CHAPTER XVII.
LIEUTENANT PUDDOCK RECEIVES AN INVITATION AND A RAP OVER THE KNUCKLES.
The old gentlemen, from their peepholes in the Magazine, watched the
progress of this remarkable affair of honour, as well as they could, with the aid of their field-glasses, and through an interposing crowd.
'By Jupiter, Sir, he's through him!' said Colonel Bligh, when he saw
O'Flaherty go down.
'So he is, by George!' replied General Chattesworth; 'but, eh, which is
he?'
'The long fellow,' said Bligh.
'O'Flaherty?—hey!—no, by George!—though so it is—there's work in
Frank Nutter yet, by Jove,' said the general, poking his glass and his
fat face an inch or two nearer.
'Quick work, general!' said Bligh.
'Devilish,' replied the general.
The two worthies never moved their glasses; as each, on his inquisitive
face, wore the grim, wickedish, half-smile, with which an old stager
recalls, in the prowess of his juniors, the pleasant devilment of his
own youth.
'The cool, old hand, Sir, too much for your new fireworker,' remarked
Bligh, cynically.
'Tut, Sir, this O'Flaherty has not been three weeks among us,'
spluttered out the general, who was woundily jealous of the honour of
his corps. 'There are lads among our fireworkers who would whip Nutter
through the liver while you'd count ten!'
'They're removing the—the—(a long pause) the body, eh?' said Bligh. 'Hey! no, see, by George, he's walking but he's hurt.'
'I'm mighty well pleased it's no worse, Sir,' said the general, honestly
glad.
'They're helping him into the coach—long legs the fellow's got,'
remarked Bligh.
'These—things—Sir—are—are—very—un—pleasant,' said the general, adjusting the focus of the glass, and speaking slowly—though no Spanish dandy ever relished a bull-fight more than he an affair of the kind. He and old Bligh had witnessed no less than five—not counting this—in which officers of the R.I.A. were principal performers, from the same sung post of observation. The general, indeed, was conventionally supposed to know nothing of them, and to reprobate the practice itself with his whole soul. But somehow, when an affair of the sort came off on the Fifteen Acres, he always happened to drop in, at the proper moment, upon his old crony, the colonel, and they sauntered into the demi-bastion together, and quietly saw what was to be seen. It was Miss Becky Chattesworth who involved the poor general in this hypocrisy. It was not exactly her money; it was her force of will and unflinching audacity that established her control over an easy, harmless, plastic old gentleman.
'They are unpleasant—devilish unpleasant—somewhere in the body, I
think, hey? they're stooping again, stooping again—eh?—plaguy
unpleasant, Sir (the general was thinking how Miss Becky's tongue would
wag, and what she might not even do, if O'Flaherty died). Ha! on they
go again, and a—Puddock—getting in—and that's Toole. He's not so much
hurt—eh? He helped himself a good deal, you saw; but (taking heart of
grace) when a quarrel does occur, Sir, I believe, after all, 'tis better
off the stomach at once—a few passes—you know—or the crack of a
pistol—who's that got in—the priest—hey? by George!'
'Awkward if he dies a Papist,' said cynical old Bligh—the R.I.A. were
Protestant by constitution.
'That never happens in our corps, Sir,' said the general, haughtily; 'but, as I say, when a quarrel—does—occur—Sir—there, they're off at last; when it does occur—I say—heyday! what a thundering pace! a gallop, by George! that don't look well (a pause)—and—and—a—about what you were saying—you know he couldn't die a Papist in our corps—no one does—no one ever did—it would be, you know—it would be a trick, Sir, and O'Flaherty's a gentleman; it could not be—(he was thinking of Miss Becky again—she was so fierce on the Gunpowder Plot, the rising of 1642, and Jesuits in general, and he went on a little flustered); but then, Sir, as I was saying, though the thing has its uses——.'
'I'd like to know where society'd be without it,' interposed Bligh, with
a sneer.
'Though it may have its uses, Sir; it's not a thing one can sit down and
say is right—we can't!'
'I've heard your sister, Miss Becky, speak strongly on that point, too,'said Bligh.