“’Tis a queer thing that, surely,” thought young Jack Leary, a lad who had been brought up from a mere child in the stables of Ballinacarthy to assist in taking care of the horses, and had occasionally lent a hand in the butler’s pantry:—“’tis a mighty queer thing, surely, that one man after another cannot content himself with the best place in the house of a good master, but that every one of them must quit, all through the means, as they say, of the wine-cellar. If the master, long life to him! would but make me his butler, I warrant never the word more would be heard of grumbling at his bidding to go to the wine-cellar.”
Young Leary accordingly watched for what he conceived to be a favourable opportunity of presenting himself to the notice of his master.
A few mornings after, Mr. Mac Carthy went into his stable-yard rather earlier than usual, and called loudly for the groom to saddle his horse, as he intended going out with the hounds. But there was no groom to answer, and young Jack Leary led Rainbow out of the stable.
“Where is William?” inquired Mr. Mac Carthy.
“Sir?” said Jack; and Mr. Mac Carthy repeated the question.
“Is it William, please your honour?” returned Jack; “why, then, to tell the truth, he had just one drop too much last night.”
“Where did he get it?” said Mr. Mac Carthy; “for since Thomas went away, the key of the wine-cellar has been in my pocket, and I have been obliged to fetch what was drank myself.”
“Sorrow a know I know,” said Leary, “unless the cook might have given him the least taste in life of whiskey. But,” continued he, performing a low bow by seizing with his right hand a lock of hair, and pulling down his head by it, whilst his left leg which had been put forward, was scraped back against the ground, “may I make so bold as just to ask your honour one question?”
“Speak out, Jack,” said Mr. Mac Carthy.