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"I think also," he went on, "he's put out about his aunt not coming down for the wedding, and even young Mrs. Kirby away. It's funny to think Coppinger's Court and Mount Music are empty now, the two of them or will be after to-morrow. Miss Christian went to-day." "I saw her yesterday. The Doctor sent me there for a map," said Barty, with elaborate unconcern. Mangan to herself.
And then, I knows as your name's Barnabas Barty " "Barty! you know that?" exclaimed Barnabas, starting, "how how in the world did you find out?" "Took the liberty to look at your vatch, sir." "Watch!" said Barnabas, drawing it from his fob, "what do you mean?" "Give it 'ere, and I'll show ye, sir." So saying, Mr. Shrig took the great timepiece and, opening the back, handed it to Barnabas.
Larry and Barty sat for awhile and talked, saying, as people will, at such moments, dull things over and over again, uninspired, conventional, stupid things.
There had been moments in which Martha had hoped that this prejudice might be overcome in favour of Hugh; but it had become stronger as the old woman grew to be older and more feeble, and it was believed now to be settled as Fate. "She'd sooner give it all to old Barty over the way," Martha had once said, "than let it go to her own kith and kin.
He talked so fast, in his low voice, that, in the clamour of the storm, Christian could only distinguish an occasional word. She had a nightmare feeling as if a train were roaring through an endless tunnel, and that she and Barty were the sole passengers, and would never see daylight or know quiet again.
"Polkas and Mazoorkas!" she exclaimed. "Them was all the go in my time! Come on here, Barty, ye omadhaun! I believe I could dance you off those long legs of yours this minute, if I was to give me mind to it!" Barty, thus adjured by his great-aunt, drew near. Mrs. Cantwell was not a person to be lightly disobeyed, but his dark eyes were full of apprehension. What might Aunt Bessie not say!
Barnabas glanced at it, hesitated, then stooping, read as follows: DEAR LADY CLEONE, I write this to warn you that the person calling himself Mr. Beverley, and posing as a gentleman of wealth and breeding, is, in reality, nothing better than a rich vulgarian, one Barnabas Barty, son of a country inn-keeper.
I will think of this thing, and if I find that it can be made to suit without much difficulty, I will perhaps entertain it." Then the interview was over, and old Barty made his way down-stairs, and out of the house. He looked over to the tenements in the Close which were offered to him, every circumstance of each one of which he knew, and felt that he might do worse.
Vandeloup had heard Barty's vocal performance, and could not forbear a smile as he thought of the young man's three songs with the same accompaniment to each. Suppressing, however, his inclination to laugh, he asked Barty to have a drink, which invitation was promptly accepted, and they walked in search of a hotel. On the way, they passed Slivers' house, and here Vandeloup paused.
"Some time since you mentioned the names of two men champions both ornaments of the 'Fancy' great fighters of unblemished reputation." "You mean my er that is, Natty Bell and John Barty." "Precisely! you claim to have boxed with them, sir?" "Every day!" nodded Barnabas. "With both of them, I understand?" "With both of them." "Hum!"
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