"Not before I order my bowl of punch," said Tom.
"Shall I, my——"
"Yes," said the person addressed; "whatever he likes."
"Well," said Tom, as Mulvany left the room, "if I ever saw anything to match that. Is he one of the tradespeople of the castle? This does bate everything. And, by dad, he's not unlike you in the face, neither! Och! then, what a story I'll have when I get back to Clonmell."
"Well, Tom," said his friend, "I may perhaps see you there; but good-b'ye for a moment. I assure you I have had much pleasure in your company."
"He's a queer fellow that," thought Tom, "and I hope he'll be soon back. It's a pleasant acquaintance I've made the first day I was in Kilkenny. Sit down, Mr. Mulvany," said he, as that functionary entered, bearing a bowl of punch, "and taste your brewing." To which invitation Mr. Mulvany acceded, nothing loth, but still casting an anxious eye towards the door.
"That's a mighty honest man," said Tom.
"I do not know what you mean," replied the cautious Mulvany; (for, "honest man" was in those days another word for Jacobite.)
"I mane what I say," said Tom; "he's just showed me over the castle, and gave me full and plenty of the best of eating and drinking. He tells me he's the butler."
"And so he is, you idiot of a man!" cried Mulvany. "He's the chief Butler of Ireland."