“Thomas Norton, Esquire; residing with that distinguished young nobleman, Lord Dunroe, as his bosom friend and inseparable companion.”
“Hem! I see,” said Morty, with a shrug, which he meant as one of compassion for the aforesaid Lord Dunroe; “son to my masther. Well, God pity him, Barney, is the worst I wish him. You will take care of him; you'll tache him a thing or two—and that's enough. But, Barney—”
“Curse Barney—Mr. Norton's the word.”
“Well, Mr. Norton—ah, Mr. Norton, there's one person you'll not neglect.”
“Who is that, Morty?”
“Faith, your mother's son, achora. However, you know the proverb—'A burnt child dreads the fire.' You have a neck still, Barney—beg pardon, Mr. Norton—don't forget that fact.”
“And I'll take care of the said neck, believe me, Morty; I shall keep it safe, never fear.”
“Take care you don't keep it a little too safe. A word to the wise is enough, Bar—Mr. Norton.”
“It is, Morty; and I trust you will remember that that is to be a regulation between us. 'A close mouth is the sign of a wise head,' too; and there's a comrade for your proverb—but we are talking too long. Listen; keep my secret, and I will make it worth your while to do so. You may ruin me, without serving yourself; but as a proof that you will find me your friend, I will slip you five guineas, as a recompense, you know, for taking care of the landau and horses. In short, if we work into each other's hands it will be the better for us both.”
“I'll keep your' saicret,” replied honest Morty, “so long, Barney—hem! Mr. Norton—as you keep yourself honest; but I'll dirty my hands wid none o' your money. If I was willin' to betray you, it's not a bribe would prevent me.”