Partly to shake off the depression that was over him by change of place, and in part to see something of the country itself, Massingbred resolved to make a walking-tour through the south and west of Ireland, and with a knapsack on his back, he started one fine autumn morning for Wicklow.
CHAPTER VIII. SOME KNOTTY POINTS THAT PUZZLED JOE NELLIGAN
This true history contains no record of the evening Mr. Scanlan passed at the Osprey's Nest; nor is it probable that in any diary kept by that intelligent individual there will yet be found materials to supply this historical void. Whether, therefore, high events and their consequences were discussed, or that the meeting was only devoted to themes of lighter importance, is likely to remain a secret to all time. That matters beneath the range of politics occupied the consideration of the parties was, however, evident from the following few lines of a note received by young Nelligan the next morning:—
“Dear Joe,—I dined yesterday at the 'Nest,' and we talked
much of you. What would you think of paying a visit there
this morning to see the picture, or anything else you can
think of? I 've a notion it would be well taken. At all
events, come over and speak to me here.
“Ever yours,
“M. SCANLAN.”
“I scarcely understand your note, Maurice,” said young Nelligan, as he entered the little room where the other sat at breakfast.
“Have you breakfasted?” said Scanlan.
“Yes, an hour ago.”
“Will you taste that salmon? Well, then, just try Poll Hanigan's attempt at a grouse-pie; let me tell you, there is genius in the very ambition; she got the receipt from the cook at Cro' Martin, and the imitation is highly creditable. You 're wrong to decline it.” And he helped himself amply as he spoke.
“But this note?” broke in the other, half impatiently.