Stories of Comedy | Page 4

ticklish position, and began to consider how his
disgrace could be retrieved. The very name of Fingal was hateful to
him; it was a plague-spot on his peace that festered there incurably. He
first thought of leaving Kinsale altogether; but flight implied so much
of defeat, that he did not long indulge in that notion. No; he would stay,
"in spite of all the O'Sullivans, kith and kin, breed, seed, and
generation." But at the same time he knew he should never hear the end
of that hateful place, Fingal; and if Barny had had the power, he would
have enacted a penal statute, making it death to name the accursed spot,
wherever it was; but not being gifted with such legislative authority, he
felt Kinsale was no place for him, if he would not submit to be flouted

every hour out of the four-and-twenty, by man, woman, and child, that
wished to annoy him. What was to be done? He was in the perplexing
situation, to use his own words, "of the cat in the thripe shop," he didn't
know which way to choose. At last, after turning himself over in the
sun several times, a new idea struck him. Couldn't he go to Fingal
himself? and then he'd be equal to that upstart, O'Sullivan. No sooner
was the thought engendered, than Barny sprang to his feet a new man;
his eye brightened, his step became once more elastic,--he walked erect,
and felt himself to be all over Barny O'Reirdon once more. "Richard
was himself again."
But where was Fingal?--there was the rub. That was a profound
mystery to Barny, which, until discovered, must hold him in the vile
bondage of inferiority. The plain-dealing reader would say, "Couldn't
he ask?" No, no; that would never do for Barny: that would be an open
admission of ignorance his soul was above, and consequently Barny set
his brains to work to devise measures of coming at the hidden
knowledge by some circuitous route, that would not betray the end he
was working for. To this purpose, fifty stratagems were raised, and
demolished in half as many minutes, in the fertile brain of Barny, as he
strided along the shore; and as he was working hard at the fifty-first, it
was knocked all to pieces by his jostling against some one whom he
never perceived he was approaching, so immersed was he in his
speculations, and on looking up, who should it prove to be but his
friend "the long sailor from the Aystern Injees." This was quite a
godsend to Barny, and much beyond what he could have hoped for. Of
all men under the sun, the long sailor was the man in a million for
Barny's net at that minute, and accordingly he made a haul of him, and
thought it the greatest catch he ever made in his life.
Barny and the long sailor were in close companionship for the
remainder of the day, which was closed, as the preceding one, in a
carouse; but on this occasion there was only a duet performance in
honor of the jolly god, and the treat was at Barny's expense. What the
nature of their conversation during the period was, I will not dilate on,
but keep it as profound a secret as Barny himself did, and content
myself with saying, that Barny looked a much happier man the next

day. Instead of wearing his hat slouched, and casting his eyes on the
ground, he walked about with his usual unconcern, and gave his nod
and the passing word of civilitude to every friend he met; he rolled his
quid of tobacco about in his jaw with an air of superior enjoyment, and
if disturbed in his narcotic amusement by a question, he took his own
time to eject "the leperous distilment" before he answered the
querist,--a happy composure, that bespoke a man quite at ease with
himself. It was in this agreeable spirit that Barny bent his course to the
house of Peter Kelly, the owner of the "big farm beyant," before
alluded to, in order to put in practice a plan he had formed for the
fulfilment of his determination of rivalling O'Sullivan.
He thought it probable that Peter Kelly, being one of the "snuggest"
men in the neighborhood, would be a likely person to join him in a
"spec," as he called it (a favorite abbreviation of his for the word
"speculation"), and accordingly, when he reached the "big-farm house,"
he accosted the owner with his usual "God save you."
"God save you kindly, Barny," returned Peter Kelly; "an' what is it
brings you here, Barny," asked Peter, "this fine day, instead o' being out
in the boat?"
"O, I'll be out in the boat soon enough, and it's far enough