"I am, as you are aware, my dear Mahony, no sentimentalist. But these
rioters of yours seem to me the very type of man the country needs.
Could we have a better bedrock on which to build than these fearless
champions of liberty?"
He set an excellent meal before his brother-in-law, and himself ate and
drank heartily, unfolding his very table-napkin with a kind of relish.
In lunching, he inquired the object of Mahony's journey to town. At the
mention of Henry Ocock's name he raised his eyebrows and pursed his
lips.
"Ah, indeed! Then it is hardly necessary to ask the upshot."
He pooh-poohed Mahony's intention of staying till the defaulting witness
was found; disapproved, too, the offer of a reward. "To be paid out of
YOUR pocket, of course! No, my dear Mahony, set your mind at rest and
return to your wife. Lads of that sort never come to grief--more's the
pity! By the bye, how IS Polly, and how does she like life on the
diggings?"
In this connection, Mahony tendered congratulations on the expected
addition to Turnham's family. John embarked readily enough on the theme
of his beautiful wife; but into his voice, as he talked, came a note of
impatience or annoyance, which formed an odd contrast to his wonted
self-possession. "Yes. . . her third, and for some reason which I cannot
fathom, it threatens to prove the most trying of any." And here he went
into medical detail on Mrs. Emma's state.
Mahony urged compliance with the whims of the mother-to-be, even should
they seem extravagant.
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