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Corny had never learned much, but she had a good brain in her head, and she could reason out things pretty well, when she had anything in the way of a solid fact to start with. Rectus was better on things he'd heard reasoned out. He seemed to know a good thing when it came before him, and he remembered it, and often brought it in very well.
"No one goes into Kathleen's room," cried Corny O'Toole, roused by the sarcasms of Mrs McShane. "Yes, Corny," replied Mrs McShane, "it's not for a woman like me to be suspected, at all events; so you, and you only, shall go into the room, if that will content ye, Mr Jerry O'Toole." "Yes!" replied the party, and Mrs McShane opened the door.
"Do you think if I should present myself on deck at this moment, wearing the frock and shirt of a common seaman, the men would identify me alongside Corny, who wears the uniform of an officer?" "I am not so sure of that." "I don't see how the commodore could go behind the commission which Corny carries in his pocket, with the orders of the department, any more than Captain Battleton could.
His cousin was not a sailor; at least, he had not been one the last time he had met him, and it was hardly possible that he had learned seamanship, navigation, and naval tactics in so short a time, and so far as Christy knew, with little practical experience. He had seen the commission which Corny presented to the captain of the Vernon, and recognized it as his own.
"I have done, now, mother; 'twas only a copy of verses I was endeavouring to write out you know that is write out, you know." "I did not know you were a poet, Corny," returned my mother, smiling still more complacently, for it is something to be the parent of a poet. "I! I a poet, mother? I'd sooner turn school-master, than turn poet.
Ormond command me in any way you please. Drive on!" The evening after the departure of the happy trio, who were gone to Dublin to buy wedding-dresses, the party remaining at Castle Corny consisted only of King Corny, Ormond, and Father Jos.
This will be very pleasant, indeed," said he, turning to me. "It will be quite a party. It's ever so much better to go to such places in a party. We've been thinking of going for some time, and I'm so glad I happened in here now. Good-bye. We'll see you this afternoon at the dépôt." I didn't say anything about being particularly glad, but just as I left the door Corny ran out after me.
I then related the affair of the hand-sled to Mr. Worden, who gave me some of that sort of consolation, of which a man receives a great deal, as he elbows his way through this busy, selfish world. "Well, Corny," said my old master, "I am not certain you did not look more like a fool, as you rolled over from that sled, than I looked while 'loping' from our friends in the sleigh!"
He called up Bill Brennen and Nick Leary, and gave a pistol to each of them, and exchanged a few guarded words with them. "Dick Lynch, Dan Keen, Corny Quinn an' Pat Lynch, stand where ye be," he said. "Ease back along the wall, the rest o' ye. I'll larn ye who bes skipper an' master o' this harbor! I'll larn ye if I bes as good as the four o' ye or not."
One after another, in working out King Corny, from the first wrong hint I was obliged to give up every fact, except that he propped up the roof of his house and built downwards, and to generalise all; to make him a man of expedients, of ingenious substitutes, such as any clever Irishman in middle life is used to.
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