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Updated: May 25, 2025
The gentlemen stared at me. Old Fullbil turned purple at first, but his grandeur could not be made to suffer long or seriously from my impudence. Presently he smiled at me, a smile confident, cruel, deadly. "Ireland is a great country, sir," he observed. "'Tis not so great as many people's ignorance of it," I replied bluntly, for I was being stirred somewhat. "Indeed!" cried Fullbil.
I recognized him instantly; he was Sir Edmund Flixton, the gentleman who had had some thought of fighting me in Bath, but who had refrained from it upon hearing that I had worsted Forister. However, he did not perceive me at that time. He chattered with Fullbil, telling him evidently some very exciting news, for I heard the old man ejaculate. "By my soul, can it be possible?"
"Probably, sir," observed Fullbil, "the people of Ireland have heard so much of me that I may expect many visits from Irish gentlemen who wish to hear what my poor mind may develop in regard to the only true philosophy of life?" "Not in the least, sir," I rejoined. "Over there they don't know you are alive, and they are not caring." Consternation fell upon that assembly like snow from a roof.
But finish he did, and immediately Bobbs, much impassioned, brought his glass heavily down on the table in a demand for silence. I thought he would get little hearing, but, much to my surprise, I heard again the ecstatic murmur: "Ah, now, we shall hear Bobbs reply to Fullbil!" "Are we not fortunate?" "Faith, this will be over half London to-morrow!" Bobbs waited until this murmur had passed away.
He was a young man with a face both Roman and feminine; with that type of profile which is possessed by most of the popular actors in the reign of His Majesty of to-day. He had luxuriant hair, and, stung by the taunts of Fullbil, he constantly brushed it nervously from his brow while his sensitive mouth quivered with held-in retorts. He was Bobbs, the great dramatist.
You arise and give the five minutes' intelligent explanation; bah! There is not a situation in life which does not need five minutes' intelligent explanation; but it does not get it." It could now be seen that the old man Fullbil was simply aflame with a destructive reply, and even Bobbs paused under the spell of this anticipation of a gigantic answering.
Your good fortune, sir," he added, bowing to me over his glass. I bowed likewise, but I saw his little piggish eyes looking wickedly at me. There went a titter around the board, and I understood from it that I was the next victim of the celebrated Fullbil. "Sir," said he, "may I ask from what part of Italy do you come?" "I come from Ireland, sir," I answered decently. He frowned.
Fancher, now himself again, said: "I wish to ask the learned doctor whether he refers to Chinese kites?" The little man hurriedly replied that he had not Chinese kites in his mind at all. "Very good, then," said the great critic. "Very good." "But, sir," said Fullbil to little Chord, "how is it that kites may fly without the aid of demons or spirits, if they are made by man?
His head was bent forward until his sharp chin touched his breast, and out from under his darkling brows a pair of little eyes flashed angrily and arrogantly. All faces were turned toward him, and all ears were open to his growls. He was the king; it was Fullbil. His speech was all addressed to one man, and I looked at the latter.
Order! Order!" The wrathful Fancher was pulled down into his chair by soothful friends and neighbours, to whom he gesticulated and cried out during the uproar. I looked toward old Fullbil, expecting to see him disturbed, or annoyed, or angry. On the contrary he seemed pleased, as a little boy who had somehow created a row. "The excellent Fancher," said he, "the excellent Fancher is wroth.
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