'Upon my life, if this Connaught rapparee is permitted to carry on his
business of indiscriminate cut-throat here, he'll make the service very
pleasant,' resumed Cluffe, who, though a brisk young fellow of
eight-and-forty, had no special fancy for being shot. 'I say the general
ought to take the matter into his own hands.'
'Not till I'm done with it,' growled Nutter.
'And send the young gentleman home to Connaught,' pursued Cluffe.
'I'll send him first to the other place,' said Nutter, in allusion to
the Lord Protector's well-known alternative.
In the open street, under the sly old moon, red little Dr. Toole, in his
great wig, and Gipsy Devereux, in quest of a squire for the good knight
who stood panting for battle in the front parlour of the 'Phoenix,'
saw a red glimmer in Loftus's dormant window.
'He's alive and stirring still,' said Devereux, approaching the hall
door with a military nonchalance.
'Whisht!' said Toole, plucking him back by the sash: 'we must not make a
noise--the house is asleep. I'll manage it--leave it to me.'
And he took up a handful of gravel, but not having got the range, he
shied it all against old Tom Drought's bed-room window.
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