“Just right.”

“Well, tell me about them, and how your revenge is concerned with them.  Tell me all about them.  Dutch and Irish!—­I know nothing of them.”

“I will, sir,—­I will tell you,” said Mr. Jinks, gulping down one-fourth of his glass of rum; “and, I think, by the time I have developed my idea, you will agree with me that the revenge I have chalked out, sir, is worthy of an inventive talent higher than my own.”

“No, no,” said Ralph, in a tone of remonstrance, “you know there could be none.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Jinks, modestly, “I know myself, sir—­I have very little merits, but there are those who are superior to me in that point.”

Which seemed to mean that the quality of invention was the sole failing in Mr. Jinks’ intellect—­all his other mental gifts being undoubtedly superior to similar gifts in humanity at large.

“Well, we won’t interchange compliments, my dear fellow,” replied Ralph, puffing at his pipe; “go on and explain about the Dutch and Irish—­I repeat, that I absolutely know nothing of them.”

Mr. Jinks sipped his rum, and after a moment’s silence, commenced.

“You must know,” he said, “that for some reason which I cannot explain, there is a quarrel between these people which has lasted a very long time, and it runs to a great height—­”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; and on certain days there is a feeling which can only be characterized by the assertion that the opposite parties desire to suffuse the streets and public places with each other’s gory blood!”

“No, no!” said Ralph; “is it possible!”

“Yes, sir, it is more—­it is true,” said Mr. Jinks, with dignity.  “I myself have been present on such occasions; and the amount of national feeling displayed is—­is—­worse than mouldy cloth,” observed Mr. Jinks, at a loss for a simile, and driven, as he, however, very seldom was, to his profession for an illustration.

“I wonder at that,” said Ralph; “as bad as mouldy cloth?  I never would have thought it!”

“Nevertheless it’s true—­dooms true,” said Mr. Jinks; “and there are particular days when the rage of the parties comes up in one opprobrious concentrated mass!”

This phrase was borrowed from Miss Sallianna.  Mr. Jinks, like other great men, was not above borrowing without giving the proper credit.

“On St. Patrick’s day,” he continued, “the Dutch turn out in a body—­”

“One moment, my dear fellow; I don’t like to interrupt you, but this St. Patrick you speak of—­he was the great saint of Ireland, was he not?”

“Good—­continue; on St. Patrick’s day—­”

“The Dutch assemble and parade a figure—­you understand, either of wood or a man—­a figure representing St. Patrick—­”

“Possible!”

“Yes; and round his neck they place a string of Irish potatoes, like a necklace—­”

“A necklace! what an idea.  Not pearls or corals—­potatoes!” And Ralph laughed with an expression of innocent surprise, which was only adopted on great occasions.