“Nothing serious, I hope. O’Malley?”
“Oh, no; nothing of consequence. A most absurd blunder of my rascally servant.”
“The Irish fellow yonder?”
“The same.”
“He seems to take it easily, however.”
“Oh, confound him! he does not know what trouble he has involved me in; not that he’ll care much when he does.”
“Why, he does not seem to be of a very desponding temperament. Listen to the fellow! I’ll be hanged, if he’s not singing!”
“I’m devilishly disposed to spoil his mirth. They tell me, however, he always keeps the troop in good humor; and see, the fellows are actually cleaning his horses for him, while he is sitting on the bank!”
“Faith, O’Malley, that fellow knows the world. Just hear him.”
Mr. Free was, as described, most leisurely reposing on a bank, a mug of something drinkable beside him, and a pipe of that curtailed proportion which an Irishman loves held daintily between his fingers. He appeared to be giving his directions to some soldiers of the troop, who were busily cleaning his horses and accoutrements for him.