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"Faith, but ye're wilcome, Mister Piddler, or Mister Birch, or Mister Beelzeboob, or what's yeer name. Ye're an honest divil anyway, and I'm hoping that you found the pitticoats convanient. Come forward, dear, and fale the fire; Sergeant Hollister won't be hurting you, for the fear of an ill turn you may be doing him hereafter will ye, sargeant dear?"
The deep tones of the trooper's voice were no sooner conveyed to the ears of the washerwoman, than, turning her head, where she sat directing the movements of the mare, she put into the discourse at the first pause. "Belike, then, good woman, ye're knowing whether or no he's akin to Beelzeboob," said Betty. "It's Sargeant Hollister who's saying the same, and no fool is the sargeant, anyway."
Am I not a widowed body, and my own property? And you talk of tinderness, sargeant, but it's little I see of it, anyway. Who knows but Mr. Beelzeboob here is free to speak his mind? I'm sure it is willing to hear I am."
"If ye're meeting Mister Beelzeboob, jist back the baste up to him, and show him his consort that ye've got on the crupper. I'm thinking it's no long he'd tarry to chat. Well, well, it's his life that we saved, he was saying so himself though the plunder is nothing to signify." The cries of Betty Flanagan were too familiar to the ears of Captain Lawton to elicit a reply.
"And a lucky escape it was for ye, my jewel of a doctor," cried Betty, as the captain concluded. "Sargeant Hollister, who saw him face to face, as it might be, says it's Beelzeboob, and no piddler, unless it may be in a small matter of lies and thefts, and sich wickedness. Now a pretty figure ye would have been in cutting up Beelzeboob, if the major had hanged him.
Ask Captain Jack, there, if they'd fight, Mrs. Beelzeboob, and they no clane linen to keep the victory in." "I'm a single woman, and my name is Haynes," said Katy, "and I'd thank you to use no disparaging terms when speaking to me." "You must tolerate a little license in the tongue of Mrs. Flanagan, madam," said the trooper.
I'll jist git my cart, and ride down and tell him that ye're afeard of a dead man and Beelzeboob; and it isn't succor he may be expicting from ye. I wonder who'll be the orderly of the troop the morrow, then? his name won't be Hollister, anyway."
Besides, sargeant, it's no dacent to tell a lone famale that she had Beelzeboob for a bedfellow." "It matters but little, Mrs. Flanagan, provided you escape his talons and fangs hereafter," returned the veteran, following the remark by a heavy draft. Caesar heard enough to convince him that little danger from this pair was to be apprehended.
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