Murtough went
down-stairs, and procuring some blacking and red pickled cabbage by
stealth, returned to the chamber where M'Garry now lay in a state of
stupor, and dragging off his clothes, he made long dabs across his back
with the purple juice of the pickle and Warren's paste, till poor
M'Garry was as regularly striped as a tiger, from his shoulder to his
flank. He then returned to the dinner-room, where the drinking bout had
assumed a formidable character, and others, as well as the apothecary,
began to feel the influence of their potations. Murphy confided to the
doctor what he had done, and said that, when the men were drunk enough,
he would contrive that M'Garry should be discovered, and then they
would take their measures accordingly. It was not very long before his
company were ripe enough for his designs, and then ringing the bell, he
demanded of the waiter, when he entered, what had become of Mr.
M'Garry. The waiter, not having any knowledge on the subject, was
desired to inquire, and, a search being instituted, M'Garry was
discovered by Mrs. Fay in the state Murphy had left him in. On seeing
him, she was so terrified that she screamed, and ran into the
dinner-room, wringing her hands, and shouting "Murder." A great
commotion ensued, and a general rush to the bedroom took place, and
exclamations of wonder and horror flew round the room, not only from
the gentlemen of the dinner-party, but from the servants of the house,
who crowded to the chamber on the first alarm, and helped not a little
to increase the confusion.

"Oh! who ever see the like of it!" shouted Mrs. Fay. "He's kilt with
the batin' he got! Oh, look at him--black and blue all over! Oh, the
murther it is! Oh, I wouldn't be Squire O'Grady for all his fort'n."

"Gad, I believe he's killed sure enough," said Murphy.

"What a splendid action the widow will have!" said Jack Horan.

"You forget, man," said Murphy, "this is not a case for action of
damages, but a felony--hanging matter."

"Sure enough," said Jack.

"Doctor, will you feel his pulse?" said Murphy.

The doctor did as he was required, and assumed a very serious
countenance. "'T is a bad business, sir--his wounds are mortifying
already."

Upon this announcement, there was a general retreat from the bed, round
which they had been crowding too close for the carrying on of the joke;
and Mrs. Fay ran for a shovel of hot cinders, and poured vinegar over
them, to fumigate the room.

"A ve