She ran upstairs, and immediately one of the most beggarly, sordid, and pusillanimous knocks that ever spoke of starvation and misery was heard at the door.
“I will answer it myself,” thought the amiable brother; “for if my father or mother does, he surely will not be allowed in.”
John could scarcely preserve a grave face, when Fardorougha presented himself.
“Is Misther O'Brien widin?” inquired the usurer, shrewdly availing himself of the hint he received from the servant.
“My father is,” replied John; “have the goodness to step in.”
Fardorougha entered immediately, followed by young O'Brien, who said,
“Father, this is Mr. O'Donovan, who, it appears, has some important business with the family.”
“Don't be mistherin' me,” replied Fardorougha, helping himself to a seat; “I'm too poor to be misthered.”
“With this family!” exclaimed the father in amazement; “what business can Fardorougha Donovan have with this family, John?”'
“About our children,” replied the miser; “about my son and your daughter.”