A to Z Classics - Bram Stoker - The Complete Novels

I fondly hoped that Andy’s mind was now in quite another state from his usual mental condition; but I hardly knew the man yet. He had the true humorist’s persistence, and before I was ready with another intellectual herring he was off on the original track.

“I thrust I didn’t dishturb yer ‘an’r. I know some gintlemin likes to luk at views and say nothin’. I’m tould that a young gintleman like yer ‘an’r might be up on top iva mountain like this, an’ he’d luk at the view so hard day afther day that he wouldn’t even shpake to a purty girrul — if there was wan forninst him all the time!”

“Then they lied to you, Andy.” I said this quite decisively.

“Faix, yer ‘an’r, an’ it’s glad l am to hear that same, for I wouldn’t like to think that a young gintleman was afraid of a girrul, however purty she might be.”

“But, tell me, Andy,” I said, “what idiot could have started such an idea? And even if it was told to you, how could you be such a fool as to believe it?”

“Me belave it! Surr, I didn’t belave a wurrd iv it — not until I met yer ‘an’r.”

His face was quite grave, and I was not sorry to find him in a sober mood, for I wanted to have a serious chat with him. It struck me that he, having relatives at Knocknacar, might be able to give me some information about my unknown.

“Until you met me, Andy! Surely I never gave you any ground for holding such a ridiculous idea.”

“Begor, yer ‘an’r, but ye did. But p’r’aps I had betther not say anymore — yer ‘an’r mightn’t like it.”

This both surprised and nettled me, and I was determined now to have it out, so I said, “You quite surprise me, Andy. What have I ever done? Do not be afraid; out with it,” for he kept looking at me in a timorous kind of way.

“Well, then, yer ‘an’r, about poor Miss Norah.”

This was a surprise, but I wanted to know more.

“Well, Andy, what about her?”

“Shure, an’ didn’t you refuse to shpake iv her intirely an’ sot on me fur only mintionin’ her — an’ she wan iv the purtiest girruls in the place?”

“My dear Andy,” said I, “I thought I had explained to you last night all about that. I don’t suppose you quite understand; but it might do a girl in her position harm to be spoken about with a — a man like me.”

“Wid a man like you — an’ for why? Isn’t she as good a girrul as iver broke bread?”

“Oh, it’s not that, Andy; people might think harm”

“Think harrum! Phwhat harrum, an’ who’d think it?”

“Oh, you don’t understand; a man in your position can hardly know.”

“But, yer ‘an’r, I don’t git comprehindin’. What harrum could there be, an’ who’d think it? The people here is all somethin’ iv me own position — workin’ people — an’ whin they knows a girrul is a good, dacent girrul, why should they think harrum because a nice young gintleman goes out iv his way to shpake to her? Doesn’t he shpake to the quality like himself, an’ no wan thinks any harrum ivayther iv them?”

Andy’s simple, honest argument made me feel ashamed of the finer sophistries belonging to the more artificial existence of those of my own station.

“Sure, yer ‘an’r, there isn’t a bhoy in Connaught that wouldn’t like to be shpoke of wid Miss Norah. She’s that good, that even the nuns in Galway, where she was at school, loves her and thrates her like wan iv themselves, for all she’s a Protestan’.”

“My dear Andy,” said I, “don’t you think you’re a little hard on me? You’re putting me in the dock, and trying me for a series of offences that I never even thought of committing with regard to her or anyone else. Miss Norah may be an angel in petticoats, and I’m quite prepared to take it for granted that she is so; your word on the subject is quite enough for me. But just please to remember that I never set eyes on her in my life. The only time I was ever in her presence was when you were by yourself, and it was so dark that I could not see her, to help her when she fainted. Why, in the name of common-sense, you should keep holding her up to me, I do not understand.”

“But yer ‘an’r said that it might do her harrum even to mintion her wid you.”

“Oh, well, Andy, I give it up — it’s no use trying to explain. Either you won’t understand, or I am unable to express myself properly.”

“Surr, there can be only one harrum to a girrul from a gintleman” — he laid his hand on my arm, and said this impressively; whatever else he may have ever said injest, he was in grim earnest now —”an’ that’s whin he’s a villain. Ye wouldn’t do the black thrick, and desave a girrul that thrusted ye?”

“No, Andy, no! God forbid! I would rather go to the highest rock on some island there beyond, where the surf is loudest, and throw myself into the sea, than do such a thing. No, Andy; there are lots of men that hold such matters lightly, but I don’t think I’m one of them. Whatever sins I have, or may ever have upon my soul, I hope such a one as that will never be there.”

All the comment Andy made was, “I thought so.” Then the habitual quizzical look stole over his face again, and he said:

“There does be some that does fear braches iv promise. Mind ye, a man has to be mighty careful on the subiect, for some weemin is that cute there’s no bein’ up to them”

Andy’s sudden change to this new theme was a little embarrassing, since the idea leading to it — or rather preceding it — had been one purely personal to myself; but he was off, and I thought it better that he should go on.

“Indeed!” said I.

“Yes, surr. Oh my, but they’re cute. The first thing that a girrul does when a man looks twice at her, is t’ ask him to write her a letther, an’ thin she has him — tight.”

“How so, Andy?”

“Well, ye see, surr, when you’re writin’ a letther to a girrul, ye can’t begin widout a ‘My dear’ or a ‘Mydarlin’, an’ thin she has the grip iv the law onto ye! An’ ye do be badgered be the counsillors, an’ ye do be frowned at be the judge, an’ ye do be laughed at be the people, an’ ye do have to pay yer money, an’ there ye are!”

“I say, Andy,” said I, “I think you must have been in trouble yourself in that way; you seem to have it all off pat.”

“Oh, throth, not me, yer ‘an’r. Glory be to God! but I niver was a defindant in me life — an’ more betoken, I don’t want to be — but I was wance a witness in a case iv the kind.”

“And what did you witness?”

“Faix, I was called to prove that I seen the gintleman’s arrum around the girrul’s waist. The counsillors made a deal out iv that — just as if it warn’t only manners to hould up a girrul on a car!”

“What was the case, Andy? Tell me all about it.”

I did not mind his waiting, as it gave me an excuse for staying on the top of the hill. I knew I could easily get rid of him when she came — if she came — by sending him on a message.

“Well, this was a young woman what had an action agin Shquire Murphy, iv Ballynashoughlin himself — a woman as was no more nor a mere simple governess!”

It would be impossible to convey the depth of social unimportance conveyed by his tone and manner; and coming from a man of “shreds and patches,” it was more than comic. Andy had his good suit of frieze and homespun; but while he was on mountain duty, he spared these and appeared almost in the guise of a scarecrow.

“Well, what happened?”

“Faix, whin she tould her shtory the shquire’s councillor luked up at the jury, an’ he whispered a wurrd to the shquire and his ‘an’r wrote outa shlip iv paperan’ handed it to him, an’ the councillor ups an’ says he: ‘Me lard and gintlemin iv the jury, me client is prepared to have the honor iv the lady’s hand if she will so, for let by-gones be by-gones.’ An’, sure enough, they was married on the Sunday next four weeks; an’ there she is now dhrivin’ him about the counthry in her pony-shay, an’ all the quality comin’ to tay in the garden, an’ she as affable as iver to all the farmers round. Aye, an’ be the hokey, the shquire himself sez that it was a good day for him whin he sot eyes on her first, an’ that he don’t know why he was such a damn fool as iver to thry to say ‘no’ to her, or to wish it.”