He looked up, with his hands in his breeches' pockets, and read a mural tablet, whistling scarce audibly the while. It was not reverent, but he was a gentleman; and the clerk standing behind him, retained his quiet posture, and that smile, that yet was not a smile, but a sort of reflected light--was it patience, or was it secret ridicule?--you could not tell: and it never changed, and somehow it was provoking. 'And some persons, I believe, had an unpleasant duty to do there,' said Dangerfield, abruptly, in the middle of his tune, and turning his spectacles fully and sternly on Mr. Irons. The clerk's head bent lower, and he shook it; and his eyes, but for a little glitter through the eyelashes, seemed to close. ''Tis a pretty church, this--a pretty town, and some good families in the neighbourhood,' said Dangerfield, briskly; 'and I dare say some trout in the river--hey?--the stream looks lively.' 'Middling, only--poor gray troutlings, Sir--not a soul cares to fish it but myself,' he answered. 'You're the clerk--eh?' 'At your service, Sir.' '_Dublin_ man?--or--' 'Born and bred in Dublin, your honour.' 'Ay--well! Irons--you've heard of Mr. Dangerfield--Lord Castlemallard's agent--I am he. Good-morning, Irons;' and he gave him half-a-crown, and he took another look round; and then he and Nutter went out of the church, and took a hasty leave of one another, and away went Nutter on his nag, to the mills. And Dangerfield, just before mounting, popped into Cleary's shop, and in his grim, laconic way, asked the proprietor, among his meal-bags and bacon, about fifty questions in less than five minutes. 'That was one of Lord Castlemallard's houses--eh--with the bad roof, and manure-heap round the corner?'--and, 'Where's the pot-house they call the Salmon House?--doing a good business--eh?' and at last--'I'm told there's some trout in the stream. Is there anyone in the town who knows the river, and could show me the fishing?--Oh, the clerk! and what sort of fish is _he_--hey?--Oh! an honest, worthy man, is he? Very good, Sir. Then, perhaps, Mr. a--perhaps, Sir, you'll do me the favour to let one of your people run down to his house, and say Mr. Dangerfield, Lord Castlemallard's agent, who is staying, you know, at the Brass Castle, would be much obliged if he would bring his rod and tackle, and take a walk with him up the river, for a little angling, at ten o'clock!' Jolly Phil Cleary was deferential, and almost nervous in his presence. The silver-haired, grim man, with his mysterious reputation for money, and that short decisive way of his, and sudden cynical chuckle, inspired a sort of awe, which made his wishes, where expressed with that intent, very generally obeyed; and, sure enough, Irons appeared, with his rod, at the appointed hour, and the interesting anglers--Piscator and his 'honest scholar,' as Isaac Walton hath it--set out side by side on their ramble, in the true fraternity of the gentle craft.