“Call Philip Duggan in.”

A poor looking man now entered with a staff in his hand, by the aid of which he walked, for he was lame.

“Well, Duggan, your rent?”

“I have scrambled it together, sir, from God knows how many quarthers.”

“Phil,” said Solomon aside, “is it not painful to hear how habitually these dark creatures take the sacred name in vain.”

“By —–­, it’s perfectly shocking,” said Phil, “but what else could you expect from them?”

“Duggan,” said Val, “what is this, here’s a mistake—­you are short three pound ten.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, it’s all right,” replied Duggan; “you see, your honor, here’s my little account for the work I wrought for you for five weeks wid horse and cart, up until I put my knee out o’ joint in the quarry—­you remember, sir, when I brought it to you, you said to let it stand, that you would allow for it in the next gale.”

“I remember no such thing, my good fellow, or, if ever I said such a thing, it must have been a mistake; do you imagine, now—­are you really so stupid and silly as to imagine that I could transmit this account of yours to Lord Cumber, in payment of his rent?”

“But wasn’t it by your own ordhers I did it, sir?”

“No, sir; it couldn’t be by my orders.  Duggan, you’re a great knave, I see.  I once had a good opinion of you; but I now perceive my error.  Here you trump up a dishonest bill against me, when you know perfectly well that most of the work you charge me with was duty work.”

“Beggin,’ your pardon, sir, I paid you the duty-work besides, if you’ll remember it.”

“I tell you, sirra, you are a most impudent and knavish scoundrel, to speak to me in this style, and in my own office, too!  Go and get the balance of the rent, otherwise you shall repent it; and, mark me, sirra, no more of your dishonesty.”

“As God is to judge me—­”

“Ah, my friend—­,” began Solomon.

“Be off to h—­l, sir, out of this,” thundered Phil.  “Be off, I say, to h—­l or Connaught; or if you don’t, take my word for it, you’ll find yourself in a worse mess.  To address my father in such language!  Be off, sir; ha!”—­Bow-wow! said his face once more.

“Ah,” said Solomon, when the man had retired, “I see your patience and your difficulties—­but there is no man free from the latter in this checkered vale of sorrow.”

“Call Roger Regan,” said Val; “here’s a fellow, now, who has an excellent farm at a low rent, yet he never is prepared with a penny.  Well Regan.”

“Oh! devil resave the penny, sir;—­you, must only prize (appraise) the craps; the ould game, sir—­the ould game; however, it’s a merry world as long as it lasts, and we must only take our own fun out of it.”

“What is the matter with your head, Regan?” asked Val.

“Devil a much, sir; a couple o’ cuts that you might lay your finger in.  We an’ the Haimigans had another set to on Thursday last, but be my sowl, we thrashed them into chaff—­as we’re well able to do.  Will I have the pleasure of drinking your health, gintlemen?  I think I see the right sort here.”