“Another hit, Bob, you dog—another hit. W'ell said, Helen—well said, I say. Crusoe, you villain, hold up your head, and thank God you're christened.”
“Wid de help o' Gad, shir, I was christhened afwhore, sure, by de priesht.”
This visit occurred about six weeks after the appointment of the new Viceroy to the Government of Ireland, and about five after the sheriff's illness.
“Come, Whitecraft,” said the squire, “come and let us have lunch: I'll hold a crown I give you as good a glass of Burgundy as you gave me the other day, and will say done first.”
“Won't Miss Folliard join us at lunch?” asked Whitecraft, looking to her for an assent.
“Why, I suppose so,” replied her father; “won't you come, Helen?”
“You know, papa, I never lunch.”
“'Gad, and neither you do, Helen. Come, Sir Robert, we will have a mouthful to eat, and something good to wash it down; come along, man. what the devil are you scrutinizing poor old Robinson Crusoe for? Come along. I say, the old chap is making the green-house thrive; he beats Malcomson. Here. Malcomson, you know Sir Robert Whitecraft, don't you?”
“Hout, your honor, wha' disna ken Sir Robert Whitecraft? Isn't his name far and near, as a braw defender o' the faith, and a putter down o' Papistry?”
“By the way, Malcomson,” said Sir Robert, “where did you get Robinson Crusoe, by which I mean that wild-looking man in the green-house?”