“That's an elegant salmon I saw Catty bringing home to you, Nelligan?” said a red-faced man, with large white whiskers, and a most watery look in his eyes. “Yes, Brierley, there's a young gentleman just come down here--a friend of Joe's in college, to stop a day or two with us.” “A nob?” said the other, with a wink. Nelligan nodded assent and went on,-- “And I 'm just bothered how to get two or three to make company for him.” “If it's grandeur you want, why don't you go over to the barracks there, and ask Captain Downie and the two others? Faix! it's a hearty welcome you 'd get, for they 've never seen the inside of Cro' Martin since the detachment came here.” “It 's my own acquaintances I 'd like to ask to my house, Mat Brierley,” said Nelligan, proudly; “and the time was when they were n't shy of coming there.” “What do you say to Peter Hayes, then?” said the other. “If you mean to do the civil thing, you'll ask him before he buys that old highwayman of a goose he's cheapening yonder; and there's Father Rafferty in the snuff-shop, and Tom Magennis, and myself-, and that makes six, just the right number for the little round table.” Nelligan paused, and seemed to reflect over the proposition. “You 'll be quizzing the Englishman,--'taking a rise' out of the Saxon, Brierley?” said Nelligan, distrustfully. “Devil a bit; I know better manners than that!” “Tom Magennis would have at him about politics; I know he could n't refrain. And I need n't tell you that English notions are not ours upon these topics.” “Give Tom a hint, and he 'll never touch the subject.” “And Father Neal, will you vouch for him that he won't attack the Established Church, and abuse the Protestants?” “That I will, if he's not provoked to it.” “Can you answer for yourself, Mat Brierley, that you won't try to borrow a five-pound note of him before the evening's over?” said Nelligan, laughingly. “I' ve a friend here,” said Brierley, tapping the other on the breast, “that would never see me in want of such a trifle as that.” Nelligan made no other reply to this speech than a somewhat awkward grimace, and walked hurriedly on to overtake a tall and very fat man that was just turning the corner of the street. This was Father Neal Rafferty. A very flourishing wave of his reverence's hand, and an urbane bend of his body, betokened the gracious acceptance he gave to the other's invitation; and Brierley walked away, muttering to himself: “They may thank me for this dinner, then; for old Dan was going to feed the 'swells,' if I had n't stopped him.” CHAPTER X. A DINNER-PARTY