complimentary conversation that ensued very indistinct, and to oblige him, to his disgrace and despair, when the poor fellow tried a smile, actually to apply his towel hastily to his mouth.
He saw that his visitors observed those symptoms with some perplexity: the major was looking steadfastly at O'Flaherty's lips, and unconsciously making corresponding movements with his own, and the fair Magnolia was evidently full of pleasant surprise and curiosity. I really think, if O'Flaherty had had a pistol within reach, he would have been tempted to deliver himself summarily from that agonising situation.
'I'm afraid, lieutenant, you've got the toothache,' said Miss Mag, with her usual agreeable simplicity.
In his alacrity to assure her there was no such thing, he actually swallowed one of the bags. 'Twas no easy matter, and he grew very red, and stared frightfully, and swallowed a draught of water precipitately. His misery was indeed so great that at the conclusion of a polite little farewell speech of the major's, he uttered an involuntary groan, and lively Miss Mag, with an odious titter, exclaimed—
'The little creature's teething, uncle, as sure as you're not; either that, or he's got a hot potato in his poor little mouzey-wouzey;' and poor O'Flaherty smiled a great silent moist smile at the well-bred pleasantry. The major, who did not choose to hear Mag's banter, made a formal, but rather smiling salute. The lieutenant returned it, and down came the unlucky mortar and a china plate, on which Puddock had mingled the ingredients, with a shocking crash and jingle on the bare boards; a plate and mortar never made such a noise before, O'Flaherty thought, with a mental imprecation.
'Nothing—hash—'appened—Shur,' said O'Flaherty, whose articulation was affected a good deal, in terror lest the major should arrest his departure.
So the major and tall Miss Magnolia, with all her roses and lilies, and bold broad talk, and her wicked eyes, went down the stairs; and O'Flaherty, looking with lively emotion in the glass, at the unbecoming coup-d'oeil, heard that agreeable young lady laughing most riotously under the windows as she and the major marched away.
It was well for Judy, that, being of the gentler sex, the wrath of the fireworker could not wreak itself upon her. The oftener he viewed himself in the pier-glass, trying in vain to think he did not look so very badly after all, the more bitter were his feelings. Oh, that villainous old silk morning gown! and his eyes so confoundedly red, and his hair all dishevelled—bad luck to that clar't! the wig was all right, that was his only comfort;, and his mouth, 'och, look at it; twiste its natural size,' though that was no trifle.
'Another week I'll not stop in her lodgings,' cried poor O'Flaherty, grinning at himself in the glass, 'if she keeps that savage, Judy Carrol, here a day longer.'
Then he stumbled to the stair-head to call her up for judgment; but changed his mind, and returned to the looking-glass, blowing the cooling air in short whistles through his peppered lips—and I'm sorry to say, blowing out also many an ejaculation and invective, as that sorry sight met his gaze in the oval mirror, which would have been much better not uttered.
XV.
CHAPTER XV.
ÆSCULAPIUS TO THE RESCUE.
It was not until Puddock had returned, that the gallant fireworker recollected all on a sudden that he had swallowed one of the bags.
'Thwallowed?—thwallowed it!' said Puddock, looking very blank and uncomfortable; 'why, Thir, I told you you were to be very careful.'
'Why, why curse it, it's not, 'tisn't——'
'There was a long pause, and O'Flaherty stared a very frightened and hideous stare at the proprietor of the red quarto.
'Not what, Thir?' demanded Puddock, briskly, but plainly disconcerted.
'Not anything—anything bad—or, or—there's no use in purtendin', Puddock,' he resumed, turning quite yellow. 'I see, Sir, I see by your looks, it's what you think, I'm poisoned!'
'I—I—do not, Thir, think you're poisoned,' he replied indignantly, but with some flurry; 'that is, there's a great deal in it that could not pothibly do you harm—there's only one ingredient, yes—or, or, yes, perhapth three, but thertainly no more, that I don't quite know about, depend upon it, 'tis nothing—a—nothing—a—seriouthly—a—But why, my dear Thir, why on earth did you violate the thimple directions—why did you thwallow a particle of it?'
'Och, why did I let it into my mouth at all—the divil go with it!' retorted poor O'Flaherty; 'an' wasn't I the born eediot to put them devil's dumplins inside my mouth? but I did not know what I was doin'—no more I didn't.'
'I hope your head'th better,' said Puddock, vindicating by that dignified enquiry the character of his recipe.
'Auch! my head be smathered, what the puck do I care about it?' O'Flaherty broke out. 'Ah, why the devil, Puddock, do you keep them ould women's charrums and devilments about you?—you'll be the death of some one yet, so you will.'
'It's a recipe, Sir,' replied Puddock, with the same dignity 'from which my great uncle, General Neagle, derived frequent benefit.'
'And here I am,' says O'Flaherty, vehemently; 'and you don't know whether I'm poisoned or no!'
At this moment he saw Dr. Sturk passing by, and drummed violently at the window. The doctor was impressed by the summons; for however queer the apparition, it was plain he was desperately in earnest.
'Let's see the recipe,' said Sturk, drily; 'you think you're poisoned—I know you do;' poor O'Flaherty had shrunk from disclosing the extent of his apprehensions, and only beat about the bush; 'and if you be, I lay you fifty, I can't save you, nor all the doctors in Dublin—show me the recipe.'
Puddock put it before him, and Sturk looked at the back of the volume with a leisurely disdain, but finding no title there, returned to the recipe. They both stared on his face, without breathing, while he conned it over. When he came about half-way, he whistled; and when he arrived at the end, he frowned hard; and squeezed his lips together till the red disappeared altogether, and he looked again at the back of the book, and then turned it round, once more reading the last line over with a severe expression.
'And so you actually swallowed this—this devil's dose, Sir, did you?' demanded Sturk.
'I—I believe he did, some of it; but I warned him, I did, upon my honour! Now, tell him, did I not warn you, my dear lieutenant, not to thwallow,' interposed little Puddock, who began to grow confoundedly agitated; but Sturk, who rather liked shocking and frightening people, and had a knack of making bad worse, and an alacrity in waxing savage without adequate cause, silenced him with—
'I p-pity you, Sir,' and 'pity' shot like a pellet from his lips. 'Why the deuce will you dabble in medicine, Sir? Do you think it's a thing to be learnt in an afternoon out of the bottom of an old cookery-book?'
'Cookery-book! excuse me, Dr. Sturk,' replied Puddock offended. 'I'm given to underthtand, Sir, it's to be found in Culpepper.'
'Culpepper!' said Sturk, viciously. 'Cull-poison—you have peppered him to a purpose, I promise you! How much of it, pray, Sir (to O'Flaherty,) have you got in your stomach?'
