The Absentee Read Free Page A

and,
obtaining no satisfaction from the underlings, desired to see the head
of the house. He was answered, that Mr. Mordicai was not at home. His
lordship had never seen Mr. Mordicai; but, just then, he saw, walking
across the yard, a man, who looked something like a Bond Street coxcomb,
but not the least like a gentleman, who called, in the tone of a master,
for 'Mr. Mordicai's barouche!' It appeared; and he was stepping into it
when Lord Colambre took the liberty of stopping him; and, pointing to
the wreck of Mr. Berryl's curricle, now standing in the yard, began a
statement of his friend's grievances, and an appeal to common justice
and conscience, which he, unknowing the nature of the man with whom he
had to deal, imagined must be irresistible. Mr. Mordicai stood without
moving a muscle of his dark wooden face. Indeed, in his face there
appeared to be no muscles, or none which could move; so that, though
he had what are generally called handsome features, there was, all
together, something unnatural and shocking in his countenance. When, at
last, his eyes turned, and his lips opened, this seemed to be done by
machinery, and not by the will of a living creature, or from the impulse
of a rational soul. Lord Colambre was so much struck with this strange
physiognomy, that he actually forgot much he had to say of springs and
wheels. But it was no matter. Whatever he had said, it would have come
to the same thing; and Mordicai would have answered as he now did—
    'Sir, it was my partner made that bargain, not myself; and I don't
hold myself bound by it, for he is the sleeping-partner only, and not
empowered to act in the way of business. Had Mr. Berryl bargained with
me, I should have told him that he should have looked to these things
before his carriage went out of our yard.'
    The indignation of Lord Colambre kindled at these words—but in vain.
To all that indignation could by word or look urge against Mordicai, he
replied—
    'Maybe so, sir; the law is open to your friend—the law is open to all
men who can pay for it.'
    Lord Colambre turned in despair from the callous coach-maker, and
listened to one of his more compassionate-looking workmen, who was
reviewing the disabled curricle; and, whilst he was waiting to know the
sum of his friend's misfortune, a fat, jolly, Falstaff looking personage
came into the yard, accosted Mordicai with a degree of familiarity,
which, from a gentleman, appeared to Lord Colambre to be almost
impossible.
    'How are you, Mordicai, my good fellow?' cried he, speaking with a
strong Irish accent.
    'Who is this?' whispered Lord Colambre to the foreman, who was examining
the curricle.
    'Sir Terence O'Fay, sir. There must be entire new wheels.'
    'Now tell me, my tight fellow,' continued Sir Terence, holding Mordicai
fast, 'when, in the name of all the saints, good or bad, in the
calendar, do you reckon to let us sport the SUICIDE?'
    Mordicai forcibly drew his mouth into what he meant for a smile, and
answered, 'As soon as possible, Sir Terence.'
    Sir Terence, in a tone of jocose, wheedling expostulation, entreated him
to have the carriage finished OUT OF HAND. 'Ah, now! Mordy, my precious!
let us have it by the birthday, and come and dine with us o' Monday, at
the Hibernian Hotel—there's a rare one—will you?'
    Mordicai accepted the invitation, and promised faithfully that the
SUICIDE should be finished by the birthday. Sir Terence shook hands upon
this promise, and, after telling a good story, which made one of
the workmen in the yard—an Irishman—grin with delight, walked off.
Mordicai, first waiting till the knight was out of hearing, called
aloud—
    'You grinning rascal! mind, at your peril, and don't let that there
carriage be touched, d'ye see, till further orders.'
    One of Mr. Mordicai's clerks, with a huge long-feathered pen behind his
ear, observed that Mr. Mordicai was right in that caution, for that, to
the best of his comprehension, Sir Terence O'Fay and his principal, too,
were