“I thought you were a much older man,” said Chevydale, “there certainly must be, some mistake here,” he added, looking at Fethertonge.
“M'Mahon of Ahadarra was a middle-aged man several years ago, but this person is young enough to be his man.”
“You speak of his uncle,” replied Fethertonge, “who is dead. This young man, who now owns his uncle's farm, is son to Thomas M'Mahon of Carriglass. How is your father, M'Mahon? I hope he bears up well under his recent loss.”
“Indeed but poorly, sir,” replied Bryan, “I fear he'll never be the same man.”
Chevydale here took to reading a newspaper, and in a minute or two appeared to be altogether unconscious of Bryan's presence.
“I'm afeard, sir,” said Bryan, addressing himself to the agent, who was the only person likely to hear him, “I'm afeard, sir, that I've got into trouble.”
“Into trouble? how is that?”
“Why, sir, there was a Still, Head, and Worm found upon Ahadarra, and I'm going to be fined for it.”
“M'Mahon,” replied the agent, “I am sorry to hear this, both on your own account and that of your family. If I don't mistake, you were cautioned and warned against this; but it was useless; yes, I am sorry for it; and for you, too.”
“I don't properly understand you, sir,” said Bryan.