"You know, my dear sir," said Dick, "we Irish are such poor ignorant creatures, according to your own account, that we can make no use of the knowledge with which you have so generously supplied us."
"You know," said the Squire, "we have no real finesse."
"Sir," said Furlong, growing sulky, "there is a certain finesse that is fair, and another that is unfair—and I pwotest against——"
"Pooh, pooh!" said Murphy. "Never mind trifles. Just wait till to-morrow, and I'll show you even better salmon-fishing than you had to-day."
"Sir, no consideration would make me wemain anothe' wower in this house."
Murphy screwed his lips together, puffed out something between a whistle and the blowing out of a candle, and ventured to suggest to Furlong he had better wait even a couple of hours, till he had got his allowance of claret. "Remember the adage, sir, 'In vino veritas,' and we'll tell you all our electioneering secrets after we've had enough wine."
"As soon, Miste' Wegan," said Mr. Furlong, quite chapfallen, "as you can tell me how I can get to the house to which I intended to go, I will be weddy to bid you good evening."
"If you are determined, Mr. Furlong, to remain here no longer, I shall not press my hospitality upon you; whenever you decide upon going, my carriage shall be at your service."
"The soone' the bette', sir," said Furlong, retreating still further into a cold and sulky manner.
The Squire made no further attempt to conciliate him; he merely said, "Dick, ring the bell. Pass the claret, Murphy."