Mrs. O'Grady was near the bed of the sick man as the nurse-tender entered.
"Here's the things for your honour, now," said she, in her most soothing tone.
"I wish the d----l had you and them!" said O'Grady.
"Gusty, dear!" said his wife. (She might have said stormy instead of gusty.)
"Oh! they'll do you good, your honour," said the nurse-tender, curtsying, and uncorking bottles, and opening a pill-box.
O'Grady made a face at the pill-box, and repeated the word "pills" several times, with an expression of extreme disgust. "Pills--pills--kills--wills--ay--make your wills--make them--take them--shake them. When taken--to be well shaken--shew me that bottle."
The nurse-tender handed a phial, which O'Grady shook violently.
"Curse them all!" said the squire. "A pretty thing to have a gentleman's body made a perfect sink, for these blackguard doctors and apothecaries to pour their dirty drugs into--faugh! drugs--mugs--jugs!" he shook the phial again, and looked through it.
"Isn't it nice and pink, darlin'?" said the nurse-tender.
"Pink!" said O'Grady eying her askance, as if he could have eaten her. "Pink, you old besom, pink"--he uncorked the phial, and put it to his nose. "Pink--phew--!" and he repeated a rhyme to pink which would not look well in print.
"Now, sir, dear, there's a little blisther just to go on your chest--if you plaze."
"Well, sure its something to relieve you."
The squire gave a deep growl, and his wife put in the usual appeal of "Gusty, dear!"
"Hold you tongue, will you? How would _you_ like it? I wish you had it on your----"
"Deed-an-deed, dear," said the nurse-tender.
"By the 'ternal war! if you say another word, I'll throw the jug at you!"
"And there's a nice dhrop o' gruel I have on the fire for you," said the nurse, pretending not to mind the rising anger of the squire, as she stirred the gruel with one hand, while with the other she marked herself with the sign of the cross, and said in a mumbling manner, "God presarve us! he's the most cantankerous Christian I ever kem across!"
"Shew me that infernal thing!" said the squire.
"You know well enough, you old hag!--that blackguard blister!"
"Here it is, dear. Now just open the _burst_ o' your shirt, and let me put it an you."