"Just at this present, sorr, the howly man has got his teeth well into the Evil Wan, but he tipped me the wink he'd find our man the moment he darst let go. Oh, by the way—I hate to decompose ye, Sergeant—but here's a letther for yourself!"
"A letter for me, is it? Now, who the mischief would be writing to me?"
"The mischief it is, indade, sorr! 'Tis a lawyer!"
"A lawyer!" Scarlett scrutinized the name of the Dublin firm on the missive Barney handed him. "Now I'd give something to know what that means! I've always lived within the law, and without a lawyer!"
"Sure, that's your offence, Sergeant. Depind on ut, that's phwat they're afther charging ye for!"
"'Tis their inflated cheek, then!" Resentfully, Scarlett tore open the envelope. "If 'tis a bill they're sending me they can go to the divvle!"
"Faith, sorr, that's exactly where they'll have ye! That's phwat they're afther counting on!"
Barney watched his chief with affectionate solicitude while the latter read, and, crossing himself, began a prayer in which pious invocations mingled strangely with unflattering estimates of legal lights. "Howly Mary, full av grace—— The dirthy blackguards, I wish I'd lost the letther for the lad! Blessed art thou among—— Bad cess to yez, ye black limbs av an onreputable body, if 'tis only nearer ye were, or meself less far away, rest aisy 'tis outwitted ye'd be intoirely, if there's anny diplomacy in the fists av this Mick at all. Name av the Father, Son an' Howly——"
"Phew!" At last Scarlett broke through the stupor with which the perusal of his letter seemed to have encompassed him. "Is it I standing here in my five senses, or the fool of a deceiving dream? Barney, man, listen to this and pronounce on it. 'By the demise of your uncle'—that's my uncle, you understand?"
"Sure, sorr, your uncle is my uncle; and many's the accommodation we've had off him, thanks be!"