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"
"Misther Lindsay, or rather Misther Charles, and you will have a fine
time of it, sir. There's delightful fishin' here, and the best of
shootin' and huntin' in harvest and winter--that is, if you stop so
long."
"What kind of a man is Mr. Lindsay?"
"A fine, clever (*Portly, large, comely) man, sir; six feet in his
stockin' soles, and made in proportion."
"But I want to know nothing about his figure; is the man reputed good or
bad?"
"Why, just good or bad, sir, according as he's treated."
"Is he well liked, then? I trust you understand me now."
"By his friends, sir, no man betther--by them that's his enemies, not so
well."
"You mentioned a son of his, Charles, I think; what kind of a young
fellow is he?"
"Very like his father, sir."
"I see; well, I thank you, my friend, for the liberality of your
information. Has he any daughters?"
"Two, sir; but very unlike their mother."
"Why, what kind of a woman is their mother?"
"She's a saint, sir, of a sartin class--ever and always at her prayers,"
(_sotto voce_, "such as they are--cursing her fellow-cratures from
mornin' till night.


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