Hartley, who was hasty, but exceedingly good-natured, although certainly a noted duelist, now burst out into a hearty laugh, as did most of the rest.

“Deaker,” said he, “there is no use in being angry with you, nor in being ashamed that my fortune was created by industry and honesty, for both of which virtues I have reason heartily to thank my good old grandfather, the hardware man, as you have for thanking the sire of your father, the worthy tailor, who had the honor of being appointed one of Peg Nicholson’s knights, ha, ha, ha!”

The laughter now became general and excessive; but not one of them enjoyed, or seemed at least, to enjoy it with more good-humor than Val; who, indeed, was never known to exhibit any want of temper to his equals during his life.

“Well,” said he, “ha, ha, ha! now that that breeze has blown over—­about the poteen, Hartley?”

“Thanks, Val; but no poteen, if you please.”

“Then, gentlemen,” said Val, “to resume business; I was alluding to the seizure of a Still about a month ago near Drum Dhu, where the parties just had time to secure the Still itself, but were forced to leave the head and worm behind them; now, that I give as a fair illustration of our getting the papers, and missing the arms.  Besides,” said he, in a wheedling and confidential tone, addressed to a clique of his friends, the jobbers, whom he joined at the lower end of the room, “you are all aware that my fellows are staunch Orangemen, every one of them, and the government itself feels, for I have reason to know it, that it is neither politic or prudent to check the spirit which is now abroad among them; so far from that, I can tell you it is expected that we should stimulate and increase it, until the times change.  The bills against these men must, therefore, be thrown out.”

“I’ll agree to that,” said a leading man of his own party, “only on one condition.  There are three of my own tenants, Papists to be sure, in for distilling poteen.  Now, we must have them out, Val, for one good turn deserves another.

“But why?” inquired Val and his friends.

“Why, simply, because the poor fellows were distilling for myself,” he replied; “all the apparatus were mine, and I can’t think of allowing them to be transported for my own act.”

“Very well, then a bargain be it,” said Val, “so out they go.”

Whilst every man was thus working, either for his friends or against his enemies, or not unfrequently both, Hartley, who, in point of fact, felt always anxious to do as much good as he could, addressed Sir William: 

“Have you no friends in difficulty, Sir William, or who require your advocacy now?  I see the jobbers are hard at work.  Some working heaven and earth to wreak the vengeance of law upon their enemies; others quite as anxious to turn aside justice from their friends.”

“Eh! what’s that!” said Sir William, starting up; “come, Hartley, you are right; there are four of my tenants in for a fray—­the M’Caffreys, and the poor devils stand no chance with such a jury as they will have.  I hear them named below there—­so let us join the jobbers as you say, and see if we cannot get the Bills thrown out.”