Part 2 (2/2)

”N.B.--The two last masthers that was hanged out of Findramore, that is, Mickey Corrigan, who was hanged for killing the Aagent, and Jem Garraghty, that died of a declension--Jem died in consequence of ill-health, and Mickey was hanged contrary to his own wishes; so that it wasn't either of their faults--as witness our hands this 207th of July.

”d.i.c.k Dolan, his (X) mark.”

This explanation, however, was as fruitless as the original advertis.e.m.e.nt; and week after week pa.s.sed over without an offer from a single candidate. The ”vicinity” of Findramore and its ”naborhood”

seemed devoted to ignorance; and nothing remained, except another effort at procuring a master by some more ingenious contrivance.

Debate after debate was consequently held in Barney Brady's; and, until a fresh suggestion was made by Delany, the prospect seemed as bad as ever. Delany, at length fell upon a new plan; and it must be confessed, that it was marked in a peculiar manner by a spirit of great originality and enterprise, it being nothing less than a proposal to carry off, by force or stratagem, Mat Kavanagh, who was at that time fixed in the throne of literature among the Ballyscanlan boys, quite unconscious of the honorable translation to the neighborhood of Findramore which was intended for him. The project, when broached, was certainly a startling one, and drove most of them to a pause, before they were sufficiently collected to give an opinion on its merits.

”Nothin', boys, is asier,” said Delaney. ”There's to be a patthern in Ballymagowan, on next Sathurday--an' that's jist half way betune ourselves and the Scanlan boys. Let us musther, an' go there, any how.

We can keep an eye on Mat widout much trouble, an' when opportunity sarves, nick him at wanst, an' off wid him clane.”

”But,” said Traynor, ”what would we do wid him when he'd be here?

Wouldn't he cut an' run the first opportunity.

”How can he, ye omadhawn, if we put a manwill* in our pocket, an' sware him? But we'll b.u.t.ther him up when he's among us; or, be me sowks, if it goes that, force him either to settle wid ourselves, or to make himself scarce in the country entirely.”

* Manual, a Roman Catholic prayer-book, generally p.r.o.nounced as above.

”Divil a much force it'll take to keep him, I'm thinkin',” observed Murphy. ”He'll have three times a betther school here; and if he wanst settled, I'll engage he would take to it kindly.”

”See here, boys,” says d.i.c.k Dolan, in a whisper, ”if that b.l.o.o.d.y villain, Brady, isn't afther standin' this quarter of an hour, strivin'

to hear what we're about; but it's well we didn't bring up anything consarnin' the other business; didn't I tell yees the desate was in 'im?

Look at his shadow on the wall forninst us.”

”Hould yer tongues, boys,” said Traynor; ”jist keep never mindin', and, be me sowks, I'll make him sup sorrow for that thrick.”

”You had betther neither make nor meddle wid him,” observed Delany, ”jist put him out o' that--but don't rise yer hand to him, or he'll sarve you as he did Jem Flannagan: put ye three or four months in the _Stone Jug_” (* Gaol).

Traynor, however, had gone out while he was speaking, and in a few minutes dragged in Brady, whom he caught in the very act of eaves-dropping.

”Jist come in, Brady,” said Traynor, as he dragged him along; ”walk in, man alive; sure, and sich an honest man as you are needn't be afeard of lookin' his friends in the face! Ho!--an' be me sowl, is it a spy we've got; and, I suppose, would be an informer' too, if he had heard anything to tell!”

”What's the manin' of this, boys?” exclaimed the others, feigning ignorance. ”Let the honest man go, Traynor. What do ye hawl him that way for, ye gallis pet'?”

”Honest!” replied Traynor; ”how very honest he is, the desavin' villain, to be stand-in' at the windy there, wantin' to overhear the little harmless talk we had.”

”Come, Traynor,” said Brady, seizing him in his turn by the neck, ”take your hands off of me, or, bad fate to me, but I'll lave ye a mark.”

Traynor, in his turn, had his hand twisted in Brady's cravat, which he drew tightly about his neck, until the other got nearly black in the face.

”Let me go you villain!” exclaimed Brady, ”or, by this blessed night that's in it, it'll be worse for you.”

”Villain, is it?” replied Traynor, making a blow at him, whilst Brady s.n.a.t.c.hed, at a penknife, which one of the others had placed on the table, after picking the tobacco out of his pipe--intending either to stab Traynor, or to cut the knot of the cravat by which he was held. The others, however, interfered, and presented further mischief.

”Brady,” said Traynor, ”you'll rue this night, if ever a man did, you tracherous in-formin' villian. What an honest spy we have among us!--and a short coorse to you!”

”O, hould yer tongue, Traynor!” replied Brady: ”I believe it's best known who is both the spy and the informer. The divil a pint of poteen ever you'll run in this parish, until you clear yourself of bringing the gauger on the Tracys, bekase they tuck Mick M'Kew, in preference to yourself, to run it for them.”

Traynor made another attempt to strike him, but was prevented. The rest now interfered; and, in the course of an hour or so, an adjustment took place.

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