_Old McB._ And will the same after you’re married and dead. What am I thinking of? A score of bullocks I had in the fair--half a score sold in my pocket, and owing half--that’s John Dolan, twelve pound tin--and Charley Duffy nine guineas and thirteen tin pinnies and a five-penny bit: stay, then, put that to the hundred guineas in the stocking at home. _O’Bla._ (_aside_) How he makes my mouth water: (_Aloud_) May be, Matthew, I could, that am used to it, save you the trouble of counting? _Old McB._ No trouble in life to me ever to count my money--only I’ll trouble you, sir, if you please, to lock that door; bad to be chinking and spreading money with doors open, for walls has ears and eyes. _O’Bla._ True for you. (_Rising, and going to lock the doors._) [_Old McBRIDE with great difficulty, and very slowly, draws out of his pocket his bag of money--looking first at one door, and then at the other, and going to try whether they are locked, before he unties his bag._] _Old McB._ (_spreads and counts his money and notes_) See me now, I wrote on some scrap somewhere 59_l._ in notes--then hard cash, twinty pounds--rolled up silver and gould, which is scarce--but of a hundred pounds there’s wanting fourteen pounds odd, I think, or something that way; for Phil and I had our breakfast out of a one pound note of Finlay’s, and I put the change somewhere--besides a riband for Honor, which make a deficiency of fourteen pounds seven shillings and two pence--that’s what’s deficient--count it which way you will. _O’Bla._ (_going to sweep the money off the table_) Oh! never mind the deficiency--I’ll take it for a hundred plump. _Old McB._ (_stopping him_) Plump me no plumps--I’ll have it exact, or not at all--I’ll not part it, so let me see it again. _O’Bla._ (_aside with a deep sigh, almost a groan_) Oh! when I had had it in my fist--almost: but ‘tis as hard to get money out of this man as blood out of a turnip; and I’ll be lost to-night without it. _Old McB._ ‘Tis not exact--and I’m exact: I’ll put it all up again--(_he puts it deliberately into the bag again, thrusting the bag into his pocket_)--I’ll make it up at home my own way, and send it in to you by Phil in an hour’s time; for I could not sleep sound with so much in my house--bad people about--safer with you in town. Mr. Carver says, you are as good as the Bank of Ireland--there’s no going beyond that. (_Buttoning up his pockets._) So you may unlock the doors and let me out now--I’ll send Phil with all to you, and you’ll give him a bit of a receipt or a token, that would do. _O’Bla._ I shall give a receipt by all means--all regular: short accounts make long friends. (_Unlocks the door._) _Old McB._ True, sir, and I’ll come in and see about the settlements in the morning, if Honor is agreeable. _O’Bla._ I shall make it my business to wait upon the young lady myself on the wings of love; and I trust I’ll not find any remains of Randal Rooney in her head.