“Phil,” said Val, “you have been at the brandy; I see it in your eye, and I hear it in your speech.”

“Well,” said Phil, “I have, and what then—­that’s the chat; who’s afraid, M’Clutchy?”

“Phil, Phil,” said the father, “this won’t do.”

“I say it will do, and it must do,” returned the son—­“but harkee, old cock, is Deaker, the precious, d——­d yet?”

“If ever man was,” replied his father—­“and not a penny to either of us, Phil; not as much as would jingle on his own lying tombstone, and a lying one it will be no doubt.  Did you get the affidavits prepared?”

“I did, but curse the rascals, I was obliged to make them drunk before they would consent to swear them.  The truth is, I put in a lot of stuff out of my own head,” said Phil, “and they refused to swear to it until I made them blind.”

“You must have made devilish stretches when they refused,” said the father, “where are they now?”

“Locked up in the stable loft, fast asleep,” replied Phil, “and ready to swear.”

“It is well,” said Val, “that we have affidavits and information enough for his arrest, independent of theirs.  Go in, Phil, and keep yourself steady—­Easel must be my own concern, I see that; he shall be arrested this day; I have everything prepared for it.”

“Very well,” said Phil; “with all my heart—­I have better game in view,” and he knowingly rubbed his finger along his nose as he spoke.

“If you were sober,” said Val, “I could have wished you to witness the full glut of my vengeance upon M’Loughlin, inasmuch, my excellent son, as it was on your account I received the insult, the injury—­why, by h——­n, he trampled upon me!—­that shall never be forgiven, but which will this day, Phil, meet the vengeance that has been hoarded up here—­” and, as he spoke, he placed his hand upon his heart.  “The sheriff,” he added, “and his officers are there by this time—­for I do assure you, Phil, I will make short work of it.  As for those ungrateful scoundrels that refused to send their cars and carts, I know how to deal with them; and yet, the rascals, as matters now stand between Hartley and us, I can’t afford to turn them out of the corps.”

“Go ahead, I say,” replied Phil; “I have better game on hands than your confounded corps, or your confounded popish M’Loughlins.”

Raymond, who walked, pari passu, along with him, looked at him from time to time and, as he did, it might be observed that his eyes flashed actual fire—­sometimes with an appearance of terrible indignation, and sometimes with that of exultation and delight.