“Of that we are pretty certain, sir,” said Clowes, pompously; “the shares are now one hundred and twelve,—paid up in two calls, thirty-six pounds ten shillings, He,” said Clowes, with a jerk of his thumb towards Mr. Dunn's room, meant to indicate its owner,—“he don't like it; calls it a bubble, and all that, but I have, known him mistaken, sir,—ay, and more than once. You may remember that vein of yellow marble—giallo antico, they call it—found on Martin's property—That's his knock; here he comes now,” cried he, hurrying away to meet his master, and leaving the story of his blunder unrelated. “All right,” said Clowes, re-entering, hastily; “you can go in now. He seems in a precious humor to-night,” added he, in a low whisper; “something or other has gone wrong with him.”
Driscoll had scarcely closed the inner door of cloth that formed the last security of Davenport Dunn's privacy, when he perceived the correctness of Mr. Clowes's information. Dunn's brow was dark and clouded, his face slightly flushed, and his eye restless and excited.
“What is it so very pressing, Driscoll, that could n't wait till to-morrow?” said he, peevishly, and not paying the slightest attention to the other's courteous salutation.
“I thought this was the time you liked best,” said Driscoll, quietly; “you always said, 'Come to me when I've done for the day—'”
“But who told you I had done for the day? That pile of letters has yet to be answered; many of them I have not even read. The Attorney-General will be here in a few minutes about these prosecutions too.”
“That's a piece of good luck, anyhow,” said Driscoll, quickly.
“How so? What d' ye mean?”
“Why, we could just get a kind of travelling opinion out of him about this case.”
“What nonsense you talk!” said Dunn, angrily; “as if a lawyer of standing and ability would commit himself by pronouncing on a most complicated question, the details of which he was to gather from you!” The look and emphasis that accompanied the last word were to the last degree insulting, but they seemed to give no offence whatever to him to whom they were addressed; on the contrary, he met them with a twinkle of the eye, and a droll twist of the mouth, as he muttered half to himself,—
“Yes, God help me, I 'll never set the Liffey on fire!”