“Come, come, Mr. Dunn, the only course of lectures I attend are delivered in the House of Commons; besides, I have no time for these things.” There was a tone of prompt decision in the way he uttered this that satisfied Dunn he had gone fully as far as was safe. “Now as to Ireland, we shall look for at least sixty, or perhaps seventy, sure votes. Come, where's your list, Dunn? Out with it, man! We are rather rich in patronage just now. We can make a Bishop, a Puisne Judge, three Assistant Barristers, a Poor Law Commissioner, not to say that there are some fifty smaller things in the Revenue. Which will you have?”
“All, my Lord,” said Dunn, coolly,—“all, and some colonial appointments besides, for such of our friends as find living at home inexpedient.”
His Lordship lay back in his chair, and laughed pleasantly. “There's Jamaica just vacant; would that suit you?”
“The Governorship? The very thing I want, and for a very old supporter of your Lordship's party.”
“Who is he?”
“The Earl of Glengariff, my Lord, a nobleman who has never received the slightest acknowledgment for a political adherence of fifty-odd years.”
“Why, the man must be in second childhood. If I remember aright, he was—”
“He is exactly four years your Lordship's senior; he says you fagged for him his last half at Eton.”
“Pooh, pooh! he mistakes; it was of my father he was thinking. But to the point: what can he do for us?”
“I was alluding to what he had done, my Lord,” said Dunn, pointedly.