"Why wouldn't I do?" suggested George. George, at any rate, had the merit of being a good son.
"Nonsense," said Fred; "if the governor got shot you'd be considered a brute if you were cool; and a man should be cool then."
"Cool," said George; "I'd be as cool as a cucumber."
"Nonsense," said the father; "of course I couldn't go out with my own son; there's Theobald French; I went out with his cousin just after Waterloo."
"He can't show—he's on his keeping. He'd be nabbed before he was on the ground."
"Then I'll have Larkin; I've known him since I was a boy."
"Larkin's too old for that game now; he'd be letting them have Webb up with his back to the sun."
"Murphy, of Mullough; he's used to these things—I'll send over to him."
"Murphy's up to snuff; but since the affair of the bill he forged Dan Connolly's name to, he's queerly thought of. It wouldn't do at all, governor, to send anyone that Webb's friend could refuse to meet."
"I'll tell you, father, who'd be proud of the job—and he's quite a gentleman now, since he got an estate of his own—and that's Cynthy Keegan. It'd be great fun to see him stepping the ground, and he only with one foot."