“Are you the waiter,” asked the stranger, sharply.

“No, sir, I’m not the waiter, myself; but I and Peggy Moylan is.”

“And why didn’t you come when I rang for you at first?”

“I was just finishin’ my dinner, sir,” replied the other, pulling a bone of a herring from between his teeth, then going over and deliberately throwing it into the fire.

The stranger was silent with astonishment, and, in truth, felt a stronger inclination to laugh than to scold him.  This fellow, thought he, is clearly an original; I must draw him out a little.

“Why, sir,” he proceeded, “was I served with a pair of d—­d salt herrings, as a part of my dinner?”

“Whist, sir,” replied the fellow, “don’t curse anything that God—­blessed be his name—­has made; it’s not right, it’s sinful.”

“But why was I served with two salt herrings, I ask again?”

“Why wor you sarved with them?—­Why, wasn’t it what we had ourselves?”

“Was I not promised venison?”

“Who promised it to you?”

“That female waiter of yours.”

“Peggy Moylan?  Well, then, I tell you the fau’t wasn’t hers.  We had a party o’ gintlemen out here last week, and the sorra drop of it they left behind them.  Devil a drop of venison there is in the house now.  You’re an Englishman, at any rate, sir, I think by your discourse?”

“Was I not promised part of a fat buck from the demesne adjoining, and where is it?  I thought I was to have fish, flesh, and fowl.”

“Well, and haven’t you fish.” replied the fellow.  “What do you call them!” he added, pointing to the herrings; “an’ as to a fat buck, faith, it isn’t part of one, but a whole one you have.  What do you call that.”  He lifted an old battered tin cover, and discovered a rabbit, gathered up as if it were in the act of starting for its burrow.  “You see, Peggy, sir, always keeps her word; for it was a buck rabbit she meant.  Well, now, there’s the fish and the flesh; and here,” he proceeded, uncovering another dish, “is the fowl.”

[Illustration:  Page 329—­ A pair of enormous legs, with spurs on them]

On lifting the cover, a pair of enormous legs, with spurs on them an inch and a half long, were projected at full length toward the guest, as if the old cock—­for such it was—­were determined to defend himself to the last.

“Well,” said the stranger, “all I can say is, that I have got a very bad dinner.”

“Well, an’ what suppose?  Sure it has been many a betther man’s case.  However, you have one remedy; always ait the more of it—­that’s the sure card; ever and always when you have a bad dinner, ait, I say, the more of it.  I don’t, think, sir, beggin’ your pardon, that you’ve seen much of the world yet.”

“Why do you think so,” asked the other, who could with difficulty restrain his mirth at the fellow’s cool self-sufficiency and assurance.

“Because, sir, no man that has seen the world, and knows its ups and downs, would complain of sich a dinner as that.  Do you wish for any liquor?  But maybe you don’t.  It’s not every one carries a full purse these times; so, at any rate, have the sense not to go beyant your manes, or whatsomever allowance you get.”