"Thanks to his influence, my verses are much in demand. No doubt you have seen a number of them published?"
"I have that, and read them eagerly. Ah, you too are getting up in the world, Mr. Dyke."
"I flatter myself it is so," replied the old gentleman pompously. "Shall I speak a word to Sir Percival in your favor, Thomas? He could help you much, being, as you know, an intimate friend of the Prince himself."
"Thank you, no," answered Moore, savagely. "I 'll get where I aim without his assistance or rot where I am contentedly. You don't see Sir Percival as I do, sir."
"Evidently not," replied Mr. Dyke, blandly. "I find in him a firm and powerful friend, who has exerted himself much in my behalf, while you regard him as--"
"My view of him is n't fit for such lips as yours, Mr. Dyke," interrupted Moore. "We will say no more about him. I only hope you may be correct in your opinion of the gentleman."
"Have you heard the news from home?" asked Mr. Dyke, polishing his glasses, preparatory to unrolling the manuscript, which he had placed upon the table between them.
"Not I, sir. It's a fortnight since I have heard from my mother, though I write to her twice a week. Father is ailing, no doubt. He is getting on in years, you know. But then their news is only of Dublin. I have heard nothing from Dalky at all."
"Winnie Farrell was married to Captain Arbuckle last Wednesday week."
Moore gave a start.