“It is, sir; and if it was n't for it there 's many a strapping fellow walking about this day-that would be lying with a marble counterpane over him. Billy Welsh, that fought Brian of Deanstown, was the first man I ever 'put up' in it. Billy had a slight crick of the neck, and could n't get the head far enough round to the right, and the ball took him in the bridge of the nose, and carried that feature clean off, but never damaged him in any other respect whatever!” “I must say that the loss was quite sufficient for a man who had the benefit of the 'invulnerable position,'” said Massingbred, quietly. “He thinks nothing of it. A chap in the Crow Street Theatre made him a better nose than ever he had, out of wax, I believe; and he has a winter one, with a blush of red on it, to make believe it was cold; and they tell me you 'd never discover it was n't his own.” Magennis had now resumed his place at table, and seemed bent on making up for lost time by giving double measure of whiskey to his punch. “You say that he's to be in Oughterard to-night; well, with the blessing of the Virgin,”--an invocation he invariably applied to every act of dubious morality,--“we 'll be with him before he's out of bed to-morrow!” “I wish he had not given me a blow,” said Jack, musingly. “He seemed such a stout-hearted, spirited old fellow, I'm really grieved to quarrel with him.” “I'm glad that there's nobody to hear them words but myself, Mr. Massingbred,” said the other, with all the slowness and deliberation of incipient drunkenness; “I'm rejoiced, sir, that it's in the confidential intercourse of friendly--friendly--communication--that the son of my old and valued friend--Moore Massingbred--used expressions like that.” Jack started with amazement at this speech; he had not the slightest suspicion till that moment that Magennis and his father had ever known each other, or even met. A very little patience, however, on his part served to solve the difficulty; for he discovered that one of the peculiarities of this stage of his friend's ebriety was to fancy himself the intimate and associate of any one whose name he had ever heard mentioned. “Ay, sir, them's words your father would never have uttered. I was with him in his first blaze. 'Moore,' says I, 'have n't you a pair of black breeches?'--he wore a pair of web 'tights' of a light pattern--What are you laughing at, sir?” cried he, sternly, and striking the table with his clenched knuckles, till the glasses all rang on it. “I was laughing at my father's costume,” said Jack, who really told the truth; such a portrait of his parent's appearance being manifestly unlike anything he had ever imagined. “And the worse manners yours, sir,” rejoined Magennis, rudely. “I' ll not suffer any man to laugh at an old friend--and--and--schoolfellow!”