Whether it was that the firm and resolute tone I assumed had its effect at once, or that disappointed at the mode in which I received his advances he wished to conclude our interview as soon as need be, I know not; but he speedily withdrew from a capacious pocket a document in parchment, which, having spread at large upon the table, and having leisurely put on his spectacles, he began to hum over its contents to himself in an undertone.
“Yes, sir, here it is,” said he. “‘Deed of conveyance between Godfrey O’Malley, of O’Malley Castle, Esq., on the one part’—perhaps you’d like your solicitor to examine it,—‘and Blake, of Gurt’—because there is no hurry, Captain O’Malley—‘on the other.’ In fact, after all, it is a mere matter of form between relatives,” said he, as I declined the intervention of a lawyer. “I’m not in want of the money—‘all the lands and tenements adjoining, in trust, for the payment of the said three thousand’—thank God, Captain, the sum is a trifle that does not inconvenience me! The boys are provided for; and the girls—the pickpockets, as I call them, ha, ha, ha!—not ill off neither;—‘with rights of turbary on the said premises’—who are most anxious to have the pleasure of seeing you. Indeed, I could scarcely keep Jane from coming over to-day. ‘Sure he’s my cousin,’ says she; ‘and what harm would it be if I went to see him?’ Wild, good-natured girls, Captain! And your old friend Matthew—you haven’t forgot Matthew?—has been keeping three coveys of partridge for you this fortnight. ‘Charley,’ says he,—they call you Charley still, Captain,—‘shall have them, and no one else.’ And poor Mary—she was a child when you were here—Mary is working a sash for you. But I’m forgetting—I know you have so much business on your hands—”
“Pray, Mr. Blake, be seated. I know nothing of any more importance than the matter before us. If you will permit me to give you a check for this money. The papers, I’m sure, are perfectly correct.”
“If I only thought it did not inconvenience you—”
“Nothing of the kind, I assure you. Shall I say at sight, or in ten days hence?”
“Whenever you please, Captain. But it’s sorry I am to come troubling you about such things, when I know you are thinking of other matters. And, as I said before, the money does not signify to me; the times, thank God, are good, and I’ve never been very improvident.”
“I think you’ll find that correct.”
“Oh, to be sure it is! Well, well; I’m going away without saying half what I intended.”
“Pray do not hurry yourself. I have not asked have you breakfasted, for I remember Galway habits too well for that. But if I might offer you a glass of sherry and water after your ride?”
“Will you think me a beast if I say yes, Captain? Time was when I didn’t care for a canter of ten or fifteen miles in the morning no more than yourself; and that’s no small boast; God forgive me, but I never see that clover-field where you pounded the Englishman, without swearing there never was a leap made before or since. Is this Mickey, Captain? Faith, and it’s a fine, brown, hearty-looking chap you’re grown, Mickey. That’s mighty pleasant sherry, but where would there be good wine if it wasn’t here? Oh, I remember now what it was I wanted. Peter,—my son Peter, a slip of a boy, he’s only sixteen,—well, d’you see, he’s downright deranged about the army: he used to see your name in the papers every day, and that terrible business at—what’s the name of the place?—where you rode on the chap’s back up the breach.”