“You have not asked me about myself, father,” said Dunn at last, “and I think my fortunes might have had the first place in your interest.”
“Sure you told me this minute that you didn't see the Queen,” said the old man, peevishly.
“Very true, sir, I did not, but I saw her Minister. I placed before him the services I had done his party, my long sacrifices of time, labor, and money in their cause; I showed him that I was a man who had established the strongest claim upon the Government.”
“And wouldn't be refused,—wouldn't be denied, eh, Davy?”
“Just so, sir. I intimated that also, so far as it was prudent to do so.”
“The stronger the better, Davy; weak words show a faint heart. 'Tis knowing the cost of your enmity will make men your friends.”
“I believe, sir, that in such dealings my own tact is my safest guide. It is not to-day or yesterday that I have made acquaintance with men of this order. For upwards of two-and-twenty years I have treated Ministers as my equals.”
The old man heard this proud speech with an expression of almost ecstasy on his features, and grasped his son's hand in a delight too great for words.
“Ay, father, I have made our name a cognate number in this kingdom's arithmetic. Men talk of Davenport Dunn as one recognized in the land.”
“'Tis true; 'tis true as the Bible!” muttered the old man.