“Come, come, never mind the antithesis; does he care for society, does he like sport, is he free-handed, or has he only come here with the traditional policy to 'drain Ireland'?”
“You 'll like him much,” said Dunn, in his natural voice, “and he 'll like you.”
Sir Maurice smiled, as though to say, “I could answer as much for myself;” and then asked, “Have you known him long?”
“No; that is, not very long,” said Dunn, hesitating, “nor very intimately. Why do you ask?”
“Just because I want to get something,—at once too. There's a poor fellow, a patient of mine now,—we were brother officers once,—in a very sad way. Your friends of the Encumbered Court have Just been selling him out, and by the shock they have so stunned him that his brain has been attacked; at present it does not seem so formidable, but it will end in softening, and all the rest of it. Now, if they 'd make him something at once,—quickly it must be,—he could drop out on some small retired allowance,—anything, in short, that would support him.”
“But what is it to be?” asked Dunn.
“Whatever you like to make him. It can scarcely be a bishop, for he's not in orders; nor a judge, for he was not called to the bar; but why not a commissioner of something? You have them for all purposes and of all degrees.”
“You take a low estimate of commissionerships, I perceive,” said Dunn, smiling.
“They are row-boats, where two or three pull, and the rest only dip their oars. But come, promise me you 'll look to this; take a note of the name,—Paul Kellett a man of excellent family, and once with a large landed property.”
“I know him,” said Dunn, with a peculiar significance.