“Scotch, Captain,—Scotch; and never gives more than fivepence for a cut and curl, pomatum included.—No letters, Mrs. Cronin,” cried he, raising up the movable shutter of the little window; then bending down his ear he listened to some whispered communication from that lady, after which he shut the panel, and resumed his functions. “She 's at law with O'Reilly about the party wall. There's the Major now going down to the barracks, and I wonder who's the other along with him;” and Hosey rushed to the door to find some clew to the stranger. In less than a quarter of a minute he was back again, asking pardon for absence, and informing Magennis “that the man in plain clothes was a Dublin counsellor, that arrived the night before. I think I can guess what he's here for.”
“What is it?” cried Magennis, eagerly.
“There's an election coming on, and the Martins expect a contest.—Nothing for you, Peter,” said he, to an applicant for a letter outside. “He's looking to be made barony constable these four years, and he 's as much chance as I have of being—what shall I say?—”
“Are you done?” asked Magennis, impatiently.
“One minute more, sir—the least touch round the chin,—and, as I was saying, Captain, the Martins will lose the borough.”
“Who thinks so besides you?” asked Magennis, gruffly.
“It is, I may say, the general opinion; the notion current in— There 's Miss Martin herself,” cried he, running to the window. “Well, really, she handles them ponies elegant!”
“Does she come often into town?”
“I don't think I saw her in Oughterard—let me see when it was—it's two years—no, but it's not far off—it's more than—”
“Are you done?” said Magennis, impatiently. “I told you that I was pressed for time this morning.”