“Say, rather, Morty, that there's one too many.”
“Faith, and I'm sure, Barney, you oughtn't to think so. Beg pardon—Mr. Norton.”
“Morty, curse you, will you be cautious? But why should I not think so?”
“For sound raisons, that no man knows better than yourself.”
“I'm not the only person that thinks there's one too many of the family, Morty. In that opinion I am ably supported by his lordship, just gone out there.”
“Where! Ay, I see whereabouts you are now. One too many—faith, so the blessed pair of you think, no doubt.”
“Eight, Morty; if the devil had the agency of the ancient earl's soul, I would soon get that of his ancient property; but whilst he lives it can't be accomplished. What do you imagine the old bawble wants with the young one?”
“Well, I don't know; I'm hammerin' upon that for some time past, and can't come at it.”
“Come, then, let us get the materials first, and then put them on the anvil of my imagination. Imprimis—which means, Morty, in the first place, have you heard anything?”
“No; nothing to speak of.”