Mr. Carv. My protection?—you are not under my protection, sir:—promised clerk’s place?—I do not conceive what you are aiming at, sir.
Pat. The little clerk’s place, plase your honour—that my master, Counshillor O’Blaney, tould me he spoke about to your honour, and was recommending me for to your honour.
Mr. Carv. Never—never heard one syllable about it, till this moment.
Pat. Oh! murder:—but I expict your honour’s goodness will—
Mr. Carv. To make your mind easy, I promised to appoint a young man to that place, a week ago, by Counsellor O’Blaney’s special recommendation. So there must be some mistake.
{Exit Mr. CARVER.}
PAT, alone.
Pat. Mistake? ay, mistake on purpose. So he never spoke! so he lied!—my master that was praching me! And oh, the dirty lie he tould me! Now I can’t put up with that, when I was almost perjuring myself for him at the time. Oh, if I don’t fit him for this! And he got the place given to another!—then I’ll git him as well sarved, and out of this place too—seen-if-I-don’t! He is cunning enough, but I’m cuter nor he—I have him in my power, so I have! and I’ll give the shupervizor a scent of the malt in the turf-stack—and a hint of the spirits in the tan-pit—and it’s I that will like to stand by innocent, and see how shrunk O’Blaney’s double face will look forenent the shupervizor, when all’s found out, and not a word left to say, but to pay—ruined hand and foot! Then that shall be, and before nightfall. Oh! one good turn desarves another—in revenge, prompt payment while you live!
{Exit.}