I tell you, Thady, if I had fifty sons I wouldn't make one o'
them celebrated."
"Wait till you have one first, sir, and you may make him as great a
numskull as you plase, Master."
"But in the meantime, Thady, I'll have no dictation from you, as to
whether I have one or fifty; or as to whether he'll be an ass or a
Newton. I say that a dearth of larnin' is like a year of famine in
Ireland. When the people are hard pushed, they bleed the fattest
bullocks, an' live on their blood; an' so it is wid us Academicians.
It's always he that has the most larned blood in his veins, and the
greatest quantity of it that such hungry leeches fasten on."
"Thrue for you, sir," said the youth with a smile; "but they say the
bullocks always fatten the betther for it. I hope you'll bleed well now,
sir."
"Thady, I don't like, the curl of your nose; an', moreover, I have
always found you prone to sedition. You remember your conduct at the
'Barring out.' I tell you it's well that your worthy father is a dacent
wealthy man, or I'd be apt to give you a _memoria technica_ on the
_subtratum_, Thady."
"God be praised for my father's wealth, sir! But I'd never wish to have
a good memory in the way you mention."
"Faith, an' I'll be apt to add that to your other qualities, if you
don't take care of yourself."
"I want no such addition, Masther; if you do, you'll be apt to subtract
yourself from this neighborhood, an', maybe, ther'e won't be more than a
cipher gone out of it, afther all.
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