"Yes, I am here," Colonel John answered austerely. He did not leave his seat at the table.
"And as much at home as a mole in a hill," Morty continued. "And, like that same blessed little fellow in black velvet that I take my hat off to, with lashings of time for thinking."
"So much," Colonel John answered, with the same severe look, "that I am loth to think ill of any. Are you alone, Mr. O'Beirne?"
"Faith, and who'd there be with me?" Morty answered in true Irish fashion.
"I cannot say. I ask only, Are you alone?"
"Then I am, and that's God's truth," Morty replied, peering inquisitively into the corners of the gloomy chamber. "More by token I wish you no worse than just to be doing as you're bid—and faith, it's but what's right!—and go your way. 'Tis a cold, damp, unchancy place you've chosen, Colonel," he continued, with a grin; "like nothing in all the wide world so much as that same molehill. Well, glory be to God, it can't be said I'm one for talking; but, if you're asking my advice, you'll be wiser acting first than last, and full than empty!"
"I'm not of that opinion, sir," Colonel John replied, looking at him with the same stern eyes.
"Then I'm thinking you're not as hungry as I'd be! And not the least taste in life to stay my stomach for twenty-four hours!"
"It has happened to me before," Colonel John answered.
"You're not for signing, then?"