b," said Woodward, laughing; "how the devil can I tell?"

"Good again," said his lordship; "confound me but you are a queer one. I
tell you what, I like you."

"I don't care a curse whether you do or not, provided your niece does."

"Are you the fellow that has been abroad, and returned home lately?"

"I am the very fellow," replied Woodward, with a ludicrous and
good-humored emphasis upon the word fellow.

"There was a bonfire made for you on your return?"

"There was, my lord."

"And there fell a shower of blood upon that occasion?"

"Not a doubt of it, my lord."

"Well, you are a strange fellow altogether. I have not for a long time
met a man so much after my own heart."

"That is because our dispositions resemble each other. If I had the
chance of a peerage, I would be as original as your lord-ship in the
selection of my title; but I trust I shall be gratified in that, too;
because, if I marry your niece, I will enter into public life, make
myself not only a useful, but a famous man, and, of course, the title of
Cockletown will be revived in my person, and will not perish with you.
No, my lord, should I marry your niece, your title shall descend with
your blood, and there is something to console you."

"Come," said the old peer, "shake hands. Have you a capacity for public
business?"

"I was born for it, my lord. I feel that fact; besides, I have a
generous ambition to distinguish myself."

"Well," said the peer, "we will talk all that over in a few days. But
don't you admit that I am an eccentric old fellow?"

"And doesn't your lordship admit that I am an eccentric young fellow?"

"Ay, but, harkee, Mr. Woodward," said the peer, "I always sleep with one
eye open."

"And I," replied Harry, "sleep with both eyes open."

"Come, confound me, that beats me, you must get on in life, and I will
consider your pretensions to my niece."

At this moment his mother and Miss Riddle entered the drawing-room,
which, notwithstanding the comical shape of the mansion, was spacious,
and admirably furnished. Miss Riddle's Christian name was Thomasina; but
her eccentric uncle never called her by any other appellation than Tom,
and occasionally Tommy.

"Mrs. Lindsay, uncle," said the girl, introducing her.

"Eh? Mrs. Lindsay! O! how do you do, Mrs. Lindsay? How is that
unfortunate devil, your husband?"

Now Mrs. Lindsay was one of those women who, whenever there was a
selfish object in view, could not only suppr