"What shall we do with him, Dick?" said the Squire.
"Pump him as dry as a lime-kiln," said Dick, "and then send him off to O'Grady—all's fair in war."
"To be sure," said the Squire. "Unseat me, indeed! he was near it, sure enough, for I thought I'd have dropped off my chair with surprise when he said it."
"And the conceit and impudence of the fellow," said Dick. "The ignorant Iwish—nothing will serve him but abusing his own countrymen! 'The ignorant Irish!'—oh, is that all you learn in Oxford, my boy?—just wait, my buck—if I don't astonish your weak mind, it's no matter!"
"'Faith, he has brought his pigs to a pretty market here," said the Squire; "but how did he come here? how was the mistake made?"
"The way every mistake in the country is made," said Dick. "Handy Andy drove him here."
"More power to you, Andy," said the Squire. "Come, Dick, we'll drink Andy's health—this is a mistake on the right side."
And Andy's health was drunk, as well as several other healths. In short, the Squire and Dick the Devil were in high glee—the dining-room rang with laughter to a late hour; and the next morning a great many empty claret bottles were on the table—and a few on the floor.
CHAPTER X
Notwithstanding the deep potations of the Squire and Dick Dawson the night before, both were too much excited by the arrival of Furlong to permit their being laggards in the morning; they were up and in consultation at an early hour, for the purpose of carrying on prosperously the mystification so well begun on the Castle-agent.