akfast in bed, and Robert Evans, a
sour and withered Ganymede, was the bearer of it. He was also the
bearer of any gossip that might be available, and seldom failed to
provide his master with a stimulant and irritant. On the morning
following on Christian's return it was very evident that intelligence
of unusual greatness seethed in the cauldron wherein fermented Mr.
Evans' brew of news. His rook-like eye sparkled, his movements, even
that walk for whose disabilities it may be remembered that the pantry
boy had thanked his God, were alert and purposeful.

"Ye didn't see the _Irish Times_ yet, I think?" he began,
standing over his master, and looking down upon him with an expression
as triumphant and malign as that of a carrion-crow with a piece of
stolen meat. He rarely bestowed the usual honorifics upon Dick,
considering that his five years' seniority relieved him of such
obligations. "I wouldn't believe all I'd read in the papers, but this
is true, anyway!"

"What's true?" said Major Dick, irritably; "you've forgotten the salt
again, Evans! How the devil can I eat an egg without salt? Send one of
the maids for it--don't go yourself," he added, as Evans left the
room. "The old fool'd be all day getting it," he said to himself, with
an old man's contempt for old age in another. "Now, then," as Evans
returned, "what's your wonderful bit of news?"

"Ye can read it there for yourself," replied Evans, coldly; he was
ruffled by the episode of the salt.

"Damn it, man, I can't read the paper and eat an egg!" snapped the
Major. "Out with your lie, whatever it is!"

"Master Larry's chosen for the Member in place of Prendergast," said
Evans, sulkily.

If Evans had been unfortunate in the way in which his sensation had
been led up to, its reception left him nothing to desire. Dick was
stricken to an instant of complete silence. Then he roared to Evans to
take the damned tray out of his way, and to give him the (otherwise
qualified) paper.

It would serve no purpose, useful or otherwise, to attempt to record
Dick Talbot-Lowry's denunciations of Larry, of his religion, and of
his politics; of, secondarily, his ingratitude; his treachery, and his
lack of the most rudimentary elements of a gentleman. They lasted
long, and lacked nothing of effect that strength of lung and vigour of
language could bring to them. And Evans, the many-wintered crow,
hearkened, and rejoiced that he was seeing his desire of his enemy.

"No! I wo