“Why, sir,” replied Tom, who, by the way, was a bit of a wag; “you know, or at least Mr. M'Slime does, that it's good to be always prepared. The rent in full is there, sir,” he added, laying it down on the table; “and I'll thank you for the receipt.”
Val deliberately reckoned over the gold—for in no other coin would he receive it—and then drew a long breath, and appeared satisfied, but not altogether free from some touch of hesitation.
“Ay,” said he, “it is all right, Tom, certainly—yes, certainly, it is all right. Darby, fill Tom a bumper of whiskey—not that—I say the large glass, you scoundrel.”
“Throth, Captain, 'tisn't my heart 'ud hindher me to give him the largest in the house; but I have a conscientious scruple against doin' what I believe isn't right. My Bible tells me—. Well, well, sure I'm only obeying orders. Here, Tom,” he added, handing him the large bumper.
“Confound the fellow,” said Val; “ever since he has become a convert to Mr. Lucre there's no getting a word out of him that hasn't religion in it.”
“Ah, Captain,” replied Darby, “sure Mr. M'Slime there knows, that 'out of the abundance of the heart the mouth spaiketh.'”
“I cannot answer for what you are latterly, Darby,” replied Solomon—“thank you, Tom,” to Maguire, who had held his glass in his hand for some time, and at length hurriedly drank their healths;—“but I know that the first spiritual nutrition you received, was at least from one who belonged to an Apostolical Church—a voluntary Presbytery—unpolluted by the mammon of unrighteousness, on which your Church of Ireland is established.”
“But you know,” said Darby, “that we're ordhered to make for ourselves, friends of that same mammon of unrighteousness.”
“Upon my honor,” said Phil, “I know that you're a hypocritical old scoundrel. Be off to h—l, sir, and hold your tongue.”
“Throth and I will, Captain Phil—I will then,” and he was silent; but his face, as he glanced first at Tom Maguire, and then at Solomon and the rest, was a perfect jewel, beyond all price.