“For a gentleman like me,” returned the ratcatcher with a smile, “who had the honour to hold a commission, it would be beneath him to enlist; but, mona-sin-dhoul! wherever you go, Mark, I’ll follow like your shadow.”
“Come along,” said the fosterer, “night is falling, and the road, they say, is unsafe after dark. They robbed the mail last week.”
“They’ll not rob us,” returned the ratcatcher. “‘Where hard blows and light purses are only to be got, people who understand their business, never trouble themselves with such customers.”
“Well, Shemus, you know best; for you’re foully belied, if there was a handier gentleman out in ninety-eight.”
“I never robbed, if robbing you can call it,” returned the captain, “but twice; and if every thing I did besides sate as light upon my conscience, the devil a knee I need crook to Father McShane.”
“And who did you rob?” inquired the ratcatcher’s companion.
“A miser, and the king-God bless his majesty! I should have spared him-for he’s a daeent ould gentleman, or my head would have been on a spike at Castlebar!” *
“Well, Shemus, let us hear both exploits.”
“When I robbed the king, it was only taking saddle-bags from an honest tax-gatherer, whom I chanced to meet ‘accidentally on purpose’ one winter’s evening at the deer-park wall of Cloghanteeley—The man was drunk, the horse tired, and I took care of the silver—only that, forgetting the owner’s name, I never knew where to return it afterwards.”
“So much for the king,” observed the fosterer; “and now, gallant captain, for the miser.”