his laysure which is strongest--a
brass castle or a stone jug. An' where, Sir, am I to get my five hundred
guineas--where, Sir?' he thundered, staring first in Lowe's face, then
in Toole's, and dealing the table a lusty blow at each interrogatory.

'I think, Sir,' said Lowe, anticipating Toole, 'you'd do well to
consider the sick man, Sir.' The noise was certainly considerable.

'I don't know, Sir, that the sick man's considherin' me much,' retorted
Doctor Dillon. 'Sick man--sick grandmother's aunt! If you can't speak
like a man o' sense, _don't_ spake, at any rate, like a justice o' the
pace. Sick man, indeed! why there's not a crature livin' barrin' a
natural eediot, or an apothecary, that doesn't know the man's dead; he's
_dead_, Sir; but 'tisn't so with me, an' I can't get on without vittles,
and vittles isn't to be had without money; that's logic, Mr. Justice;
that's a medical fact Mr. Docthor. An' how am I to get my five hundred
guineas? I say, _you_ and _you_--the both o' ye--that prevented me of
going last night to his brass castle--brass snuff-box--there isn't room
to stand in it, bedad--an' gettin' my money. I hold you both liable to
me--one an' t'other--the both o' ye.'

'Why, Sir,' said Lowe, ''tis a honorarium.'

''Tis no such thing, Sir; 'tis a contract,' thundered Dillon, pulling
Dangerfield's note of promise from his pocket, and dealing it a mighty
slap with the back of his hand.

'Contract or no, Sir, there's nobody liable for it but himself.'

'We'll try that, Sir; and in the meantime, what the divil am I to do,
I'd be glad to know; for strike me crooked if I have a crown piece to
pay the coachman. Trepan, indeed; I'm nately trepanned myself.'

'If you'll only listen, Sir, I'll show you your case is well enough. Mr.
Dangerfield, as you call him, has not left the country; and though he's
arrested, 'tisn't for debt. If he owes you the money, 'tis your own
fault if you don't make him pay it, for I'm credibly informed he's worth
more than a hundred thousand pounds.'

'And where is he, Sir?' demanded Black Dillon, much more cheerfully and
amicably. 'I hope I see you well, Doctor Toole.'

That learned person acknowledged the somewhat tardy courtesy, and Lowe
made answer:

'He lies in the county gaol, Sir, on a serious criminal charge; but a
line from me, Sir, will, I think, gain you admission to him forthwith.'

'I'll be much obliged for it, Sir,' answered Dillon. 'What o'clock is
it?' he asked o