"Faix, I wish I was!" said Andy. "It's a great while since I had a dhrop; but it won't be long so, when your honour gives me something to dhrink your health."
"Well, don't talk, but dwive on."
All Andy's further endeavours to get "his honour" into conversation were unavailing; so he whipped on in silence till his arrival at the gate-house of Merryvale demanded his call for entrance.
"What are you shouting there for?" said the traveller; "cawn't you wing?"
"Oh, they understand the shilloo as well, sir;" and in confirmation of Andy's assurance, the bars of the entrance gates were withdrawn, and the post-chaise rattled up the avenue to the house.
Andy alighted, and gave a thundering tantara-ra at the door. The servant who opened it was surprised at the sight of Andy, and could not repress a shout of wonder. Here Dick Dawson came into the hall, and seeing Andy at the door, gave a loud halloo, and clapped his hands in delight—for he had not seen him since the day of the chase.
"An' is it there you are again, you unlucky vagabone?" said Dick; "and what brings you here?"
"I come with a jintleman to the masther, Misther Dick."
"Oh, it's the visitor, I suppose," said Dick, as he himself went out, with that unceremonious readiness so characteristic of the wild fellow he was, to open the door of the chaise for his brother-in-law's guest.
"You're welcome," said Dick; "come, step in—the servants will look to your luggage. James, get in Mr. ——, I beg your pardon, but 'pon my soul, I forgot your name, though Moriarty told me."