“Faith,” said Harry, “if you had such a prospect before you, I don't think you would consider it such a laughing matter.”
“Curse you, sir, do you know who I am?”
“Curse yourself, sir,” replied the other, “no, I don't; how should I, when I never saw you before?”
“Sir, I am Lord Cockletown.”
“And, sir, I am Harry Woodward, son—favorite son—to, Mrs. Lindsay of Rathfillan House.”
“What! are you a son of that old fagot?”
“Her favorite son, as I said; that old fagot, sir, is my mother.”
“Ay, but who was your father?” asked his lordship, with a grin, “for that's the rub.”
“That is the rub,” said Woodward, laughing; “how the devil can I tell?”
“Good again,” said his lordship; “confound me but you are a queer one. I tell you what, I like you.”