"Well, Lambert Brown," said the boy, as that worthy gentleman rode off,
"it's you're the raal blackguard--and it's well all the counthry knows
you: sorrow be your bed this night; it's little the poor'll grieve for
you, when you're stretched, or the rich either, for the matther of
that."

Very different was the reception Bingham Blake got, as he drove up with
his tandem and tax-cart: half-a-dozen had kept themselves idle, each in
the hope of being the lucky individual to come in for Bingham's
shilling.

"Och, Mr Bingham, shure I'm first," roared one fellow.

But the first, as he styled himself, was soon knocked down under the
wheels of the cart by the others.

"Mr Blake, thin--Mr Blake, darlint--doesn't ye remimber the promise you
guv me?"

"Mr Jerry, Mr Jerry, avick,"--this was addressed to the brother--"spake
a word for me; do, yer honour; shure it was I come all the way from
Teddy Mahony's with the breeches this morning, God bless 'em, and the
fine legs as is in 'em."

But they were all balked, for Blake had his servant there.

"Get out, you blackguards!" said he, raising his tandem whip, as if to
strike them. "Get out, you robbers! Are you going to take the cart and
horses clean away from me? That mare'll settle some of ye, if you make
so free with her! she's not a bit too chary of her hind feet. Get out