“I tell you what, M’Clutchy, you’re a confounded ill-tempered old scoundrel, an-and what-what’s more—o-o-over to your disgrace, a d——d bad, rotten, and unsound Protestant. How do you ex-expect, sir, that a Protestant Establishment can be sup-support-ported in this country by such scandalous con-conduct as this? hip, hip, hurra! Instead of-of being an ex-example to your son, it is your-your son, M’Clutchy, that is an example to you, hip, hip, hur—, and so good night to you, I’m—I’m on for a neat bit of business—that’s all. Go to bed, you old dog.”
CHAPTER XXX.—The Mountain Grave-Yard
—Dreams of a Broken Heart—The Christian Pastor at his Duty—Melancholy Meeting between a Mother and her Son—A Death-Bed that the Great might envy—Phil experiences a Specimen of the Pressure from without—Retribution—The Death of Valentine M’Clutchy.
It was now about seven o’clock in the evening; and up from the moment of Val’s return, he had scarcely spoken half a dozen words. As Phil was leaving the room, however, the father called after him:—
“Phil,” said he, “come here for a minute.”
“Well,” said Phil, staggering back, “what’s in the wind now?”
“Phil,” continued the father, “which of all the blood-hounds is the greatest and most remorseless villain?”
“A d——d ni-nice point to decide, when they’re on-on duty,” replied Phil.
“If he escapes me—” said Val in a soliloquy;—“but no matter,” he added, speaking aloud; “I’m a fool for putting such a question to you. Go to bed, and sleep yourself sober.”