“But I say you were.”
“There, keep yourself quiet now; no I wasn't; an' if I was, too, what is it to you?”
“Here, put that note in your pocket.”
“Sorra bit, now,” replied Jemmy, “to plaise you,” gripping it tightly at the same time as he spoke; “do you want to vex me again?”
“Put it in your pocket, sirra, unless you want me to break your head.”
“Oh, he would,” said Jemmy, looking with a knowing face of terror towards Tom Booth and the Prophet,—“it's the weight of his cane I'd get, sure enough—but it's an ould sayin' an' a true one, that when the generosity's in, it must come out. There now, I've put it in my pocket for you—an' I hope you're satisfied. Devil a sich a tyrant in Europe,” said he, loudly, “when he wishes—an' yet, after all,” he added, in a low, confidential voice, just loud enough for his master to hear,—“where 'ud one get the like of him? Tom Booth, desire them to fetch warm water to the study, till I dress his poor leg, and make him fit for business.”
“Here is Donnel Dhu,” replied Booth, “waitin' for law business.”
“Go to the windy, Donnel,” said Jemmy, with an authoritative air; “go to your ground; but before you do—let me know what you want.”
“I'll do no such thing,” replied the Prophet; “unless to say, that it's a matter of life an' death.”
“Go out,” repeated Jemmy, with brief and determined authority, “an wait till it's his honor's convanience, his full convanience, to see you. As dark a rogue, sir,” he continued, having shoved the Prophet outside, and slapped the door in his face; “and as great a schamer as ever put a coat on his back. He's as big a liar too, when he likes, as ever broke bread; but there's far more danger in him when he tells the truth, for then you may be sure he has some devil's design in view.”