"I say, give an account of yourself; what's your business here?"

"Come, then," replied Harry, "as you appear to be a comical old scoundrel, I don't care, for the joke's sake, if I do. I am coming to court Miss Riddle, ridiculous old c.o.c.kletown's niece."

"Why are you coming to court her?"

"Because I understand she will have a good fortune after old c.o.c.kle takes his departure."

"Eh, confound me, but that's odd; why, you are a devilish queer fellow.

Did you ever see Lord c.o.c.kletown?"

"Not I," replied Harry; "nor I don't care a curse whether I do or not, provided I had his niece secure."

"Did you ever see the niece?"

"Don't annoy me, sirrah. No, I didn't; neither do I care if I never did, provided I secure old c.o.c.kle's money and property. If it could be so managed, I would prefer being married to her in the dark."

The old peer walked two or three times through the room in a kind of good-humored perplexity, raising his wig and scratching his head under it, and surveying Woodward from time to time with a serio-comic expression.

"Of course you are a profligate, for that is the order of the day?"

"Why, of course I am," replied Harry.

"Any intrigues--eh?"

"Indeed," replied the other, pulling a long face, "I am ashamed to answer you on that subject. Intrigues! I regret to say only half a dozen yet, but my prospects in that direction are good."

"Have you fought? Did you ever commit murder?"

"It can scarcely be called by that name. It was in tavern brawls; one was a rascally c.o.c.kleman, and the other a rascally oyster-man."

"How did you manage the oysterman with a knife, eh?"

"No, sirrah; with my sword I did him open."

"Have you any expectation of being hanged?"

"Why, according to the life I have led, I think there is every probability that I may reach that honorable position."

The old peer could bear this no longer. He burst out into a loud laugh, which lasted upwards of two minutes.

"Faith," said Harry, "if you had such a prospect before you, I don't think you would consider it such a laughing matter."

"Curse you, sir, do you know who I am?"

"Curse yourself, sir," replied the other, "no, I don't; how should I, when I never saw you before?"

"Sir, I am Lord c.o.c.kletown."

"And, sir, I am Harry Woodward, son--favorite son--to, Mrs. Lindsay of Rathfillan House."

"What! are you a son of that old f.a.got?"

"Her favorite son, as I said; that old f.a.got, sir, is my mother."

"Ay, but who was your father?" asked his lordship, with a grin, "for that's the rub."

"That is the rub," said Woodward, laughing; "how the devil can I tell?"

"Good again," said his lordship; "confound me but you are a queer one. I tell you what, I like you."

"I don't care a curse whether you do or not, provided your niece does."

"Are you the fellow that has been abroad, and returned home lately?"

"I am the very fellow," replied Woodward, with a ludicrous and good-humored emphasis upon the word fellow.

"There was a bonfire made for you on your return?"

"There was, my lord."

"And there fell a shower of blood upon that occasion?"

"Not a doubt of it, my lord."

"Well, you are a strange fellow altogether. I have not for a long time met a man so much after my own heart."

"That is because our dispositions resemble each other. If I had the chance of a peerage, I would be as original as your lord-ship in the selection of my t.i.tle; but I trust I shall be gratified in that, too; because, if I marry your niece, I will enter into public life, make myself not only a useful, but a famous man, and, of course, the t.i.tle of c.o.c.kletown will be revived in my person, and will not perish with you.

No, my lord, should I marry your niece, your t.i.tle shall descend with your blood, and there is something to console you."

"Come," said the old peer, "shake hands. Have you a capacity for public business?"

"I was born for it, my lord. I feel that fact; besides, I have a generous ambition to distinguish myself."

"Well," said the peer, "we will talk all that over in a few days. But don't you admit that I am an eccentric old fellow?"

"And doesn't your lordship admit that I am an eccentric young fellow?"

"Ay, but, harkee, Mr. Woodward," said the peer, "I always sleep with one eye open."

"And I," replied Harry, "sleep with both eyes open."

"Come, confound me, that beats me, you must get on in life, and I will consider your pretensions to my niece."

At this moment his mother and Miss Riddle entered the drawing-room, which, notwithstanding the comical shape of the mansion, was s.p.a.cious, and admirably furnished. Miss Riddle's Christian name was Thomasina; but her eccentric uncle never called her by any other appellation than Tom, and occasionally Tommy.

"Mrs. Lindsay, uncle," said the girl, introducing her.

"Eh? Mrs. Lindsay! O! how do you do, Mrs. Lindsay? How is that unfortunate devil, your husband?"