While all this—shall we say nonsense?—was going on upon the hill, Mr. Minchin and his fidus Achates, O’Hara, were busily occupied upon the lake; and although not a single rise greeted their longing vision, like true sportsmen they lived in hope.
“That’s a very good style of man,” observed O’Hara.
“Redmond?”
“Yes.”
“The son of an Irish king, sir. By Jupiter! a fine fellow. A noble fellow!” exclaimed Minchin, whacking the lake with his line in emphasis.
“He’ll go back to New York without as much of his father’s property as would sod a lark.”
“You are still of opinion that the O’Byrne will not sell?”
“He’d burn the land first,” was the sententious rejoinder.
“Well, sir, the next best thing that Redmond can do is to purchase Glenasluagh. It adjoins Ballymacreedy, and he will enjoy the right of fishing the Clohogue—an enjoyment fit for the gods. Yes, by George! fit for the gods.”
“I never thought of that. Are you sure it’s for sale?”