know nothing: a
man of the world like you would buy and sell them."

"You see, they've no finesse: they have a certain degwee of weadiness,
but no depth--no weal finesse."

"Not as much as would physic a snipe," said Dick, who swallowed a glass
of claret to conceal a smile.

"What's that you say about snipes and physic?" said Furlong; "what
queer things you _Iwish_ do say."

"Oh, we've plenty o' queer fellows here," said Dick; "but you are not
taking your claret."

"The twuth is, I am fatigued--vewy--and if you'd allow me, Mr. O'Gwady,
I should like to go to my woom; we'll talk over business to-mowwow."

"Certainly," said the Squire, who was glad to get rid of him, for the
scene was becoming too much for his gravity. So Dick Dawson lighted
Furlong to his room, and after heaping civilities upon him, left him to
sleep in the camp of his enemies, and then returned to the dining-room,
to enjoy with the Squire the laugh they were so long obliged to repress,
and to drink another bottle of claret on the strength of the joke.

"What shall we do with him, Dick?" said the Squire.

"Pump him as dry as a lime-kiln," said Dick, "and then send him off to
O'Grady--all's fair in war."

"To be sure," said the Squire. "Unseat me, indeed! he was near it, sure
enough, for I thought I'd have dropped off my chair with surprise when
he said it."

"And the conceit and impudence of the fellow," said Dick. "The ignorant
_Iwish_--nothing will serve him but abusing his own countrymen! 'The
ignorant Irish!'--oh, is that all you learn in Oxford, my boy?--just wait,
my buck--if I don't astonish your weak mind, it's no matter!"

"'Faith, he has brought his pigs to a pretty market here," said the
Squire; "but how _did_ he come here? how was the mistake made?"

"The way every mistake in the country is made," said Dick. "Handy Andy
drove him here."

"More power to you, Andy," said the Squire. "Come, Dick, we'll drink
Andy's health--this is a mistake on the right side."

And Andy's health _was_ drunk, as well as several other healths. In
short, the Squire and Dick the Devil were in high glee--the dining-room
rang with laughter to a late hour; and the next morning a great many
empty claret bottles were on the table--and a few on the floor.

CHAPTER X

Notwithstanding the deep potations of the Squire and Dick Dawson the
night before, both were too much excited by the arrival of Furlong to
permit their being laggards in the morni