely now, wid the walk av a duck, an' the cheeks av her shakin' like a bowl av shtirabout whin she goes. Her poor Dinnis dar n't say his sowl belonged to him, but was conthrolled be her, an' they do say his last words were, 'I'll have pace,'
that was phat he niver had afther he married her, fur she was wan that 'ud be shmilin' an' shmilin' an' the tongue av her like a razer. She'd a good bit o' property in the inn, siven beds in the house fur thravellers, an'
six childher, the oldest nigh onto twelve, an' from him on down in reg'lar steps like thim in front o' the coort-house.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The Widdy O'Donnell]
[Ill.u.s.tration: Missis McMurthry]
”Now, a bit up the shtrate from the Shamrock there was a little shop kept be Missis O'Donnell, the widdy av Tim O'Donnell, that died o' bein'
mortified in his legs that broke be his fallin' aff his horse wan night whin he was comin' back from Athlone, where he'd been to a fair. Missis O'Donnell was a wapin' widdy, that's got eyes like a hydrant, where ye can turn on the wather whin ye plaze. Begorra, thim's the widdys that 'ull do fur anny man, fur no more can ye tell phat's in their minds be lookin' at their faces than phat kind av close they've got on be lookin' at their shadders, an' whin they corner a man that's tinder-hearted, an' give a shy look at him up out o' their eyes, an' thin look down an' sind two or three dhrops o' wather from undher their eye-lashers, the only salvation fur him is to get up an' run like it was a bag o' gunpowdher she was. So Missis O'Donnell, whin she seen Misther Dooley, tuk the same notion into her head that the Widdy Mulligan did, fur she'd two childher, a boy an' a gurrul, that were growin' up, an' the shop wasn't payin' well.
”There was another widdy in it, the Widdy McMurthry, that aftherwards married a sargeant av the polis, an' lives in Limerick. She was wan o'
thim frishky widdys that shtruts an' wears fine close an' puts on more airs than a payc.o.c.k. She was a fine-lookin' woman thim times, an' had money in plinty that she got be marryin' McMurthry, that was owld enough to be a father to her an' died o' dhrinkin' too much whishkey at first, an' thin too much sulphur-wather at Lisdoon Varna to set him right agin.
She was always ready wid an answer to ye, fur it was quick witted she was, wid slathers o' talk that didn't mane annything, an' a giggle that she didn't nade to hunt fur whin she wanted it to make a show wid. An' she'd a dawther that was a fine child, about siventeen, a good dale like her mother.
”Now, Misther Dooley had a kind heart in his body fur wimmin in gineral, an' as he liked a bit o' chaff wid thim on all occashuns, he wasn't long in gettin' acquainted wid all the wimmin o' the parish, an' was well liked be thim, an', be the same token, wasn't be the men, fur men, be nacher, doesn't like a woman's man anny more than wimmin like a men's woman. But, afther a bit, he begun to centher himself on the three widdys, an' sorra the day' ud go by whin he come to town but phat he'd give wan or another o' thim a pace av his comp'ny that was very plazin' to thim. Bedad, he done that same very well, for he made a round av it for to kape thim in suspince. He'd set in the ale room o' the Shamrock an hour in the afthernoon an' chat wid the Widdy Mulligan as she was sarvin' the dhrink, an' shtop in the Widdy O'Donnell's shop as he was goin' by, to get a thrifle or a bit av shwates an' give to her childher beways av a complimint, an' thin go to Missis McMurthry's to tay, an' so got on well wid thim all. An' it's me belafe he'd be doin' that same to this blessed day only that the widdys begun to be pressin' as not likin' fur to wait anny longer. Fur, mind ye, a widdy's not like a young wan that'll wait fur ye to spake, an' if ye don't do it, 'ull go on foriver, or till she gets tired av waitin' an' takes some wan else that does spake, widout sayin' a word to ye at all; but the widdy 'ull be hintin' an' hintin', an' her hints 'ull be as shtrong as a donkey's kick, so that the head o' ye has to be harder than a pavin'-shtone if ye don't undhershtand, an' ye've got to have more impidince than a monkey if ye don't spake up an' say something about marryin'.
”Well, as I was afther sayin', the widdys begun to be pressin' him clost: the Widdy Mulligan tellin' him how good her business was an' phat a savin'
there'd be if a farm an' a public were put together; the Widdy O'Donnell a-lookin' at him out av her tears an' sighin' an' tellin' him how lonely he must be out on a farm an' n.o.body but a man wid him in the house, fur she was lonesome in town, an' it wasn't natheral at all, so it wasn't, fur aither man or woman to be alone; an' the Widdy McMurthry a palatherin' to him that if he'd a fine, good-lookin' woman that loved him, he'd be a betther man an' a changed man entirely. So they wint on, the widdys a-comin' at him, an' he thryin' to kape wid thim all, as he might have knewn he couldn't do (barrin' he married the three o' thim like a Turk), until aitch wan got to undhershtand, be phat he said to her, that he was goin' to marry her, an' the minnit they got this in their heads, aitch begged him that he'd shtay away from the other two, fur aitch knewn he wint to see thim all. By jayminy, it bothered him thin, fur he liked to talk to thim all aiquelly, an' didn't want to confine his agrayble comp'ny to anny wan o' thim. So he got out av it thish-a-way. He promised the Widdy McMurthry that he'd not go to the Shamrock more than wanst in the week, nor into the Widdy O'Donnell's barrin' he naded salt fur his cow; an' said to the Widdy Mulligan that he'd not more than spake to Missis O'Donnell whin he wint in, an' that he'd go no more at all to Missis McMurthry's; an' he towld Missis O'Donnell that whin he wint to the Shamrock he'd get his sup an' thin lave at wanst, an' not go to the Widdy McMurthry's axceptin' whin his horse wanted to be shod, the blacksmith's bein' ferninst her dure that it 'ud be convaynient fur him to wait at. So he shmiled wid himself thinkin' he'd done thim complately, an' made up his mind that whin his pitaties were dug he'd give up the farm an' get over into County Clare, away from the widdys.