Basset was the only name I could think of; and however absurd the idea of a service from such a quarter, I deemed that, as my brother's agent, he would scarce refuse me. I thought that Barton gave a very peculiar grin as I mentioned the name; but my own securities being entered into, and a few formal questions answered, I was told I was at liberty to seek out the bail required.
Once more in the streets, I turned my steps towards Basset's house, where I hoped, at all events, to learn some tidings of my brother. I was not long in arriving at the street, and speedily recognized the old house, whose cobwebbed windows and unwashed look reminded me of former times. The very sound of the heavy iron knocker awoke its train of recollections; and when the door was opened, and I saw the narrow hall, with its cracked lamp and damp, discolored walls, the whole heart-sinking with which they once inspired me came back again, and I thought of Tony Basset when his very name was a thing of terror to me.
Mr. Basset, I was told, was at court, and I was shown into the office to await his return. The gloomy little den,—I knew it well, with its dirty shelves of dirtier papers, its old tin boxes, and its rickety desk, at which two meanly-dressed starveling youths were busy writing. They turned a rapid glance towards me as I entered; and as they resumed their occupation, I could hear a muttered remark upon my dress and appearance, the purport of which I did not catch.
I sat for some time patiently, expecting Basset's arrival, but as the time stole by, I grew wearied with waiting, and determined on ascertaining, if I might, from the clerks, some intelligence concerning my brother.
“Have you any business with Mr. Burke?” said the youth I addressed, while his features assumed an expression of vulgar jocularity.
“Yes,” was my brief reply.
“Wouldn't a letter do as well as a personal interview?” said the other, with an air of affected courtesy.
“Perhaps so,” I replied, too deeply engaged in my own thoughts to mind their flippant impertinence.
“Then mind you direct your letter 'Churchyard, Loughrea;' or, if you want to be particular, say 'Family vault.'”