Murtough Murphy wondered at this blind fury of the squire, who, being a good-humoured and good-natured fellow in general, puzzled the attorney the more by his present manifest malignity against O'Grady. But _he_ had not seen the turn-over of the letter: he had not seen "spoon,"--the real and secret cause of the "war-to-the-knife" spirit which was kindled in the squire's breast.
"Of course, you can do what you please; but, if you'd take a friend's advice----"
"I'll blister him, I tell you, and that smart. Lose no time, Murphy, my boy: let loose the dogs of law on him, and harass him till he'd wish the d----l had him."
"I'll have it my own way, I tell you; so say no more."
"I'll commence against him at once, then, as you wish it; but it's no use, for you know very well that it will be impossible to serve him."
"Let me alone for that! I'll be bound I'll find fellows to get the inside of him."
"Why, his house is barricaded like a jail, and he has dogs enough to bait all the bulls in the country."
"No matter: just send me the blister for him, and I'll engage I'll stick it on him."
"Very well, squire; you shall have the blister as soon as it can be got ready. I'll tell you when you may send over to me for it, and your messenger shall have it hot and warm for him. Good bye, squire."
"In the twinkling of a bedpost. Are you going to Tom Durfy's steeple-chase?"
"I've a bet on it. Did you see the widow Flannagan lately? You didn't? They say Tom's pushing it strong there. The widow has money, you know, and Tom does it all for the love o' God; for you know, squire, there are two things God hates--a coward and a poor man. Now, Tom's no coward; and, that he may be sure of the love o' God on the other score, he's making up to the widow; and as he's a slashing fellow, she's nothing loth, and, for fear of any one cutting him out, Tom keeps as sharp a lookout after her as she does after him. He's fierce on it, and looks pistols at any one that attempts putting his _comether_ on the widow, while she looks 'as soon as you plaze,' as plain as an optical lecture can enlighten the heart of man: in short, Tom's all ram's horns, and the widow all sheep's eyes. Good bye, squire." And Murtough put his spurs to his horse, and cantered down the avenue, whistling the last popular tune.