“I dare say I will, sir, when I come to know him better.”
“Which is as much as to say that at present you do not. So I thought. You have a portion of good sense about you, but in a thousand things you're a jackass, Harry.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied his nephew, laughing heartily; “thank you for the compliment. I am your nephew, you know.”
“You have a parcel of d——d scruples, I say, that are ridiculous. What the devil need a man care about in this world but appearances? Mind your own interests, keep up appearances, and you have done your duty.”
“But I should like to do a little more than keep up appearances,” replied his nephew.
“I know you would,” said his uncle, “and it is for that especial reason that I say you're carrying the ears. I'm now a long time in the world, Masther Harry—sixty-two years—although I don't look it, nor anything like it, and in the course of that time—or, at all events, ever since I was able to form my own opinions, I never met a man that wasn't a rogue in something, with the exception of—let me see—one—two—three—four—five—I'm not able to make out the half-dozen.”
“And who were the five honorable exceptions?” asked his niece, smiling.
“They were the five fools of the parish, Maria—and yet I am wrong, still—for Bob M'Cann was as thievish as the very devil whenever he had an opportunity. And now, do you know the conclusion I come to from all this?”
“I suppose,” said his niece, “that no man's honest but a fool.”
“Thank you, Maria, Well done—you've hit it. By the way, it's seems M'Mahon's wife, of Carriglass, is dead.”