and help me to pass one too; for not a step out
o' that chair shall you take till morning. Do ye think I am going to be
left here by myself all alone?"

"I must observe--" said Mr. Meekins.

"To be sure, to be sure," said Mickey; "I see what you mean. You're not the
best of company, it's true; but at a pinch like this--There now, take, your
liquor."

"Once for all, sir," said the editor, "I would beg you to recollect that,
on the faith of your message to me, I have announced an account of the
storming of Ciudad Rodrigo for our morning edition. Are you prepared, may I
ask, for the consequences of my disappointing ten thousand readers?"

"It's little I care for one of them. I never knew much of reading myself."

"If you think to make a jest of me--" interposed Mr. Meekins, reddening
with passion.

"A jest of you! Troth, it's little fun I can get out of you; you're as
tiresome a creature as ever I spent an evening with. See now, I told you
before not to provoke me; we'll have a little more drink; ring the bell.
Who knows but you'll turn out better by-and-by?"

As Mike rose at these words to summon the waiter, Mr. Meekins seized the
opportunity to make his escape. Scarcely had he reached the door, however,
when he was perceived by Mickey, who hurled the trumpet at him with all his
force, while he uttered a shout that nearly left the poor editor lifeless
with terror. This time, happily, Mr. Free's aim failed him, and before he
could arrest the progress of his victim, he had gained the corridor,
and with one bound, cleared the first flight of the staircase, his pace
increasing every moment as Mike's denunciations grew louder and louder,
till at last, as he reached the street, Mr. Free's delight overcame his
indignation, and he threw himself upon a chair and laughed immoderately.

"Oh, may I never! if I didn't frighten the editor. The little spalpeen
couldn't eat his oysters and take his punch like a man. But sure if he
didn't, there's more left for his betters." So saying, he filled himself
a goblet and drank it off. "Mr. Free, we won't say much for your
inclinations, for maybe they are not the best; but here's bad luck to the
fellow that doesn't think you good company; and here," added he, again
filling his glass,--"and here's may the devil take editors and authors and
compositors, that won't let us alone, but must be taking our lives and our
songs and our little devilments, that belongs to one's own family, and tell