He called him into his office, and, closing the door, asked him a few questions about his former life. O'Reardon, long accustomed to regard the man who spoke with an English accent as an easy dupe, launched out on his devoted loyalty, the perils it had cost him, the hate to which his English attachment exposed him from his countrymen, and the little reward all his long-proved fidelity had ever won him; but Sewell cut him suddenly short with: “Don't try any of this sort of balderdash upon _me_, old fellow,--it's only lost time: I've been dealing with blackguards of your stamp all my life, and I read them like print.” “Oh! your honor, them's hard words,--blackguard, blackguard! to a decent man that always had a good name and a good character.” “What I want you to understand is this,” said Sewell, scanning him keenly while he spoke, “and to understand it well: that if you intend to serve me, and make yourself useful in whatever way I see fit to employ you, there must be no humbug about it. The first lesson you have to learn is, never to imagine you can take me in. As I have just told you, I have had my education amongst fellows more than your masters in craft,--so don't lose your time in trying to outrogue me.” “Your honor's practical,--I always like to serve a gentleman that's practical,” said the fellow, with a totally changed voice. “That will do,--speak that way,--drop your infernal whine,--turn out your patriotic sentiments to grass, and we'll get on comfortably.” “Be gorra! that's practical,--practical, every word of it.” “Now the first thing I want is to know who are the people who come here. I shall require to be able to distinguish those who are accustomed to frequent the office from strangers; I suppose you know the attorneys and solicitors, all of them?” “Every man of them, sir; there's not a man in Dublin with a pair of black trousers that I could n't give you the history of.” “That's practical, certainly,” said Sewell, adopting his phrase; and the other laughed pleasantly at the employment of it. “Whenever you have to announce persons that are strangers to you, and whose business you can't find out, mention that I am most busily engaged,--that persons of consequence are with me,--delay them, in short, and put them off for another day--” “Till I can find out all about them?” broke in O'Reardon. “Exactly.” “And that's what I can do as well as any man in Ireland,” said the fellow, overjoyed at the thought of such congenial labor. “I suppose you know a dun by the look of him?” asked Sewell, with a low, quiet laugh. “Don't I, then?” was the reply. “I 'll have none of them hanging about here,--mind that; you may tell them what you please, but take care that my orders are obeyed.” “I will, sir.”