“No, I think not,” said Heathoote, listlessly.
“Well, it was a chance, and a mere chance; this is the way it happened. Though I was bred to the Bar, I never did much at the law; some say that an agreeable man, with a lively turn in conversation, plenty of anecdote, and a rich fancy, is never a favorite with the attorneys; the rascals always think that such a man will never make a lawyer, and though they 'll listen to his good stories by the hour in the Hall, devil a brief they 'll give him, nor so much as a 'declaration.' Well, for about five years I walked about in wig and gown, joking and quizzing and humbugging all the fellows that were getting business, and taking a circuit now and again, but all to no good; and at last I thought I 'd give it up, and so my friends advised me, saying, 'Get something under the Government, Gorman; a snug place with a few hundreds a year, and be sure take anything that 's offered you to begin with.'
“Now there was a room in Dublin Castle—it's the second down the corridor off the private stairs—that used to be called the Poker-room. It may be so still, for anything I know, and for this reason: it was there all the people expecting places or appointments were accustomed to wait. It was a fine, airy, comfortable room, with a good carpet, easy-chairs, and always an excellent fire; and here used to meet every day of their lives the same twenty or five-and-twenty people, one occasionally dropping off, and another coming in, but so imperceptibly and gradually that the gathering at last grew to be a sort of club, where they sat from about eleven till dark every day, chatting pleasantly over public and private events. It was thus found necessary to give it a kind of organization, and so we named for President the oldest,—that is, the longest expectant of place,—who, by virtue of his station, occupied the seat next the fire, and alone, of all the members, possessed the privilege of poking it. The poker was his badge of office; and the last act of his official life, whenever promotion separated him from us, was to hand the poker to his successor, with a solemn dignity of manner and a few parting words.
I verily believe that most of us got to be so fond of the club that it was the very reverse of a pleasure when we had to leave it to become, maybe, a Police Inspector at Skibbereen, Postmaster at Tory Island, or a Gauger at Innismagee; and so we jogged on, from one Viceroy to another, very happy and contented. Well, it was the time of a great Marquis,—I won't say who, but he was the fast friend of O'Connell,—and we all of us thought that there would be plenty of fine things given away, and the poker-room was crammed, and I was the President, having ascended the throne two years and a half before. It was somewhere early in March; a cold raw day it was. I had scarcely entered the club, than a messenger bawled out, 'Gorman O'Shea,—Mr. Gorman O'Shea.' 'Here he is,' said I. 'Wanted in the Chief Secretary's office,' said he, 'immediately.' I gave a knowing wink to the company around the fire, and left the room. Three mortal hours did I stand in the ante-room below, seeing crowds pass in and out before I was called in; and then, as I entered, saw a little wizened, sharp-faced man standing with his back to the fire paring his nails. He never so much as looked at me, but said in a careless, muttering sort of way,—
“'You're the gentleman who wishes to go as resident magistrate to Oackatoro, ain't you?'
“'Well, indeed, sir, I'm not quite sure,' I began.
“'Oh yes, you are,' broke he in. 'I know all about you. Your name has been favorably mentioned to the office. You are Mr. O'Gorman—'
“'Mr. Gorman O'Shea,' said I, proudly.