“You are blanked!” I said, and strode away—and the wretch is at it still. Once I was strolling up the hill and I saw him stop and come striding towards me, but I waved him away scornfully, and he stopped as if he had been shot; and though I did not hear him, I know well he was blanked again. It seems he came to the hotel and asked about me, and when told who I was and that I had come for a week “to amuse myself,” merely to see the place, he was “struck of a heap,” and said he had never heard the like before, but “that's the one for me,” which I certainly was not and am not; the sight of the idiot sets my nerves on edge . How can any one rouse such a being? Yet he is a big, strong, healthy-looking man, and does not even look stupid.
“If he would only make love to you, Bridget,” I said,“you would liven him up!” “Is it me? Bad cess to ye! Is it after me ye'd be having him? Sure ’tis niver a crathur like that I'll be wanting.” In the hotel is living a man who is terribly ill with the coast fever; came here, where there is none, to recruit, and has delirium tremens all the time the—wreck, the miserable wretch, is awful to see. All day and night he calls without ceasing on Mrs. M‘Nulty or Bridget for drink, and they are angels of goodness and patience with him, for he is a terrific nuisance. I have heard Mrs. M‘Nulty rise up in the night, go to him and reason with and chide him as if he were a child. She is adamant in refusing him more, so now he sometimes comes to me on the verandah, goes down on his knees praying, crying, and entreating that I will order a drink—whisky or brandy, of course—for myself and give it to him. My heart bleeds with pity for him, but of course I cannot do it, and Mrs. M‘Nulty is quite worried at the time I am
