O'Brien could hear the old man clap his hands in agony, and in truth he walked about wringing them as if his heart would burst.
“What will I do?” he exclaimed; “what will I do? I can't lose him, an' I won't lose him! Lose him! oh God, oh God, it is to lose the best son and only child that ever man had! Wouldn't it be downright murdher in me to let him be lost if I could prevint it? Oh, if I was in his place, what wouldn't he do for me, for the father that he always loved!”
The tears ran copiously down his furrowed cheeks; and his whole appearance evinced such distraction and anguish as could rarely be witnessed.
“I'll tell you what I'll do,” he added; “I'll give you fifty guineas after my death if you'll defind him properly.”
“Much obliged,” replied the other; “but in matters of this kind we make no such bargains.”
“I'll make it sixty, in case you don't axe it now.”
“Can you give me security that I'll survive you? Why, you are tough-looking enough to outlive me.”
“Me tough!—no, God help me, my race is nearly ran; I won't be alive this day twelve months—look at the differ atween us.”
“This is idle talk,” said the attorney; “determine on what you'll do; really my time is valuable, and I am now wasting it to no purpose.”
“Take the offer—depind on't it'll soon come to you.”