A to Z Classics - Bram Stoker - The Complete Novels

“Quite a tale with a moral, Andy. Bravo, Mrs. Murphy.”

“A morial is it? Now, may I make bould to ask yer ‘an’r what morial ye take out iv it?”

“The moral, Andy, that I see is, When you see the right woman go for her for all you’re worth, and thank God for giving you the chance.”

Andy jumped up and gave me a great slap on the back.

“Hurro! more power to yer elbow! but it’s a bhoy afther me own h’arrty’ are. I big yer pardon, surr, for the liberty; but it’s mighty glad l am.”

“Granted, Andy; I like a man to be hearty, and you certainly are. But why are you so glad about me?”

“Because I like yer ‘an’r. Shure in all me life I niver see so much iv a young gentleman as I’ve done iv yer ‘an’r. Surr, I’m an ould man compared wid ye — I’m the beginnin’ iv wan, at any rate — an’ I’d like to give ye a wurrd iv advice; git marrid while ye can! I tell ye this, surr, it’s not whin the hair is beginnin’ to git thin on to the top iv yer head that a nice young girrul ‘ill love ye for yerself. It’s the people that goes all their lives makin’ money and lukin’ after all kinds iv things that’s no kind iv use to thim, that makes the mishtake. Suppose ye do git marrid when ye’re ould and bald, an’ yer legs is shaky, an’ ye want to be let sit close to the fire in the warrum corner, an’ ye’ve lashins iv money that ye don’t know what to do wid! Do you think that it’s thin that yer wives does be dhramin’ iv ye all the time and worshippin’ the ground ye thrid? Not a bit iv it! They do be wantin’ — aye and thryin’ too — to help God away wid ye!”

“Andy,” said I, “you preach, on a practical text, a sermon that any and every young man ought to hear.” I thought I saw an opening here for gaining some information, and at once jumped in.

“By Jove! you set me off wishing to marry! Tell me, is there any pretty girl in this neighborhood that would suit a young man like me?”

“Oho! begor, there’s girruls enough to shute any man.”

“Aye, Andy — but pretty girls!”

“Well surr, that depinds. Now what might be yer ‘anr’s idea iv a purty girrul?”

“My dear Andy, there are so many different kinds of prettiness that it is hard to say.”

“Faix, an’ I’ll tell ye if there’s a girrul to shute in the counthry, for bedad I think I’ve seen thim all. But you must let me know what would shute ye best?”

“How can I well tell that, Andy, when I don’t know myself? Show me the girl, and I’ll very soon tell you.”

“Unless I was to ax yer ‘an’r questions;” this was said very slyly.

“Go on, Andy; there is nothing like the Socratic method.”

“Very well, thin; I’ll ax two kinds iv things, an’ yer ‘an’r will tell me which ye’d like the best.”

“All right, go on.”

“Long or short?”

“Tall; not short, certainly.”

“Fat or lane?”

“Fie! fie! Andy, for shame; you talk as if they were cattle or pigs.”

“Begor, there’s only wan kind iv fat an’ lane that I knows of; but av ye like I’ll call it thick or thin; which is it?”

“Not too fat, but certainly not skinny.”

Andy held up his hands in mock horror:

“Yer ‘an’r shpakes as if ye was talkin’ iv powlthry.”

“I mean, Andy,” said I, with a certain sense of shame, “she is not to be either too fat or too lean, as you put it.”

“Ye mane ‘shtreaky’!

“Streaky!” said I, “what do you mean?”

He answered promptly:

“Shtreaky — thick an’ thin — like belly bacon.” I said nothing. I felt certain it would be useless and out of place. He went on: “Nixt, fair or dark?”

“Dark, by all means.”

“Dark be it, surr. What kind iv eyes might she have?”

“Ah! eyes like darkness on the bosom of the azure deep!”

“Musha! but that’s a quare kind iv eye fur a girrul to have intirely! Is she to be all dark, surr, or only the hair of her?”

“I don’t mean a nigger, Andy!” I thought I would be even with him for once in a way. He laughed heartily.

“Oh, my, but that’s a good wan. Be the hokey, a girrul can be dark enough fur any man widout bein’ a naygur. Glory be to God, but I niver seen a faymale naygur meself, but I suppose there’s such things; God’s very good to all his craythurs! But, barrin’ naygurs, must she be all dark?”

“Well, not of necessity, but I certainly prefer what we call a brunette.”

“A bru-net. What’s that now? I’ve heerd a wheen o’ quare things in me time, but I niver heerd a woman called that before.”

I tried to explain the term; he seemed to understand, but his only comment was:

“Well, God is very good,” and then went on with his queries.

“How might she be dressed?” he looked very sly as he asked the question.

“Simply. The dress is not particular — that can easily be altered. For myself, just at present, I should like her in the dress they all wear here, some pretty kind of body and a red petticoat.”

“Thrue for ye,” said Andy.

Then he went over the list, ticking off the items on his fingers as he went along:

“A long, dark girrul, like belly bakin, but not a naygur, some kind iv a net, an’ wid a rid petticoat, an’ a quare kind iv an eye! Is that the kind iv a girrul that yer ‘an’r wants to set yer eyes on?”

“Well,” said I, “item by item, as you explain them, Andy, the description is correct; but I must say that never in my life did I know a man to so knock the bottom out of romance as you have done in summing up the lady’s charms.”

“Her charrums, is it? Be the powers! I only tuk what yer ‘an’r tould me. An” so that’s the girrul that id shute yer?”

“Yes, Andy, I think she would.” I waited in expectation, but he said nothing. So I jogged his memory. “Well?”

He looked at me in a most peculiar manner, and said, slowly and impressively:

“Thin I can sahtisfy yer ‘an’r. There’s no such girrul in all Knocknacar!”

I smiled a smile of triumph:

“You’re wrong for once, Andy. I saw such a girl only yesterday, here on the top of this mountain, just where we’re sitting now.”

Andy jumped up as if he had been sitting on an ant-hill, and had suddenly been made aware of it. He looked all round in a frightened way, but I could see that he was only acting, and said:

“Glory be to God! but maybe it’s the fairies, it was, or the pixies! Shure, they do say that there’s lots an’ lots an’ lashins iv them on this hill. Don’t ye have nothin’ to say to thim, surr! There’s only sorra follys thim. Take an ould man’s advice, an’ don’t come up here any more. The shpot is dangerous to ye. If ye want to see a fine girrul go to Shleenanaher, an’ have a good luk at Miss Norah in the daylight.”

“Oh, bother Miss Norah!” said I. “Get along with you, do! I think you’ve got Miss Norah on the brain, or perhaps you’re in love with her yourself.”

Andy murmured, sotto voce, but manifestly for me to hear:

“Begor, I am, like the rist iv the bhoys, av course!”

Here I looked at my watch, and found it was three o’clock, so thought it was time to get rid of him.

“Here,” said I, “run down to the men at the cutting and tell them that I’m coming down presently to measure up their work, as Mr. Sutherland will want to know how they’ve got on.”

Andy moved off. Before going, however, he had something to say, as usual:

“Tell me, Misther Art” — this new name startled me, Andy had evidently taken me into his public family — “do ye think Misther Dick” — this was another surprise — “has an eye on Miss Norah?” There was a real shock this time.