"Sir, it's a gwievous w'ong!"
"What is all this about?" asked Mr. Bermingham.
"My dear friend," said the Squire, laughing—though, indeed, that was not peculiar to him, for every one round the table, save the victim, was doing the same thing (as for Fanny, she shouted),—"My dear friend, this gentleman came to my house last night, and I took him for a friend of Moriarty's, whom I have been expecting for some days. He thought, it appears, this was Neck-or-Nothing Hall, and thus a mutual mistake has arisen. All I can say is, that you are most welcome, Mr. Furlong, to the hospitality of this house as long as you please."
"But, sir, you should not have allowed me to wemain in you' house," said Furlong.
"That's a doctrine," said the Squire, "in which you will find it difficult to make an Irish host coincide."
"But you must have known, sir, that it was not my intention to come to your house."
"How could I know that, sir?" said the Squire, jocularly.
"Why, Miste' Wegan—you know—that is—in fact—confound it, sir!" said Furlong, at last, losing his temper, "you know I told you all about our electioneering tactics."
A loud laugh was all the response Furlong received to this outbreak.
"Well, sir," repeated he, "I pwotest it is extremely unfair."