And thus they sipped, and smoked, and said little to each other, and the hours stole over, and the wintry day darkened apace, and, at last, out of a drowsy nap over the fire, the waiter awoke them, to say dinner was on the table. “You were asleep!” said O'Shea, to his companion. “Yes, 'twas your snoring set me off!” replied Heathcote, stretching himself, as he walked to the window. “Raining just as hard as ever!” “Come along,” said the other, gayly. “Let us see what old Fan has done for us.” CHAPTER XXI. MR. O'SHEA UPON POLITICS, AND THINGS IN GENERAL It was a most appetizing little dinner that was now set before the O'Shea and Charles Heathcote. The trout from Castellano and the mutton from Pistoja were each admirable; and a brace of woodcocks, shot in the first snowstorm on the Carrara mountains, were served in a fashion that showed the cook had benefited by English teachings. “There are worse places than this, after all!” said O'Shea, as he sat at one side of the fire, Heathcote opposite, and a small table liberally covered with decanters between them. “Wonderful Burgundy this,” said Heathcote, gazing at his glass in the light. “What does he call it?” “He calls it Lafitte. These fellows think all red wines come from the Bordeaux country. Here it is,--marked seven francs.” “Cheap at double the price. My governor will take every bottle of it.” “Not before I leave, I hope,” said O'Shea, laughing. “I trust he 'll respect what they call vested interests.” “Oh, by the way,” said the other, indolently, “you _are_ going?” “Yes. Our party are getting uneasy, and I am constantly receiving letters pressing me to return to England.” “Want you in the House, perhaps?” said Heathcote, as he puffed his cigar in lazy enjoyment. “Just so. You see, a parliamentary session is a sort of campaign in which every arm of warfare is needed. You want your great guns for the grand battles, your dashing cavalry charges for emergencies, and your light skirmishers to annoy the enemy and disconcert his advance.” “And which are _you?_” asked the other, in a tone of bantering indifference. “Well, I 'm what you might call a mounted rifleman,--a dash of the dragoon with a spice of the sharpshooter.” “Sharp enough, I take it,” muttered Heathcote, who bethought him of the billiard-table, and the wonderful “hazards” O'Shea used to accomplish. “You understand,” resumed the Member, confidentially, “I don't come out on the Budget, or Reform, or things of that kind; but I lie by till I hear some one make a blunder or a mistake, no matter how insignificant, and then I 'm down on him, generally with an anecdote--something he reminds me of--and for which I 'm sure to have the laugh against him. It's so easy, besides, to make them laugh; the worst jokes are always successful in the House of Commons.” “Dull fellows, I suppose?” chimed in Heathcote.