“His Reverence is right!” exclaimed Denis: “the sorra penny ever will cross my pocket for the same horse. You must take him as he stands, sir, barrin' the bridle an' saddle, that's not my own.”
“He will take no money,” said the priest.
“Nonsense, my dear sir! Why not take a fair price for him?”
“Divil the penny will cross my pocket for him, the unlucky thief!” replied the shrewd farmer.
“Then in that case the negotiation is ended,” replied the barrister. “I certainly will not accept him as a present. Why should I? What claim have I on Mr. O'Shaughnessy?”
“I don't want you to take him,” said Denis; “I want nobody to take him: but I know the dogs of the parish 'll be pickin' his bones afore night. You may as well have him, sir, as not.”
“Is the man serious, Mr. Finnerty?”
“I never saw a man in my life having a more serious appearance, I assure you,” said the priest.
“By Jove, it's a queer business,” replied the other: “a most extraordinary affair as I ever witnessed! Why, it would be madness to destroy such a fine animal as that! The horse is an excellent one! However, I shall certainly not accept him, until I ascertain whether I can prevail upon the bishop to elect his son to this vacancy. If I can make the man no return for him, I shall let him go to the dogs.”
“Go up and set to work,” said the priest; “but remember that tace is Latin for a candle. Keep his lordship in the dark, otherwise this scion is ousted.”