ped you were dead;" and he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes
as if to shut out some horrid spectre.

"I've been divilish near it, squire, but Providence has preserved me, ye
see--jist to be a comfort to ye in yer old age. I've been shipwrecked,
blown up in steamboats, and I've had favers and choleray and the divil
alone knows what--but I've been marcifully presarved to ye, and hope ye'll
see a good dale of me this many years to come."

Mr. Stevens glared at him fiercely for a few seconds, and then rejoined,
"You promised me solemnly, five years ago, that you would never trouble me
again, and I gave you money enough to have kept you in comfort--ay,
luxury--for the remainder of your life. Where is it all now?"

"That's more than I can tell you, squire. I only know how it comes. I don't
trouble myself how it goes--that's your look out. If ye are anxious on that
score you'd better hire a bookkeeper for me--he shall send yer honour a
quarterly account, and then it won't come on ye so sudden when it's all out
another time."

"Insolent!" muttered Mr. Stevens.

McCloskey gave Mr. Stevens an impudent look, but beyond that took no
farther notice of his remark, but proceeded with the utmost coolness to
pour out another glass of brandy--after which he drew his chair closer to
the grate, and placed his dirty feet upon the mantelpiece in close
proximity to an alabaster clock.

"You make yourself very much at home," said Stevens, indignantly.

"Why shouldn't I?" answered his tormentor, in a tone of the most perfect
good humour. "Why shouldn't I--in the house of an ould acquaintance and
particular friend--just the place to feel at home, eh, Stevens?" then
folding his arms and tilting back his chair, he asked, coolly: "You haven't
a cigar, have ye?"

"No," replied Stevens, surlily; "and if I had, you should not have it. Your
insolence is unbearable; you appear," continued he, with some show of
dignity, "to have forgotten who I am, and who you are."

"Ye're mistaken there, squire. Divil a bit have I. I'm McCloskey, and you
are Slippery George--an animal that's known over the 'varsal world as a
Philadelphia lawyer--a man that's chated his hundreds, and if he lives long
enough, he'll chate as many more, savin' his friend Mr. McCloskey, and him
he'll not be afther chating, because he won't be able to get a chance,
although he'd like to if he could--divil a doubt of that."

"It's false--I never tried to cheat you," rejoi