has letters of
credit on us.'

"'Well,' says I, 'but who knows that they 're not coming in the post
now?'

"'We 'll wait till we see them,' says he.

"'By my conscience,' says I, 'I hope you 'll not eat your breakfast
till they come.' And so I walked away. Oh dear! is n't it a suspicious
world?"

"It's a rascally world!" broke out O'Shea, with bitterness.

"It is!" assented Joe, with a positive energy there was no gainsaying.

"Is Mr. Layton gone with the rest this morning?"

"He is, and the Marquis. They 're a-horseback on two ponies not worth
fifty shilling apiece."

"And that counter-jumper, Mosely, I'll wager he too thinks himself first
favorite for the heiress."

"Well, then, in the name of all that's lucky, why don't you thry your
own chance?" said Joe, coaxingly.

"Is n't it because I _did_ try that they have left me out of this
invitation? Is n't it because they saw I was like to be the winning
horse that they scratched me out of the race? Is n't it just because
Gorman O'Shea was the man to carry off the prize that they would n't let
me enter the lists?"

"There 's only two more as rich as her in all England," chimed in Joe,
"and one of them will never marry any but the Emperor of Roosia."

"She has money enough!" muttered O'Shea. "And neither father nor mother,
brother, sister, kith or kin," continued Joe, in a tone of exultation
that seemed to say he knew of no such good luck in life as to stand
alone and friendless in the world.

"Those Heathcotes are related to her."

"No more than they are to you. I have it all from Miss Smithers, the
maid. 'We 're as free as air, Mr. Rouse,' says she; 'wherever we have a
"conceit," we can follow it' That's plain talking, anyhow."

"Would you marry Smithers, Joe?" said his master, with a roguish twinkle
in his eye.

"Maybe, if I knew for what; though, by my conscience, she's no beauty!"

"I meant, of course, for a good consideration."

"Not on a bill, though,--money down,--hard money."

"And how much of it?" asked O'Shea, with a knowing look.

"The price of that place at Einsale."

"The 'Trout and Triangle,' Joe?" laughed out his master. "Are you still
yearning after being an innkeeper in your native town?"

"I am just that," replied Joe, solemnly. "'T is what I 'd rather be than
Lord Mayor of Dublin!"

"Well, it is an honorable ambition, no doubt of it. Nothing can be more
reasonable, besides, than a man's desire to fill that station in life