“Go and help yourself to a bumper of spirits before you go,” said Val; “and, Tom, keep a sharp lookout, and whenever you find, or hear of arms, let me know immediately.”

Tom only nodded to that, as he put the glass to his lips; “gentlemen,” said he, “your healths; here’s no Popery! no surrender!” saying which, he deposited the empty glass on the table, giving the same time two or three short coughs occasioned by the strength of the liquor.  “Good morning, gentlemen—­brother, M’Slime”—­he voiced and nodded significantly at Solomon, then added—­“good people are scarce; so be a good boy and take care of yourself.”

“Now, Tom, be a good fellow and don’t forget the rent,” said Val; Tom nodded again, for it was a habit he had, and departed.

The next person who presented himself was a little, meagre, thin looking man, with a dry, serious air about him, that seemed to mark him as a kind of curiosity in his way.  From the moment he entered, Solomon seemed to shrink up into half his ordinary dimensions, nor did the stranger seem unconscious of this, if one could judge by the pungent expression of his small gray eyes which were fastened on Solomon with a bitter significance that indicated such a community of knowledge as did not seem to be pleasant to either of them.

“Ah, Sam Wallace,” said Val, “always punctual, and never more welcome than now; scraping and scrambling we are, Sam, to make up the demand for the landlord.”

“What way ir ye, Mr. M’Clutchy; am gled to see ye luck so well; I a-am indeed.”

“Thank you, Sam.  How are all your family.”

“Deed, as well as can be expected under the stain that’s over us.”

“Stain!  What do you mean, Sam?”

“Feth, a main what’s purty well known; that misfortune that befell our daughter Susanna.”

“Dear me, Sam, how was that?”

“The way of it was this—­she went as a children’s maid into a religious femily”—­here the two glittering eyes were fiercely fastened upon Solomon—­“where she became a serious young person of decided piety, as they call it—­an’ h—­l till me, but another month will make it decided enough—–­well, sir, deel a long she was there till the saint, her masther, made a sinner of her, and now she’s likely to have her gifts, such as they ir.

“I am very sorry to hear this, Sam; but, surely the man who seduced your daughter does not deserve to be called religious.”

“Disn’t he, feth? why, Lord bless you, sure it was all done in a religious way—­they sang psalms together, prayed together, read the Bible together, and now the truth is, that the consequence will be speaking for itself some of these days.”

Here another fiery look was darted at Solomon, who appeared deeply engaged among leases, papers, and such other documents as were before him.

“It’s a bad business certainly, Sam—­but now about the rent?”

“Hut! de’il a penny o’ rent I have—­hell take the tester; and yet, for all that, all pay you afore a laive the room—­what do you think of that?”