O'Sheevo.—I deny that in toto. The Ballyswig estate would have been in the O'Sheevo family to this day, if my great-aunt hadn't wished to assert her right to a haycock, which brought the title in question, and caused us to lose the whole property.
Pipeclay.—But if another had a just claim?
O'Sheevo.—Just humbug! The opposite side retained Counsellor Curran, who'd have persuaded a jury out of their Sunday waistcoats, with a five-shilling piece in the pocket of each.
Oldham.—Well, well. Now, look here, Lovell. This, as I said, is Cherbourg—this Portsmouth. Ellis, of the staff corps, used always to illustrate this way; did you ever meet him?
Lovell.—What! the owner of May-Bee, who won the military steeple-chase, two years ago? To be sure, I did: devilish sharp fellow he was too.
Pipeclay.—I don't know that: he broke down in some charges he preferred against Sergeant O'Flinn of the Royal County Down, who was acquitted by a general court-martial. A fellow who does that, may be a very good fellow, but can't have much head-piece.
Lovell.—May-Bee was a pretty piece of goods though. I saw the poor thing break her back last spring, under Jack Fisher of the carabineers: Jack nearly went out at the same time. Devilish sharply contested thing, till poor May-Bee's accident. Jack was picked up,—dreadful fall, as the papers said—gallant captain—small hopes of recovery—be universally regretted through the regiment—popular qualities—and that sort of thing; but somehow he marched to Nottingham at the head of his troop, a fortnight after, worth fifty dead men.
Pipeclay.—What do you value a dead man at, Lovell?
O'Sheevo.—If a thing's worth what it'll fetch, a dead man's value wouldn't burst the Exchequer.
Lovell.—Thank you, Major, for getting me out of that; the Adjutant was going to bring me up rather straitly.