income,—­if only he could find a seat.  It was all very true, and was almost pathetic.  The old doctor, who was inclined to be proud of his son, was not unwilling to make a sacrifice.  Mrs. Finn declared before her daughters that if there was a seat in all Ireland, Phineas ought to have it.  And Mary Flood Jones stood by listening, and wondering what Phineas would do if he lost his seat.  Would he come back and live in County Clare, and be like any other girl’s lover?  Poor Mary had come to lose her ambition, and to think that girls whose lovers stayed at home were the happiest.  Nevertheless, she would have walked all the way to Lord Tulla’s house and back again, might that have availed to get the seat for Phineas.  Then there came an express over from Castlemorris.  The doctor was wanted at once to see Mr. Morris.  Mr. Morris was very bad with gout in his stomach.  According to the messenger it was supposed that Mr. Morris was dying.  Before Dr. Finn had had an opportunity of answering his son’s letter, Mr. Morris, the late member for Loughshane, had been gathered to his fathers.

Dr. Finn understood enough of elections for Parliament, and of the nature of boroughs, to be aware that a candidate’s chance of success is very much improved by being early in the field; and he was aware, also, that the death of Mr. Morris would probably create various aspirants for the honour of representing Loughshane.  But he could hardly address the Earl on the subject while the dead body of the late member was lying in the house at Castlemorris.  The bill which had passed in the late session for reforming the constitution of the House of Commons had not touched Ireland, a future measure having been promised to the Irish for their comfort; and Loughshane therefore was, as to Lord Tulla’s influence, the same as it had ever been.  He had not there the plenary power which the other lord had held in his hands in regard to Loughton;—­but still the Castlemorris interest would go a long way.  It might be possible to stand against it, but it would be much more desirable that the candidate should have it at his back.  Dr. Finn was fully alive to this as he sat opposite to the old lord, saying now a word about the old lord’s gout in his legs and arms, and then about the gout in the stomach, which had carried away to another world the lamented late member for the borough.

“Poor Jack!” said Lord Tulla, piteously.  “If I’d known it, I needn’t have paid over two thousand pounds for him last year;—­need I, doctor?”

“No, indeed,” said Dr. Finn, feeling that his patient might perhaps approach the subject of the borough himself.

“He never would live by any rule, you know,” said the desolate brother.

“Very hard to guide;—­was he not, my lord?”

“The very devil.  Now, you see, I do do what I’m told pretty well,—­don’t I, doctor?”

“Sometimes.”

“By George, I do nearly always.  I don’t know what you mean by sometimes.  I’ve been drinking brandy-and-water till I’m sick of it, to oblige you, and you tell me about—­sometimes.  You doctors expect a man to be a slave.  Haven’t I kept it out of my stomach?”