Again he stretched himself, pulled up his collar as before, displaying a rich diamond ring, then taking out a valuable gold watch, glanced at the time, and putting it in his fob, looked enormously big and haughty, exclaiming again, with a frown that was intended to be a stunner--after again pacing up and down with the genuine tone and carriage of true nobility-- “I say, sir, do you know the gentleman whom you are treating with such impertinence? Perhaps you mistake me, on account of a supposed resemblance, for some former acquaintance of yours. If, so, correct yourself; I have never seen you till this moment.” There, however, was the grin, and there were the eyes as before, to which we must add a small bit of pantomime on the part of Morty O'Flaherty, for such was the servant's name, which bit of pantomime consisted in his (Morty's) laying his forefinger very knowingly alongside his nose, exclaiming, in a cautious and friendly voice however, “Barney, achora, don't be alarmed; there's no harm done yet. You're safe if you behave yourself.” “What!” said Norton. “By the bones of St. Patrick but you are Morty O'Flaherty! Confound it, my dear Morty, why didn't you make yourself known at once? it would have relieved both of us.” “One of us, you mane,” replied Morty, with a wink. “Upon my soul I am glad to free you, Morty. And how are you, man alive? In a snug berth here, I see, with the father of my friend, Lord Dunroe.” “Ha!” exclaimed Morty, shrewdly; “is that it? Your friend; Oh, I see. Nate as ever, like a clane sixpence. Well, Barney, the world will have its way.” “Ay, Morty, and we must comply with it. Some it brings up, and others it brings down.” “Whisht, now, Barney,” said Morty; “let by-gones be by-gones. That it didn't bring you up, be thankful to a gracious Providence and a light pair o' heels; that's all. And what are you now?” “No longer Barney Bryan, at any rate,” replied the other. “My name, at present, is Norton.” “At present! Upon my sowl, Barney, so far as names goes, you're a walkin' catalogue.” “Thomas Norton, Esquire; residing with that distinguished young nobleman, Lord Dunroe, as his bosom friend and inseparable companion.” “Hem! I see,” said Morty, with a shrug, which he meant as one of compassion for the aforesaid Lord Dunroe; “son to my masther. Well, God pity him, Barney, is the worst I wish him. You will take care of him; you'll tache him a thing or two--and that's enough. But, Barney--” “Curse Barney--Mr. Norton's the word.” “Well, Mr. Norton--ah, Mr. Norton, there's one person you'll not neglect.” “Who is that, Morty?” “Faith, your mother's son, achora. However, you know the proverb--'A burnt child dreads the fire.' You have a neck still, Barney--beg pardon, Mr. Norton--don't forget that fact.” “And I'll take care of the said neck, believe me, Morty; I shall keep it safe, never fear.” “Take care you don't keep it a little too safe. A word to the wise is enough, Bar--Mr. Norton.”