“Never!” said he. “Never!”
And so he left the room, without wishing her further
farewell.
DIPLOMACY
About a week after the last conversation that has
been related as having taken place at the Kanturk
Hotel, Mr. Mollett junior was on his way to Castle
Richmond. He had on that occasion stated his
intention of making such a journey with the view of
“freshening the old gentleman up a bit;”
and although his father did all in his power to prevent
the journey, going so far on one occasion as to swear
that if it was made he would throw over the game altogether,
nevertheless Aby persevered.
“You may leave the boards whenever you like,
governor,” said Aby. “I know quite
enough of the part to carry on the play.”
“You think you do,” said the father in
his anger; “but you’ll find yourself in
the dark yet before you’ve done.”
And then again he expostulated in a different tone.
“You’ll ruin it all, Aby; you will indeed;
you don’t know all the circumstances; indeed
you don’t.”
“Don’t I?” said Aby. “Then
I’ll not be long learning them.”
The father did what he could; but he had no means
of keeping his son at home, and so Aby went.
Aby doubtless entertained an idea that his father
was deficient in pluck for the management of so difficult
a matter, and that he could supply what his father
wanted. So he dressed himself in his best, and
having hired a gig and a man who he flattered himself
would look like a private servant, he started from
Cork, and drove himself to Castle Richmond.
He had on different occasions been down in the neighbourhood,
prowling about like a thief in the night, picking up
information, as he called it, and seeing how the land
lay; but he had never yet presented himself to any
one within the precincts of the Castle Richmond demesne.
His present intention was to drive up to the front
door, and ask at once for Sir Thomas Fitzgerald, sending
in his card if need be, on which were printed the
words:—
Mr. Abraham Mollett, Junior.
With the additional words, “Piccadilly, London,”
written in the left-hand lower corner.
“I’ll take the bull by the horns,”
said he to himself. “It’s better
to make the spoon at once, even if we do run some small
chance of spoiling the horn.” And that
he might be well enabled to carry out his purpose
with reference to this bull, he lifted his flask to
his mouth as soon as he had passed through the great
demesne gate, and took a long pull at it. “There’s
nothing like a little jumping powder,” he said,
speaking to himself again, and then he drove boldly
up the avenue.
He had not yet come in sight of the house when he
met two gentlemen walking on the road. They,
as he approached, stood a little on one side, not
only so as to allow him to pass, but to watch him as
he did so. They were Mr. Somers and Herbert Fitzgerald.
