“Why, then, does your honour want a butler?”
“Can you recommend me one,” returned his master, with a smile of good humour upon his countenance, “and one who will not be afraid of going to my wine-cellar?”
“Is the wine-cellar all the matter?” said young Leary: “not a doubt have I of myself then for that.”
“So you mean to offer me your services in the capacity of butler?” said Mr. Mac Carthy, with some surprise.
“Exactly so,” answered Leary, now for the first time looking up from the ground.
“Well, I believe you to be a good lad, and have no objection to give you a trial.”
“Long may your honour reign over us, and the Lord spare you to us!” ejaculated Leary, with another national bow, as his master rode off; and he continued for some time to gaze after him with a vacant stare, which slowly and gradually assumed a look of importance.
“Jack Leary,” said he at length, “Jack—is it Jack?” in a tone of wonder; “faith, ’tis not Jack now, but Mr. John, the butler;” and with an air of becoming consequence he strided out of the stable-yard towards the kitchen.
It is of little purport to my story, although it may afford an instructive lesson to the reader, to depict the sudden transition of nobody into somebody. Jack’s former stable companion, a poor superannuated hound named Bran, who had been accustomed to receive many an affectionate tap on the head, was spurned from him with a kick and an “Out of the way, sirrah.” Indeed, poor Jack’s memory seemed sadly affected by this sudden change of situation. What established the point beyond all doubt was his almost forgetting the pretty face of Peggy, the kitchen wench, whose heart he had assailed but the preceding week by the offer of purchasing a gold ring for the fourth finger of her right hand, and a lusty imprint of good-will upon her lips.
When Mr. Mac Carthy returned from hunting, he sent for Jack Leary—so he still continued to call his new butler. “Jack,” said he, “I believe you are a trustworthy lad, and here are the keys of my cellar. I have asked the gentlemen with whom I hunted to-day to dine with me, and I hope they may be satisfied at the way in which you will wait on them at table; but, above all, let there be no want of wine after dinner.”