Chapter Nine.
In which the Advice of a Father deserves Peculiar Attention.
It may be supposed that, as steward of the estates, Squireen O’Donahue had some influence over the numerous tenants on the property, and this influence he took care to make the most of. His assistance in a political contest was rewarded by the offer of an ensigncy for one of his sons, in a regiment then raising in Ireland, and this offer was too good to be refused. So, one fine day, Squireen O’Donahue came home from Dublin, well bespattered with mud, and found his son Patrick also well bespattered with mud, having just returned home from a very successful expedition against the woodcocks.
“Patrick, my jewel,” said the Squireen, taking a seat and wiping his face, for he was rather warm with his ride, “you’re a made man.”
“And well made too, father, if the girls are anything of judges,” replied Patrick.
“You put me out,” replied the Squireen; “you’ve more to be vain of than your figure.”
“And what may that be that you’re discoursing about father?”
“Nothing more nor less, nor better nor worse, but you’re an ensign in his Majesty’s new regiment—the number has escaped my memory.”
“I’d rather be a colonel, father,” replied Patrick, musing.
“The colonel’s to come, you spalpeen,” said the Squireen.