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The God From The Machine
by
“‘You black lump av dirt,’ I sez, ‘is this the way you dhrive your gharri? That tikka has been owin’ an’ fere-owin’ all over the bloomin’ country this whole bloomin’ night, an’ you as mut-walla as Davey’s sow. Get up, you hog!’ sez I, louder, for I heard the wheels av a thrap in the dark; ‘get up an’ light your lamps, or you’ll be run into!’ This was on the road to the Railway Station.
“‘Fwhat the divil’s this?’ sez the Capt’n’s voice in the dhark, an’ I could judge he was in a lather av rage.
“‘Gharri dhriver here, dhrunk, sorr,’ sez I; ‘I’ve found his gharri sthrayin’ about cantonmints, an’ now I’ve found him.’
“‘Oh!’ sez the Capt’n; ‘fwhat’s his name?’ I stooped down an’ pretended to listen.
“‘He sez his name’s Jungi, sorr,’ sez I.
“‘Hould my harse,’ sez the Capt’n to his man, an’ wid that he gets down wid the whip an’ lays into Jungi, just mad wid rage an’ swearin’ like the scutt he was.
“I thought, afther a while, he wud kill the man, so I sez:–‘Stop, sorr, or you’ll murdher him!’ That dhrew all his fire on me, an’ he cursed me into Blazes, an’ out again. I stud to attenshin an’ saluted:–‘Sorr,’ sez I, ‘av ivry man in this wurruld had his rights, I’m thinkin’ that more than wan wud be beaten to a jelly for this night’s work–that niver came off at all, sorr, as you see?’ ‘Now,’ thinks I to myself, ‘Terence Mulvaney, you’ve cut your own throat, for he’ll sthrike, an’ you’ll knock him down for the good av his sowl an’ your own iverlastin’ dishgrace!’
“But the Capt’n never said a single wurrd. He choked where he stud, an’ thin he went into his thrap widout sayin’ good-night, an’ I wint back to barricks.”
“And then?” said Ortheris and I together.
“That was all,” said Mulvaney, “niver another word did I hear av the whole thing. All I know was that there was no e-vasion, an’ that was fwhat I wanted. Now, I put ut to you, sorr, Is ten days’ C.B. a fit an’ a proper tratement for a man who has behaved as me?”
“Well, any’ow,” said Ortheris, “tweren’t this ‘ere Colonel’s daughter, an’ you was blazin’ copped when you tried to wash in the Fort Ditch.”
“That,” said Mulvaney, finishing the champagne, “is a shuparfluous an’ impert’nint observation.”