"Oh, pretty good," was the reply, in that self-satisfied, complacent tone in which a crack billiard-player refers to the spot-stroke, or a rifleman to his score when competing for the Queen's Prize.
"I'm no shot myself—I never fired a gun in my life; but there's a particular friend of mine who is most anxious to have one day's shooting at Ballybawn. Do you think you could manage to let him have it?"
I emphasised the word "one" in the most impressive way.
"I would give one or two days, Mr Brown, with the greatest pleasure; but the fact is, I have lent my dogs to Sir Patrick O'Houlahan."
"Oh, as to that, my friend has a splendid dog—a most remarkable dog. I hear it's a treat to see him in front of a bird."
I stood manfully by Podgers' exact words, adding some slight embellishments, in order to increase O'Rooney's interest in the animal.
"In that case, there can be no difficulty, Mr Brown. I leave for Ballybawn on Saturday—will you kindly name Monday, as I would, in addition to the pleasure of receiving you and your friend, like to witness the performance of this remarkable dog; and I must be in Galway on Wednesday."
Having settled the preliminaries so satisfactorily, I wrote the following note to Podgers:—
"Dear Podgers,
"It's all right. Mr O'Rooney has named Monday. Be sure to bring the dog, as his dogs are away. Come and breakfast with me at eight o'clock, as the train starts from the King's Bridge Terminus at nine o'clock.—Yours,