“Upon my word, Mr. Green, the ladies will expect much from an Adonis who takes so long over his toilet,” said Tom O’Conor in that cruel tone of banter which he knew so well how to use. “You forget, father, that men in London can’t jump in and out of their clothes as quick as we wild Irishmen,” said Jack. “Mr. Green knows that we expect a great deal from him this evening. I hope you polk well, Mr. Green,” said Kate. I muttered something about never dancing, but I knew that that which I said was inaudible. “I don’t think Mr. Green will dance,” said Tizzy; “at least not much.” The impudence of that child was, I think, unparalleled by any that I have ever witnessed. “But in the name of all that’s holy, why don’t we have dinner?” And Mr. O’Conor thundered at the door. “Larry, Larry, Larry!” he screamed. “Yes, yer honer, it’ll be all right in two seconds,” answered Larry, from some bottomless abyss. “Tare an’ ages; what’ll I do at all,” I heard him continuing, as he made his way into the hall. Oh what a clatter he made upon the pavement,--for it was all stone! And how the drops of perspiration stood upon my brow as I listened to him! And then there was a pause, for the man had gone into the dining-room. I could see now that Mr. O’Conor was becoming very angry, and Jack the eldest son--oh, how often he and I have laughed over all this since--left the drawing-room for the second time. Immediately afterwards Larry’s footsteps were again heard, hurrying across the hall, and then there was a great slither, and an exclamation, and the noise of a fall--and I could plainly hear poor Larry’s head strike against the stone floor. “Ochone, ochone!” he cried at the top of his voice--“I’m murthered with ’em now intirely; and d---- ’em for boots--St. Peter be good to me.” There was a general rush into the hall, and I was carried with the stream. The poor fellow who had broken his head would be sure to tell how I had robbed him of his shoes. The coachman was already helping him up, and Peter good-naturedly lent a hand. “What on earth is the matter?” said Mr. O’Conor. “He must be tipsy,” whispered Miss O’Conor, the maiden sister. “I aint tipsy at all thin,” said Larry, getting up and rubbing the back of his head, and sundry other parts of his body. “Tipsy indeed!” And then he added when he was quite upright, “The dinner is sarved--at last.” And he bore it all without telling! “I’ll give that fellow a guinea to-morrow morning,” said I to myself--“if it’s the last that I have in the world.” I shall never forget the countenance of the Miss O’Conors as Larry scrambled up cursing the unfortunate boots--“What on earth has he got on?” said Mr. O’Conor. “Sorrow take ’em for shoes,” ejaculated Larry. But his spirit was good and he said not a word to betray me.