There was high sport at the "Jolly Herrings" that night. Christian was there, more than half ashamed of his surroundings, but too amiably irresolute, as usual, to imperil by absence from this annual gathering his old reputation for good-fellowship.
"Aw, the gentleman he is, isn't he? And him straight from Oxford College, too."
"What's that they're sayin'? Oxford College? Och, no; not that at all."
"But the fine English tongue at him, anyway. It's just a pleasure to hear him spake. Smooth as oil, and sweet astonishin'. Bill Kisseck—I say, Bill, there—why didn't you put up the young masther for the chair?"
"Aw, lave me alone," answered Kisseck, with a contemptuous toss of the head. "Him an' me's same as brothers."
"Bill's proud uncommon of the masther, and middlin' jealous too. Aw, well! who's wonderin' at it?"
"It's a bit free them chaps are making," whispered Kisseck to Christian. Then rising to his feet with gravity, "Gentlemen," he said, "what d'ye say to Misther Christian Mylrea Balladhoo for the elber-chair yander?"
"Hooraa! Hooraa!"
Kisseck resumed his seat with a lofty glance of patronage at the men about him, which said, as plainly as words themselves, "I tould ye to lave it all to me."
"Proud, d'ye say? Look at him," whispered Davy Cain.