ld, all things
considered, like a quiet return best; which view of the affair was,
ultimately, acquiesced in.

For Mary Matchwell, at the Mills, the tidings which had thrown the town
into commotion had but a solitary and a selfish interest. She was glad
that Nutter was exculpated. She had no desire that the king should take
his worldly goods to which she intended helping herself: otherwise he
might hang or drown for ought she cared. Dirty Davy, too, who had quaked
about his costs, was greatly relieved by the turn which things had
taken; and the plain truth was that, notwithstanding his escape from the
halter, things looked very black and awful for Charles Nutter and his
poor little wife, Sally.

Doctor Toole, at half-past nine, was entertaining two or three of the
neighbours, chiefly in oracular whispers, by the fire in the great
parlour of the Phoenix, when he was interrupted by Larry, the waiter,
with--

'Your horse is at the door, docther' (Toole was going into town, but was
first to keep an appointment at Doctor Sturk's with Mr. Lowe), 'and,'
continued Larry, 'there's a fat gentleman in the blue room wants to see
you, if you plase.'

'Hey?--ho! let's see then,' said little Toole, bustling forth with an
important air. 'The blue room, hey?'

When he opened the door of that small apartment there stood a stout,
corpulent, rather seedy and dusty personage, at the window, looking out
and whistling with his hat on. He turned lazily about as Toole entered,
and displayed the fat and forbidding face of Dirty Davy.

'Oh! I thought it might be professionally, Sir,' said Toole, a little
grandly; for he had seen the gentleman before, and had, by this time,
found out all about him, and perceived he had no chance of a fee.

'It _is_ professionally, Sir,' quoth Dirty Davy, 'if you'll be so
obleeging as to give me five minutes.'

With that amiable egotism which pervades human nature, it will be
observed, each gentleman interpreted 'professionally' as referring to
his own particular calling.

So Toole declared himself ready and prepared to do his office, and Dirty
Davy commenced.

'You know me, I believe, Sir?'

'Mr. David O'Reegan, as I believe,' answered Toole.

'The same, Sir,' replied Davy. 'I'm on my way, Sir, to the Mills, where
my client, Mrs. Nutter (here Toole uttered a disdainful grunt), resides;
and I called at your house, doctor, and they sent me here; and I am
desirous to prove to you, Sir, as a friend of