After Greatrakes had gone, Woodward repaired to the room of his mother, in a state of agitation which we cannot describe.
“Mother,” said he, “unless we can manage that old peer and his niece, I am a lost man.”
“Do not be uneasy,” replied his mother; “whilst you were at Ballyspellan I contrived to manage that. Ask me nothing about it; but every arrangement is made, and you are to be married this day week. Keep yourself prepared for a settled case.”
What the mother's arguments in behalf of the match may have been, we cannot pretend to say. We believe that Miss Riddle's attachment to his handsome person and gentlemanly manners overcame all objections on the part of her uncle, and nothing now remained to stand in the way of their union.
The next day Barney Casey waited upon Greatrakes, according to appointment, when the following conversation took place between them:—
“Now,” said Greatrakes, solemnly, “what is your name?”
As he put the question with a stern and magisterial air, his tablets and pencil in hand, which he did with the intention of awing Barney into a full confession of the exact truth—a precaution which Barney's romance of the windy colic induced him to take,—“I say,” he repeated, “what's your name?”
Barney, seeing the pencil and tablets in hand, and besides not being much, or at all, acquainted with magisterial investigations, felt rather blank, and somewhat puzzled at this query.
He accordingly resorted to the usage of the country, and commenced scratching a rather round bullet head.
“My name, your honor,” he replied; “my name, couldn't you pass that by, sir?”