“The richest proprietor in the West.”
Such were the pattering replies that poured in upon him, while words of intense astonishment at his ignorance were exchanged on all sides.
“I believe I have given you a fair guarantee for my ignorance, gentlemen,” said Jack, “in confessing that I never so much as heard of Martin of Cro' Martin. Does he reside on his estate here?”
“Yes, sir,” said Nelligan, “he lives at Cro' Martin Castle, about sixteen miles from this; and certainly, while in this part of the country, you ought to pay the place a visit. I have never been there myself, but I hear the most astonishing accounts of the splendor of the furniture and the magnificence of the whole establishment.”
“There's pictures there,” said the priest, “that cost the grandfather of the present man a quarter of a million sterling.”
“Why, the three statues in the hall, they say, are worth ten thousand pounds,” said Brierley.
“Be gorra! when a man would give four hundred for a bull, there 's no saying what he 'd stop at,” broke in Peter Hayes. “I went up to see him myself, and indeed he's a beauty, there 's no denying it,—but four hundred pound! Think of four hundred pound!”
“The stable is the best thing in the place,” said Father Neal; “they 're mighty nice cattle, there, for every kind of work.”
“Thanks to his niece for that,” cried Magennis; “she knows a horse with any man in the West of Ireland.”
“And can break him, too,” chimed in Brierley; “I don't care what his temper is. Let Miss Mary get her hand on him, and he 'll turn out well.”