“Wrong! Certainly you are wrong. Hycy Burke, I am told, is a compound of great knave and gross fool, the knavery rather prevailing. But how is this? Are not you and he inseparable?” “He is a companion, uncle, but not a friend in the true sense--nor, indeed, in any sense of that word. I spoke now, however, with reference to a particular transaction, and not to his general character.” “Well, then, I have no underhand dealings with him, as you are pleased to call them, nor ever had. I never to my knowledge received a line from him in my life; but I tell you that if he comes in my way, and that I can make use of him, I will. Perhaps he may serve us in the Elections. Have you anything else to ask?” “No sir,” replied Harry, laughing. “Only I hope you will excuse me for the liberty I took.” “Certainly, with all my heart, and you shall be always welcome to take the same liberty. Good-bye, again.” Clinton now felt satisfied that Hycy's letter to his uncle was an anonymous one, and although he could not divine its contents, he still felt assured that it was in some way connected with the farm transaction, or at all events detrimental to Bryan M'Mahon. He consequently resolved to see Hycy, against whom, or rather against whose principles he was beginning to entertain a strong repugnance, and without any hesitation to repudiate the engagement he had entered into with him. He found Hycy at home, or rather he found him in conversation with Bat Hogan behind his father's garden. “What was that ruffian wanting with you, Hycy, if it's a fair question?” “Perfectly,” said Hycy, “from you; but not in sooth from your worthy uncle.” “How is that?” “Simply, he wants to know if I'd buy a keg of Poteen which, it seems, he has to sell. I declined because I have a sufficiently ample stock of it on hands.” “My uncle,” said Clinton, prefers it to any other spirits; indeed, at home he never drinks any other, and whenever he dines, thanks those who give it the preference.” “Come in, and let us have a glass of poteen grog, in the mean time,” said Hycy, “for it's better still in grog than in punch. It's a famous relish for a slice of ham; but, as the Scotch say, baith's best.” Having discussed the grog and ham, the conversation went on. “Hycy,” proceeded his companion, “with respect to that foolish arrangement or bargain we made the other night, I won't have anything to say or do in it. You shall impoverish or ruin no honest man on my account. I was half drunk or whole drunk, otherwise I wouldn't have listened to such a proposal.” “What do you mean?” said Hycy, with a look of very natural surprise, and a pause of some time, “I don't understand you.” “Don't you remember the foolish kind of stipulation we entered into with reference to M'Mahon's farm, of Ahadarra, on the one hand, and my most amiable (d--n me but I ought to be horsewhipped for it) sister on the other?” “No,” replied Hycy, “devil a syllable. My word and honor, Harry.”