“It must have been Tim I spoke to, then, for he spoke well of you, and said you had some excellent rum in your cellar. Maybe he knew more about it than the Custom-House, eh?”
This put mine host in a flutter, and he vouched by all the saints in the calendar he had not a drop in the house on which he had not paid duty. And as Tim Gallagher had mentioned the rum, would I be pleased to try a glass?
“Where is this Tim now?” I inquired, when the glasses were brought.
“’Deed, captain, that’s more than I can tell you. He was wanted badly by the boys here, who chose him their captain for the turn-out that’s to be; but it’s said he’s abroad on the service of the country, and we’ll likely see him back with the Frenchmen when they come.”
“Ah, you’re expecting the Frenchmen, are you? So are we. I may meet this Tim Gallagher over a broadside yet.”
“If you do, dear help you, for Tim’s got a long arm, I warn you.”
As I was about to go, I inquired,—
“By the way, you have a magistrate living somewhere near here, haven’t you a Mr Gorman, whom I am to see on business.”
The landlord’s face fell.
“Ay. His honour’s house is across the lough yonder at Knockowen. But you’ll get little value out of him. He’s a broken man.”