“Well, my good fellow,” said he, not in the slightest degree recognizing him, “what do you want with me?”
“Lanigan,” replied Reilly, “don't you know me?”
“Know you! how the devil should I know you?—I never saw you before. What do you want with me?”
“Lanigan,” whispered the other, “did you never hear of Willy Reilly?”
“Yes, I did; have you any message from him?”
“I am the man myself,” said Reilly, “but you don't know me, I am so completely disguised. Don't you know my voice?”
“Merciful Father!” said the cook, “I'm in a doldrum; can I be sure that you don't come from Sir Robert Whitecraft, the notorious blackguard?”
“Lanigan, I am Willy Reilly: my voice ought to tell you so; but I wish to see and speak with my dear Cooleen Bawn.”
“Oh, my God, sir!” replied Lanigan, “but this love makes strange transmigrations. She won't know you, sir.”
“Make your mind easy on that point,” replied Reilly; “only let her know that I am here.”