There, however, was the grin, and there were the eyes as before, to which we must add a small bit of pantomime on the part of Morty O'Flaherty, for such was the servant's name, which bit of pantomime consisted in his (Morty's) laying his forefinger very knowingly alongside his nose, exclaiming, in a cautious and friendly voice however,
“Barney, achora, don't be alarmed; there's no harm done yet. You're safe if you behave yourself.”
“What!” said Norton. “By the bones of St. Patrick but you are Morty O'Flaherty! Confound it, my dear Morty, why didn't you make yourself known at once? it would have relieved both of us.”
“One of us, you mane,” replied Morty, with a wink.
“Upon my soul I am glad to free you, Morty. And how are you, man alive? In a snug berth here, I see, with the father of my friend, Lord Dunroe.”
“Ha!” exclaimed Morty, shrewdly; “is that it? Your friend; Oh, I see. Nate as ever, like a clane sixpence. Well, Barney, the world will have its way.”
“Ay, Morty, and we must comply with it. Some it brings up, and others it brings down.”
“Whisht, now, Barney,” said Morty; “let by-gones be by-gones. That it didn't bring you up, be thankful to a gracious Providence and a light pair o' heels; that's all. And what are you now?”
“No longer Barney Bryan, at any rate,” replied the other. “My name, at present, is Norton.”
“At present! Upon my sowl, Barney, so far as names goes, you're a walkin' catalogue.”