She shook her head doubtingly, but said nothing.
“A fellow-traveller of mine, unacquainted with him personally, told me that his bills were seen everywhere about town.”
“Who is your companion?”
“An Irishman called O'Shea.”
“And is the O'Shea here too?” exclaimed she, laughingly.
“Yes; since he has lost his seat in the House, England has become too hot for him. And, besides,” added he, slyly, “he has told me in confidence that if 'the party,' as he calls them, should not give him something, he knows of a widow somewhere near this might suit him. 'I don't say that she's rich, mind you,' said he, 'but she's 'cute as a fox, and would be sure to keep a man's head above water somehow.'”
Mrs. Morris held her handkerchief to her mouth, but the sense of the ridiculous could not be suppressed, and she laughed out.
“What would I not have given to have heard him, papa!” said she, at last
“Well, it really was good,” said he, wiping his eyes; for he, too, had indulged in a very hearty laugh, particularly when he narrated all the pains O'Shea had been at to discover who Penthony Morris was, where he came from, and what fortune he had. “'It was at first all in vain,' said he, 'but no sooner did I begin to pay fellows to make searches for me, than I had two, or maybe three Penthony Morrises every morning by the post; and, what's worse, all alive and hearty!'”
“What did he do under these distressing circumstances?” asked she, gayly.