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"
"Thomas Norton, Esquire; residing with that distinguished young
nobleman, Lord Dunroe, as his bosom friend and inseparable companion."
"Hem! I see," said Morty, with a shrug, which he meant as one of
compassion for the aforesaid Lord Dunroe; "son to my masther. Well, God
pity him, Barney, is the worst I wish him. You will take care of him;
you'll tache him a thing or two--and that's enough. But, Barney--"
"Curse Barney--Mr. Norton's the word."
"Well, Mr. Norton--ah, Mr. Norton, there's one person you'll not
neglect."
"Who is that, Morty?"
"Faith, your mother's son, achora. However, you know the proverb--'A
burnt child dreads the fire.' You have a neck still, Barney--beg pardon,
Mr. Norton--don't forget that fact."
"And I'll take care of the said neck, believe me, Morty; I shall keep it
safe, never fear."
"Take care you don't keep it a little too safe. A word to the wise is
enough, Bar--Mr. Norton."
"It is, Morty; and I trust you will remember that that is to be a
regulation between us.


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