“Troth your honor's right,” replied Darby; “but my own mimory isn't what it used to be—it was strung up he said, sure enough, sir.”
“Very well,” said Val, “but now to business. Phil, my boy, you move off for a little—Darby and I have a small matter to talk over, that nobody must hear but ourselves.”
“All right,” replied Phil; “so take care of yourselves;” and accordingly left the room.
Now the truth was, that M'Clutchy, who perfectly understood the half-witted character of his son—for be it known that worthy Phil was considered by those who had the honor of his acquaintance, as anything but an oracle—did not feel himself justified in admitting the said Phil to full confidence in all his plans and speculations.
“You see now,” said he, addressing Darby sternly—“you see the opinion which I entertain of your honesty, when I trust you more than I do my son.”
“Troth I do your honor—and by the same token did I ever betray you?”
“Betray, you scoundrel! what had you to betray?” said Val indignantly, whatever I do is for the benefit of the country in general, and for Lord Cumber's property in particular: you know that.”
“Know it! doesn't the whole world know it, sir?”
“Well, then”—said Val, softening—-“now to business. In the first place observe my words—listen.”
Darby said nothing, but looked at him in the attitude of deep and breathless attention.