orm to
the regiment as well as Mr. Desmond, and your duty clearly is to go
out and make yourself agreeable. I am surprised after what I have just
been saying that you should think of staying at home."

"Well, of course, if you want me to go I will go," Ralph said
reluctantly. "But I don't know the Regans, and don't want to."

"That is very ungracious, Conway. Mr. Regan is a retired pork merchant
of Cork. He has given up his business and bought an estate here, and
settled down as a country gentleman. They say his father was a
pig-driver in Waterford. That's why he has bought a place on this side
of the county. But people have been rather shy of them; because,
though he could buy three-fourths of them up, his money smells of
pork. Still, as the election is coming on, they have relaxed a bit.
He's got the militia band, and there will be lashings of everything;
and his girls are nice girls, whether their father sold pork or not.
And it would be nothing short of cruel if we, the representatives of
his majesty's army, did not put in an appearance; especially as we
have doubtless eaten many a barrel of his salt pork at sea. So put on
your number one coatee and let's be off."

With a sign Ralph rose to carry out his orders, and he would have been
still more reluctant to go had he observed the sly wink that passed
between his captain and lieutenant.

"He is quite refreshing, that boy," O'Connor said as the door closed
behind Ralph. "That adventure in the West Indies showed he has plenty
of pluck and presence of mind; but he is as shy as a girl. Though I
don't know why I should say that, for it's mighty few of them have any
shyness about them. He will grow out of it. I was just the same myself
when I was his age."

Lieutenant Desmond burst into a roar of laughter.

"I should have liked to have known you then, O'Connor."

O'Connor joined in the laugh.

"It's true though, Desmond. I was brought up by two maiden aunts in
the town of Dundalk, and they were always bothering me about my
manners; so that though I could hold my own in a slanging match down
by the riverside, I was as awkward as a young bear when in genteel
company. They used to have what they called tea-parties--and a fearful
infliction they were--and I was expected to hand round the tea and
cakes, and make myself useful. I think I might have managed well
enough if the old women would have let me alone; but they were always
expecting me to do something wrong, an