“You affect to know all these fellows of the press. It is your pride to have been their associate and boon companion. I charge you, then, no matter for the means or the cost, get that man discharged; follow him up too; have an eye upon him wherever he goes, and wherever he obtains employment. He shall learn that a hungry stomach is a sorry recompense for the pleasure of pointing a paragraph. Let me see that you make a note of this, Mr. Hankes, and that you execute it also.”
It was something so new for Hankes to see Dunn manifest any the slightest emotion on the score of the press, whether its comments took the shape of praise or blame, that he actually stared at him with a sort of incredulous astonishment.
“If I were born a Frenchman, an Italian, or even a German,” said Dunn, with a savage energy of voice, “should I be taunted in the midst of my labors that my origin was plebeian? Would the society in which I move be reminded that they accept me on sufferance? Would the cheer that greeted my success be mingled with the cry, 'Remember whence you came'? I tell you, sir,” and here he spoke with the thickened utterance of intense passion,—“I tell you, sir, that with all the boasted liberty of our institutions, we cultivate a social slavery in these islands, to which the life of a negro is freedom in comparison!”
A sharp tap at the door interrupted him, and he cried, “Come in.” It was a servant to say dinner was on the table, and his Lordship was waiting.
“Please to say I am indisposed,—a severe headache. I hope his Lordship will excuse my not appearing to-day,” said he, with evident confusion; and then, when the servant withdrew, added: “You may go down to the inn. I suppose there is one in the village. I shall want horses to-morrow, and relays ready on the road to Killarney. Give the orders, and if anything else occurs to my recollection, I 'll send you word in the evening.”
Whether it was that Mr. Hankes had been speculating on the possible chances of dining with “my Lord” himself, or that the prospect of the inn at Glengariff was little to his taste, but he assuredly gathered up his papers in a mood that indicated no peculiar satisfaction, and withdrew without a word.
A second message now came to inquire what Mr. Dunn would like to take for his dinner, and conveying Lord Glengariffs regrets for his indisposition.
“A little soup—some fish, if there be any—nothing else,” said Dunn, while he opened his writing-desk and prepared for work. Not noticing the interruption of the servant as he laid the table, he wrote away rapidly; at last he arose, and, having eaten a few mouthfuls, reseated himself at his desk. His letter was to the Minister, in answer to the offer of that morning's post. There was a degree of dexterity in the way that he conveyed his refusal, accompanying it by certain suggestive hints, vague and shadowy of course, of what the services of such a man as himself might possibly accomplish, so as to indicate how great was the loss to the State by not being fortunate enough to secure such high acquirements. The whole wound up with a half-ambiguous regret that, while the Ministry should accept newspaper dictation for their appointments, they could not also perceive that popular will should be consulted in the rewards extended to those who deserted their private and personal objects to devote their energies to the cause of the empire.
“Whenever such a Government shall arise,” wrote he, “the Ministry will find few refusals to the offers of employment, and men will alike consult their patriotism and their self-esteem in taking office under the Crown; nor will there be found, in the record of replies to a Ministerial proffer, one such letter as now bears the signature of your Lordship's
“Very devoted and very obedient servant,