Part 42 (1/2)
”G.o.d's a just G.o.d,” replied Hanlon--”the murderer deserves his punishment, an' I hope will meet it.”
”There is little doubt of it,” said the pedlar, ”the hand of G.o.d is in it all.”
”That's more than I see, or can at the present time, then,” replied Hanlon. ”Why should my aunt stay away so long?--but I dare say the truth is, she is either sick or dead, an' if that's the case, what's all you have said or done worth? You see it's but a chance still.”
”Trust in G.o.d,” replied the pedlar, ”that's all either of us can do or say now. There's the coffin. I'm tould they're goin' to bury him, and to have the greatest funeral that ever was in the counthry; but, G.o.d knows, there's funerals enough in the neighborhood widout their making a show of themselves wid this.”
”There's no truth in that report either,” said Hanlon. ”I was speakin'
to Jerry Sullivan this mornin', an' I have it from him that they intend to bury him as quietly as they can. He's much changed from what he was--Jerry is--an' doesn't wish to have the old man hanged at all, if he can prevent it.”
”Hanged or not, Charley, I must go on with my pet.i.tion to d.i.c.k o' the Grange. Of course I have no chance, but maybe the Lord put something good into Travers's heart, when he bid me bring it to him; at any rate it can do no harm.”
”Nor any earthly good,” replied the other. ”The farm is this minute the property of Darby Skinadre, an' to my knowledge Master d.i.c.k has a good hundred pounds in his pocket for befriendin' the meal-monger.”
”Still an' all, Charley, I'll go to the father, if it was only bekaise the agent wishes it; I promised I would, an' who knows at any rate but he may do something for the poor Daltons himself, when he finds that the villain that robbed and ruined them won't.”
”So far you may be right,” said Hanlon, ”an' as you say, if it does no good it can do no harm; but for my part, I can scarcely think of anything but my poor aunt. What, in G.o.d's name, except sickness or death, can keep her away, I don't know.”
”Put your trust in G.o.d, man--that's my advice to you.”
”And a good one it is,” replied the other, ”if we could only follow it up as we ought. Every one here wondhers at the change that's come over me--I that was so light and airy, and so fond of every divarsion that was to be had, am now as grave as a parson; but indeed no wondher, for ever since that awful night at the Grey Stone--since both nights indeed--I'm not the same man, an' feel as if there was a weight come over me that nothing will remove, unless we trace the murdher, an' I hardly know what to say about it, now that my aunt isn't forthcommin'”
”Trust in G.o.d, I tell you, for as you live, truth will come to light yet.”
The conversation took various changes as they proceeded, until they reached the Grange, where the first person they met was Jemmy Branigan, who addressed his old enemy, the pedlar, in that peculiarly dry and ironical tone which he was often in the habit of using when he wished to disguise a friendly act in an ungracious garb--a method of granting favors, by the way, to which he was proverbially addicted. In fact, a surly answer from Jemmy was as frequently indicative of his intention to serve you with his master as it was otherwise; but so adroitly did he disguise his sentiments, that no earthly penetration could develop them until proved by the result. Jemmy, besides, liked the pedlar at heart for his open, honest scurrility--a quality which he latterly found extremely beneficial to himself, inasmuch as now that, increasing infirmity had incapacitated his master from delivering much of the alternate abuse that took place between them, he experienced great relief every moment from a fresh breathing with his rather eccentric opponent.
”Jemmy,” said Hanlon, ”is the master in the office?”
”Is he in the office?--Who wants him?” and as he put the query he accompanied it by a look of ineffable contempt at the pedlar.
”Your friend, the pedlar, wants him; and so now,” added Hanlon, ”I leave you both to fight it out between you.”
”You're comin' wid your pet.i.tion, an' a purty object you are, goin' to look afther a farm for a man that'll be hanged, (may G.o.d forbid--this day, amin!” he exclaimed in an under-tone which the other could not hear): ”an' what can you expect but to get kicked out or put in' the stocks for attemptin' to take a farm over another man's head.”
”What other man's head?--n.o.body has it yet.”
”Ay, has there--a very daicent respectable man has it, by name one Darby Skinadre. (May he never warm his hungry nose in the same farm, the miserable keowt that he is this day,” he added in another soliloquy, which escaped the pedlar): ”a very honest man is Darby Skinadre, so you may save yourself the trouble, I say.”
”At any rate there's no harm in tryin'--worse than fail we can't, an' if we succeed it'll be good to come in for anything from the ould scoundrel, before the devil gets him.”
Jemmy gave him a look.
”Why, what have you to say against the ould boy? Sure it's not casting reflections on your own masther you'd be.”
”Oh, not at all,” replied the pedlar, ”especially when I'm expectin' a favor from one of his sarvints. Throth he'll soon by all accounts have his hook in the ould Clip o' the! Grange--an' afther that some of his friends will soon folly him. I wouldn't be mainin' one Jemmy Branigan.
Oh, dear no--but it's a sure case that's the Black Boy's intention to take the whole family by instalments, an' wid respect to the sarvints to place them in their ould situations. Faith you'll have a warm berth of it, Jemmy, an' well you desarve it.”
”Why then you circulating vagabone,” replied Jemmy; ”if you wern't a close friend to him, you'd not know his intentions so well. Don't let out on yourself, man alive, unless you have the face to be proud of your acquaintance, which in throth is more than anyone, barrin' the same set, could be of you.”
”Well, well,” retorted the pedlar, ”sure blood alive, as we're all of the same connection, let us not quarrel now, but sarve another if we can. Go an' tell the old blackguard I want to see him about business.”