“Where? In what college, may I ask, sir?”
“In Trinity, Dublin.”
“The Medallist of this year, you mean?” said the other, almost breathless in his anxiety.
“Just so. The same fellow who has been sweeping away all the honors of his day. You have heard of him, it would seem?”
“He is my son, sir. I 'm Joe Nelligan's father!”
Massingbred's astonishment did not betray itself by any change of feature; not a word escaped him; but his eye ranged over the scene around him, and came back to rest upon old Nelligan's face with an expression of the calmest meaning.
“What a fortunate accident—for me, I mean,” continued he. “Joe and I are very dear friends, and it is a great happiness for me to make his father's acquaintance. Is he with you now?” “No, sir; he's at the sea,—a place called Kilkieran, about twenty miles away; but we 'll have him back by tomorrow if you 'll stay with us, and I 'm sure you 'll not refuse me that pleasure. The young gentleman who is my son's friend, is mine also, if he 'll permit me to call him so; and now just tell me what name shall I say?—who is it that I 'm to tell Joe has arrived here?”
“Say that Jack Massingbred is come, and I 'll lay my life on't you'll see him here as fast as may be.”
“And now, Mr. Massingbred, just take up your quarters with us. Where are you stopping? I 'll send over the boy for your trunks, for I need n't say that this must be your home while you stay at Oughterard.” The genial tone of warm hospitality in which he now spoke made him seem a very different man from the hard-featured old money-lender he had appeared when Jack first beheld him, and Massingbred returned his cordial shake hands with a pressure equal to his own, while he said,—
“Be assured that I accept your offer most heartily. My whole baggage is a knapsack and a fishing-rod, so that if you admit me as your guest you must dispense with all beyond the very humblest requirements. I have no coat, except this on me; and, when I brush my hair, I have dressed for dinner.”