"What!" said Norton. "By the bones of St. Patrick but you are Morty
O'Flaherty! Confound it, my dear Morty, why didn't you make yourself
known at once? it would have relieved both of us."

"One of us, you mane," replied Morty, with a wink.

"Upon my soul I am glad to free you, Morty. And how are you, man alive?
In a snug berth here, I see, with the father of my friend, Lord Dunroe."

"Ha!" exclaimed Morty, shrewdly; "is that it? Your friend; Oh, I see.
Nate as ever, like a clane sixpence. Well, Barney, the world will have
its way."

"Ay, Morty, and we must comply with it. Some it brings up, and others it
brings down."

"Whisht, now, Barney," said Morty; "let by-gones be by-gones. That it
didn't bring you up, be thankful to a gracious Providence and a light
pair o' heels; that's all. And what are you now?"

"No longer Barney Bryan, at any rate," replied the other. "My name, at
present, is Norton."

"At present! Upon my sowl, Barney, so far as names goes, you're a
walkin' catalogue."

"Thomas Norton, Esquire; residing with that distinguished young
nobleman, Lord Dunroe, as his bosom friend and inseparable companion."

"Hem! I see," said Morty, with a shrug, which he meant as one of
compassion for the aforesaid Lord Dunroe; "son to my masther. Well, God
pity him, Barney, is the worst I wish him. You will take care of him;
you'll tache him a thing or two--and that's enough. But, Barney--"

"Curse Barney--Mr. Norton's the word."

"Well, Mr. Norton--ah, Mr. Norton, there's one person you'll not
neglect."

"Who is that, Morty?"

"Faith, your mother's son, achora. However, you know the proverb--'A
burnt child dreads the fire.' You have a neck still, Barney--beg pardon,
Mr. Norton--don't forget that fact."

"And I'll take care of the said neck, believe me, Morty; I shall keep it
safe, never fear."

"Take care you don't keep it a little too safe. A word to the wise is
enough, Bar--Mr. Norton."

"It is, Morty; and I trust you will remember that that is to be a
regulation between us. 'A close mouth is the sign of a wise head,' too;
and there's a comrade for your proverb--but we are talking too long.
Listen; keep my secret, and I will make it worth your while to do so.
You may ruin me, without serving yourself; but as a proof that you will
find me your friend, I will slip you five guineas, as a recompense, you
know, for taking care of the landau and horses. In short, if we work
into each other's hands it wil