And Mr. Frank Curtis took a large bite of a muffin, doubtless to subdue the sigh which rose to his lips at this sad reminiscence.
"Be the holy poker-r! it's a touching business," cried the Captain, who had by this time fully seen through the mendacious braggadocio of Mr. Frank Curtis, and had come to the conclusion that he was as great a coward in reality as his uncle.
But the gallant Captain O'Blunderbuss did not choose to suffer the young gentleman to perceive that he understood him, as the whiskey was too much to his taste to allow him to lose the chance of emptying the bottle by a too precipitate rupture.
Frank, firmly believing that all his fine stories were taken as gospel by his visitor, rattled away in his usual style—heaping lie upon lie at such a rate, that, had his falsehoods been mountains, the piling thereof would have outdone the feats of Titan with Ossa and Pelion.
At length the Captain began to thrust in a few words edgeways, as the contents of the bottle got lower and lower.
"Your uncle, Misther Curtis, seems a nice old jintleman. His face was rarely plasthered this mornin', as if he'd been in the war-r-rs a thrifle or so."
"Perhaps his wife had been giving him a taste of her claws?" said Frank, with a coarse giggle.
"Be Saint Path-rick! and that's just what struck me!" exclaimed the Captain.
"She's a very devil, I know," continued Frank. "But, I say, old fellow—what little business was it that took you to old Sir Christopher's, and made him refer you to me?"
