LITMIR.BIZ

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If then with O’Donoghue himself, he would have felt perfectly at ease, the presence of Sir Archy, and his taciturn solemnity, was a sad check upon him, and mingled the freedom he felt with a degree of reserve far from comfortable. However, he had come for a purpose, and, if successful, the result would amply remunerate him for any passing inconvenience he might incur; and with this thought he armed himself, as he entered the room some ten minutes before.

      “So you are looking for Mark,” said the O’Donoghue to Lanty. “You can’t help hankering after that grey mare of his.”

      “Sure enough, sir, there’s no denying it. I’ll have to give him the forty pounds for her, though, as sure as I’m here, she’s not worth the money; but when I’ve a fancy for a beast, or take a conceit out of her – it’s no use, I must buy her – that’s it!”

      “Well, I don’t think he’ll give her to you now, Lanty; he has got her so quiet – so gentle – that I doubt he’ll part with her.”

      “It’s little a quiet one suits him; faix, he’d soon tire of her if she wasn’t rearing or plunging like mad! He’s an elegant rider, God bless him. I’ve a black horse now that would mount him well; he’s out of ‘Divil-may-care,’ Mooney’s horse, and can take six foot of a wall flying, with fourteen stone on his back; and barring the least taste of a capped hock, you could not see speck nor spot about him wrong.”

      “He’s in no great humour for buying just now,” interposed the O’Donoghue, with a voice to which some suddenly awakened recollection imparted a tone of considerable depression.

      “Sure we might make a swop with the mare,” rejoined Lanty, determined not to be foiled so easily; and then, as no answer was forthcoming, after a long pause, he added, “and havn’t I the elegant pony for Master Herbert there; a crame colour – clean bred – with white mane and tail. If he was the Prince of Wales he might ride her. She has racing speed – they tell me, for I only have her a few days; and, faix, ye’d win all the county stakes with her.”

      The youth looked up from his book, and listened with glistening eyes and animated features to the description, which, to one reared as he was, possessed no common attraction.

      “Sure I’ll send over for her to-morrow, and you can try her,” said Lanty, as if replying to the gaze with which the boy regarded him.

      “Ye mauna do nae sich a thing,” broke in M’Nab. “Keep your rogueries and rascalities for the auld generation ye hae assisted to ruin; but leave the young anes alane to mind ither matters than dicing and horse-racing.”

      Either the O’Donoghue conceived the allusion one that bore hardly on himself, or he felt vexed that the authority of a father over his son should have been usurped by another, or both causes were in operation together, but he turned an angry look on Sir Archy, and said —

      “And why shouldn’t the boy ride? was there ever one of his name or family that didn’t know how to cross a country? I don’t intend him for a highland pedlar.”

      “He might be waur,” retorted M’Nab, solemnly, “he might be an Irish beggar.”

      “By my soul, sir,” broke in O’Donoghue; but fortunately an interruption saved the speech from being concluded, for at the same moment the door opened, and Mark O’Donoghue, travel-stained and weary-looking, entered the room.

      “Well, Mark,” said the old man, as his eyes glistened at the appearance of his favourite son – “what sport, boy?”

      “Poor enough, sir; five brace in two days is nothing to boast of, besides two hares. Ah, Lanty – you here; how goes it?”

      “Purty well, as times go, Mr. Mark,” said the horse-dealer, affecting a degree of deference he would not have deemed necessary had they been alone. “I’m glad to see you back again.”

      “Why – what old broken-down devils have you now got on hand to pass off upon us? It’s fellows like you destroy the sport of the country. You carry away every good horse to be found, and cover the country with spavined, wind-galled brutes, not fit for the kennel.”

      “That’s it, Mark – give him a canter, lad,” cried the old man, joyfully.

      “I know what you are at well enough,” resumed the youth, encouraged by these tokens of approval; “you want that grey mare of mine. You have some fine English officer ready to give you an hundred and fifty, or, may be, two hundred guineas, for her, the moment you bring her over to England.”

      “May I never —

      “That’s the trade you drive. Nothing too bad for us – nothing too good for them.”

      “See now, Mr. Mark, I hope I may never – ”

      “Well, Lanty, one word for all; I’d rather send a bullet through her skull this minute, than let you have her for one of your fine English patrons.”

      “Won’t you let me speak a word at all,” interposed the horse-dealer, in an accent half imploring, half deprecating. “If I buy the mare – and it isn’t for want of a sporting offer if I don’t – she’ll never go to England – no – devil a step. She’s for one in the country here beside you; but I won’t say more, and there now.” At these words he drew a soiled black leather pocket-book from the breast of his coat, and opening it, displayed a thick roll of bank notes, tied with a piece of string – “There now – there’s sixty pounds in that bundle there – at least I hope so, for I never counted it since I got it – take it for her or leave it – just as you like; and may I never have luck with a beast, but there’s not a gentleman in the county would give the same money for her.” Here he dropped his voice to a whisper, and added, “Sure the speedy cut is ten pounds off her price any day, between two brothers.”

      “What!” said the youth, as his brows met in passion, and his heightened colour showed how his anger was raised.

      “Well, well – it’s no matter, there’s my offer; and if I make a ten pound note of her, sure it’s all I live by; I wasn’t born to an estate and a fine property, like yourself.”

      These words, uttered in such a tone as to be inaudible to the rest, seemed to mollify the young man’s wrath, for, sullenly stretching forth his hand, he took the bundle and opened it on the table before him.

      “A dry bargain never was a lucky one, they say, Lanty – isn’t that so?” said the ODonoghue, as, seizing a small hand-bell, he ordered up a supply of claret, as well as the more vulgar elements for punch, should the dealer, as was probable, prefer that liquor.

      “These notes seem to have seen service,” muttered Mark: “here’s a lagged fellow. There’s no making out whether he’s two or ten.”

      “They were well handled, there’s no doubt of it,” said Lanty, “the tenants was paying them in; and sure you know yourself how they thumb and finger a note before they part with it. You’d think they were trying to take leave of them. There’s many a man can’t read a word, can tell you the amount of a note, just by the feel of it! – Thank you, sir, I’ll take the spirits – it’s what I’m most used to.”

      “Who did you get them from, Lanty?” said the ODonoghue.

      “Malachi Glynn, sir, of Cahernavorra, and, by the same token, I got a hearty laugh at the same house once before.”

      “How was that?” said the old man, for he saw by the twinkle of Lanty’s eye, that a story was coming.

      “Faix, just this way, sir. It was a little after Christmas last year that Mr. Malachi thought he’d go up to Dublin for a month or six weeks with the young ladies, just to show them, by way of; for ye see, there’s no dealing at all downi here; and he thought he’d bring them up, and see what could be done. Musha! but they’re the hard stock to get rid of! and somehow they don’t improve by holding them over. And as there was levees, and drawing-rooms, and balls going on, sure it would go hard but he’d get off a pair of them anyhow. Well, it was an elegant scheme, if there was money to do it; but devil a farthin’ was to be had, high or low, beyond seventy pounds I gave for the two carriage horses and the yearlings that was out in the

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