“Well, now, wait a minute. A few days ago I seen the same schemer skulkin' about the house as if he was afeared o' bein' seen; and that beef and mutton may be my poison, wid health to use them, but I seen him stealin' out of his lordship's own room. So, now make money o' that; only when you do, don't be puttin' it in circulation.”
“No danger of that, Morty, in any sense. At all events, I don't deal in base coin.”
“Don't you, faith. I wondher what do you call imposin' Barney Bryan, the horse-jockey, on his lordship, for Tom Norton, the gentleman? However, no matther—that's your own affair; and so long as you let the good ould lord alone among you—keep your secret—I'm not goin' to interfere wid you. None of your travellers' tricks upon him, though.”
“No, not on him, Morty; but concerning this forthcoming marriage, if it takes place, I dare say I must travel; I can't depend upon Dunroe's word.”
“Why, unlikelier things has happened, Mr. Norton. I think you'll be forced to set out.”
“Well, I only say that if Mr. Norton can prevent it, it won't happen. I can wind this puppy of a lord, who has no more will of his own than a goose, nor half so much; I say I can wind him round my finger; and if I don't get him to make himself, in any interview he may have with her, so egregiously ridiculous, as to disgust her thoroughly, my name's not Norton—hem—ha, ha, ha!”
“Well, your name's not Norton—very good. In the mane time more power to you in that; for by all accounts it's a sin and a shame to throw away such a girl upon him.”
Norton now having gained all he could from his old acquaintance, got up, and was about to leave the room, when Morty, looking at him significantly, asked,
“Where are you bound for now, if it's a fair question?”
“I will tell you, then, Morty—upon an affair that's anything but pleasant to me, and withal a little dangerous: to buy a horse for Dunroe.”