"_Fou_!" said Francis Ardry, suddenly pushing open the door of the room from which the voice proceeded; "That's the word, I think, captain." "By my shoul, Mr. Francis Ardry, you enter with considerable abruptness, sir," said one of two men who were seated smoking at a common deal table, in a large ruinous apartment in which we now found ourselves. "You enter with considerable abruptness sir," he repeated; "do you know on whom you are intruding?" "Perfectly well," said Francis; "I am standing in the presence of Torlough O' Donahue, formerly captain in a foreign service, and at present resident in London for the express purpose of beating all the English--" "And some of the Irish too, sir, if necessary," said the captain with a menacing look. "I do not like to be broken in upon as if I were a nobody. However, as you are here, I suppose I must abide by it. I am not so little of a gentleman as to be deficient in the rudiments of hospitality. You may both of you sit down and make yourselves aisy." But this was no such easy matter, the only two chairs in the room being occupied by the captain and the other. I therefore leaned against the door, while Ardry strolled about the apartment. The captain might be about forty. His head was immensely large, his complexion ruddy, and his features rough, coarse and strongly expressive of sullenness and ill-nature. He was about the middle height, with a frame clumsily made, but denoting considerable strength. He wore a blue coat, the lappets of which were very narrow, but so long that they nearly trailed upon the ground. Yellow leathern breeches unbuttoned at the knee, dazzling white cotton stockings and shoes with buckles, adorned his nether man. His companion, who was apparently somewhat older than himself, was dressed in a coarse greatcoat and a glazed hat exactly resembling those worn by hackneys. He had a quiet, droll countenance, very much studded with carbuncles, and his nose, which was very long, was of so hooked a description that the point of it nearly entered his mouth. "Who may this friend of yours be?" said the captain to Ardry, after staring at me. "A young gentleman much addicted to philosophy, poetry and philology." "Is he Irish?" "No, he is English; but I have heard him say that he has a particular veneration for Ireland." "He has, has he; by my shoul, then, all the better for him. If he had not . . . Can he fight?" "I think I have heard him say that he can use his fists when necessary." "He can, can he? by my shoul, I should like to try him. But first of all I have another customer to dispose of. I have just determined to send a challenge to Bishop Sharpe whom these English call the best of their light weights. {235} Perhaps he is, but if I don't--" "The Bishop is a good man," interrupted his companion of the greatcoat and glazed hat, in a strange croaky tone.