“What say you to this, lads?” said Pike, reading from a rough and much-corrected draft before him:—
The bearer, Cornelius Cregan, has lived in my service ten months as a page; he is scrupulously honest, active, and intelligent, well acquainted with the duties of his station, and competent to discharge them in the first families. I now dismiss him at his own request. Cecilia Mendleshaw.
“Gad! I'd rather make him start as what they call in his own country a 'Tay-boy,'” said Carrington,—“one of those bits of tarnished gold-lace and gaiters seen about the outskirts of Dublin.”
“Your honor is right, sir,” said I, glad to show myself above any absurd vanity on the score of my early beginning; “a 'Tay-boy' on the Rathmines road, able to drive a jaunting-car and wait at table.”
“That's the mark, I believe,” said Pike. “Suppose, then, we say: 'Con Cregan has served me twelve months, waited at table, and taken care of a horse and car.'”
“Ah, sir!” said I, “sure an Irish gentleman with a 'Tay-boy' would be finer spoken than that. It would be: 'I certify that Cornelius Cregan, who served in my establishment as under-butler, and occasionally assisting the coachman, is a most respectable servant, well-mannered and respectful, having always lived in high situations, and with the most distinguished individuals.'”
“Ah, that's it,” broke in Carrington; “'understands lamps, and is perfectly competent to make jellies, soups, and preserves.'”
“Confound it, man! you 're making him a cook.”
“By Jove, so I was! It's so hard to remember what the fellow is.”
“I think we may leave it to himself,” said Pike; “he seems to have a very good notion of what is necessary. So, Master Con, write your own biography, my lad, and we 'll give it all the needful currency of handwriting and seal.”