You do, sir? said the astonished Mac Fane.
I do, sir. I am intimate with Sir Arthur St. Ives, and he is the son of
his gardener: a low fellow that acts as the baronet's man of all work;
his steward, his overseer, and his cash-keeper.
This contempt thrown on the character of Henley gave the Irishman some
relief. By the holy poker, said Mac Fane, but I always thought he was a
spalpeen, and no gintleman!
I think you have no great cause to like him much, sir, continued I,
from the account that I have heard.
His choler began to rise, and his eyes assumed an uncommon ferocity.
Like him! Sweet Jasus snatch me out of the world if I don't pay off an
old score with him yet, before I die.