Kearney could not but laugh at the sketch of a debate given with all the mimicry of tone and mock solemnity of an old debater, and the two men now became, by the bond of their geniality, like old acquaintances. ‘Ah, Mr. Kearney, I won’t say we’d do it better on College Green, but we’d do it more kindly, more courteously, and, above all, we’d be less hypocritical in our inquiries. I believe we try to cheat the devil in Ireland just as much as our neighbours. But we don’t pretend that we are arch-bishops all the time we’re doing it. There’s where we differ from the English.’ ‘And who is to govern us,’ cried Kearney,’ if we have no Lord-Lieutenant?’ ‘The Privy Council, the Lords Justices, or maybe the Board of Works, who knows? When you are going over to Holyhead in the packet, do you ever ask if the man at the wheel is decent, or a born idiot, and liable to fits? Not a bit of it. You know that there are other people to look to this, and you trust, besides, that they’ll land you all safe.’ ‘That’s true,’ said Kearney, and he drained his glass; ‘and now tell me one thing more. How will it go with young O’Shea about this scrimmage, will it be serious?’ ‘Curtis, the chief constable, says it will be an ugly affair enough. They’ll swear hard, and they’ll try to make out a title to the land through the action of trespass; and if, as I hear, the young fellow is a scamp and a bad lot--’ ‘Neither one nor the other,’ broke in Kearney; ‘as fine a boy and as thorough a gentleman as there is in Ireland.’ ‘And a bit of a Fenian, too,’ slowly interposed Flood. ‘Not that I know; I’m not sure that he follows the distinctions of party here; he is little acquainted with Ireland.’ ‘Ho, ho! a Yankee sympathiser?’ ‘Not even that; an Austrian soldier, a young lieutenant of lancers over here for his leave.’ ‘And why couldn’t he shoot, or course, or kiss the girls, or play at football, and not be burning his fingers with the new land-laws? There’s plenty of ways to amuse yourself in Ireland, without throwing a man out of window; eh, Adams?’ And Adams bowed his assent, but did not utter a word. ‘You are not going to open more wine?’ remonstrated Kearney eagerly. ‘It’s done. Smell that, Mr. Kearney,’ cried Flood, as he held out a fresh-drawn cork at the end of the screw. ‘Talk to me of clove-pinks and violets and carnations after that? I don’t know whether you have any prayers in your church against being led into temptation.’ ‘Haven’t we!’ sighed the other. ‘Then all I say is, Heaven help the people at Oporto; they’ll have more to answer for even than most men.’ It was nigh dawn when they parted, Kearney muttering to himself as he sauntered back to the inn, ‘If port like that is the drink of the Tories, they must be good fellows with all their prejudices.’ ‘I’ll be shot if I don’t like that rebel,’ said Flood as he went to bed. CHAPTER LVI BEFORE THE DOOR