The new guest soon made himself free of the guild by a proposal to treat the company, on the condition that he might be permitted to have five minutes' conversation with their president in an adjoining room. He might have asked much more in requital for his liberality, and without a moment's delay, or even apprising Paul of what was intended, the “Dublin Journal” and the “Free Press” took him boldly between them and carried him into a closet off the room where the carouse was held. “I know what you are at,” said Paul, as soon as the door closed. “Daly wants a rising of the Liberty boys for the next debate,--don't deny it, it's no use. Well, now, listen, and don't interrupt me. Tom Conolly came down from the Castle yesterday and offered me five pounds for a good mob to rack a house, and two-ten if they'd draw Lord Clare home; but I refused,--I did, on the virtue of my oath. There's patriotism for ye!--yer soul, where 's the man wid only one shirt and a supplement to his back would do the same?” “You 're wrang,--we dinna want them devils at a'; it 's a sma' matter of inquiry I cam about. Ye ken Freney?” “Is it the Captain? Whew!” said Paul, with a long whistle. “It's no him,” resumed Sandy, “but a wee bit of a callant they ca' Jamie.” “Jemmy the diver,--the divil's own grandson, that he is.” “Where can I find him?” said Sandy, impatiently. “Wait a bit, and you'll be sure to see him at home in his lodgings in Newgate.” “I must find him out at once; put me on his track, and I 'll gie a goold guinea in yer hand, mon. I mean the young rascal no harm; it's a question I want him to answer me, that's all.” “Well, I'll do my best to find him for you, but I must send down to the country. I'll have to get a man to go beyond Kilcullen.” “We 'll pay any expense.” “Sure I know that.” And here Paul began a calculation to himself of distances and charges only audible to Sandy's ears at intervals: “Two and four, and six, with a glass of punch at Naas--half an hour at Tims'--the coach at Athy--ay, that will do it. Have ye the likes of a pair of ould boots or shoes? I 've nothing but them, and the soles is made out of two pamphlets of Roger Connor's, and them's the driest things I could get.” “I'll gie ye a new pair.” “You 're the son of Fingal of the Hills, divil a less. And now if ye had a cast-off waistcoat--I don't care for the color--orange or green, blue or yellow, _Tros Tyriusve mihiy_ as we said in Trinity.” “Ye shall hae a coat to cover your old bones. But let us hae nae mair o' this--when may I expect to see the boy?” “The evening after next, at eight o'clock, at the corner of Essex Bridge, Capel Street--'on the Rialto'--eh? that's the cue. And now let us join the revellers--_per Jove_, but I'm dry.” And so saying, the miserable old creature broke from Sandy, and, assisted by the wall, tottered back to the room to his drunken companions, where his voice was soon heard high above the discord and din around him.