“Well, indeed, sir, money is tight,—mighty tight, at this time. Old M'Cabe of the lottery office wouldn't advance three hundred to Lord Arthur St. Aubin without the family plate, and I saw the covered dishes going in myself.”
“I wish I had family plate,” sighed Sewell.
“So you will yet, please God,” said the other, piously. “His Lordship can't live forever! But jewels is as good,” resumed he, after a slight pause.
“I have just as much of the one as the other, O'Reardon. They were a sort of scrip I never invested in.”
“It is n't a bad thing to do, after all. I remember poor Mr. Giles Morony saying one day, 'I dined yesterday, Tom,' says he, 'off one of my wife's ear-rings, and I never ate a better dinner in my life; and with the blessing of Providence I'll go drunk to bed off the other to-night.'”
“Was n't he hanged afterwards for a murder?”
“No, sir,—sentenced, but never hanged. Mr. Wallace got him off on a writ of error. He was a most agreeable man. Has Mrs. Sewell any trinkets of value, sir?”
“I believe not—I don't know—I don't care,” said he, angrily; for the subject, as an apropos, was scarcely pleasant. “Any one at the office since I left?” asked he, with a twang of irritation still in his tone.
“That ould man I tould your honor about called three times.”
“You told me nothing of any old man.”