“Game!” cried Upton, showing his cards upon the table.
“There is so much chaffing about girls and their fortunes, one can't play his game here,” said Jennings, as he threw down a handful of gold on the board.
“Who was it ordered the post-horses for to-morrow?” said a youth at the supper-table. “The MacFarlines?”
“No; Lord Kilgoff.”
“I assure you,” cried a third, “it was the Kennyfecks. There has been a 'flare-up' about money between Cashel and him, and it is said he 'll lose the agency. Who 'll get it, I wonder?”
“Tom Linton, of course,” said the former speaker. “I 'd wager he is gone off to Dublin to furbish up securities, or something of that kind.”
“Who'd give Tom trust, or go bail for him?” said Frobisher.
A very general laugh did not sound like a contradiction of the sentiment.
“I heard a week ago,” said the cornet, “that Kilgoff would stand security to any amount for him.”
“Ah, that comes of my Lady's good opinion of him!” cried Jennings.