“Hycy Burke,” repeated Clinton, starting with surprise, “do you tell me so?”
“Sartinly,” replied the other, “why do you ask?”
Clinton shook his head carelessly. “Well,” he said, “I am glad of it; it is better late than never. Hycy Burke”—he paused and looked serious a moment,—“yes,” he added, “I am glad of it. Go now and follow my advice, and you will have at least a chance of succeeding, and perhaps of defeating your enemies, that is, if you have any.”
The pressure of time rendered energy and activity necessary in the case of Bryan; and, accordingly, about eight o'clock next morning, he was seeking permission to speak to the man against whom he and his family had always conscientiously voted—because he had been opposed to the spirit and principles of their religion.
Major Vanston heard his case with patience, inquired more minutely into the circumstances, asked where Ahadarra was, the name of his landlord, and such other circumstance as were calculated to make the case clear.
“Pray, who drew up this memorial?” he asked.
“Mr. Hycy Burke, sir,” replied Bryan.
“Ah, indeed,” said he, glancing with a singular meaning at M'Mahon.
“You and Burke are intimate then?”
“Why, we are, sir,” replied Bryan, “on very good terms.”