“‘Upon my conscience, you’re right,’ said I, looking down at myself, and then over at him, at which the other travellers burst out a laughing,--‘I think there’s few will dispute that point.’ When the laugh was over, I resumed,--for I was determined not to let him off so easily. ‘Sure I met you at Mrs. Cayle’s,’ said I; ‘and, by the same token, it was a Friday, I remember it well,--may be you didn’t pitch into the salt cod? I hope it didn’t disagree with you?’ “‘I beg to repeat, sir, that you are under a mistake,’ said he. “‘May be so, indeed,’ said I. ‘May be you’re not Colonel M’Manus at all; may be you wasn’t in a passion for losing seven-and-sixpence at loo with Mrs. Moriarty; may be you didn’t break the lamp in the hall with your umbrella, pretending you touched it with your head, and wasn’t within three foot of it; may be Counsellor Brady wasn’t going to put you in the box of the Foundling Hospital, if you wouldn’t behave quietly in the streets--’ “Well, with this the others laughed so heartily, that I could not go on; and the next stage the bold colonel got outside with the guard and never came in till we reached Limerick. I’ll never forget his face, as he got down at Swinburne’s Hotel. ‘Good-by, Colonel,’ said I; but he wouldn’t take the least notice of my politeness, but with a frown of utter defiance, he turned on his heel and walked away. “‘I haven’t done with you yet,’ says I; and, faith, I kept my word. “I hadn’t gone ten yards down the street, when I met my old friend Darby O’Grady. “‘Shaugh, my boy,’ says he,--he called me that way for shortness,--‘dine with me to-day at Mosey’s; a green goose and gooseberries; six to a minute.’ “‘Who have you?’ says I. “‘Tom Keane and the Wallers, a counsellor or two, and one M’Manus, from Dublin.’ “‘The colonel?’ “‘The same,’ said he. “‘I’m there, Darby!’ said I; ‘but mind, you never saw me before.’ “‘What?’ said he. “‘You never set eyes on me before; mind that.’ “‘I understand,’ said Darby, with a wink; and we parted. “I certainly was never very particular about dressing for dinner, but on this day I spent a considerable time at my toilet; and when I looked in my glass at its completion, was well satisfied that I had done myself justice. A waistcoat of brown rabbit-skin with flaps, a red worsted comforter round my neck, an old gray shooting-jacket with a brown patch on the arm, corduroys, and leather gaiters, with a tremendous oak cudgel in my hand, made me a most presentable figure for a dinner party. “‘Will I do, Darby?’ says I, as he came into my room before dinner. “‘If it’s for robbing the mail you are,’ says he, ‘nothing could be better. Your father wouldn’t know you!’ “‘Would I be the better of a wig?’ “‘Leave your hair alone,’ said he. ‘It’s painting the lily to alter it.’ “‘Well, God’s will be done,’ says I, ‘so come now.’