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"Well, being a pious man and a reformer, I should think you'd at least have to pray over it." The Hon. Perfidius Ruse gave a keen, quick glance at the Hon. Doyle O'Meagher, and slightly frowned. "I should certainly consider it with care," he said stiffly. "So should I." "Is that all you will say?"
To Edward O'Meagher Condon belongs the credit of having organised, managed, and carried out the Manchester Rescue, at the cost to himself, as it turned out, of years of penal servitude, and almost of his life.
Perfidius Ruse, the Mayor of the city, whose term of office was about to expire, and as to whose renomination there was going on a heated controversy. Mr. Ruse was a reformer. It was as a reformer that he had been elected two years before. At that time Mr. O'Meagher found himself menaced by a strange peril.
What a glorious, what a golden opportunity!" "My eyes are as wide open as the next man's for golden opportunities, Mr. Ruse," replied Mr. O'Meagher. "But the question is, who will be nominated." "Well, 'hem! of course I can't definitely say. I'm trying to get them to take some new man. But if they should insist on nominating me, I'm afraid I'd have to h'm, what what do you think I'd have to do?"
And yet, as Mr. Wimples, though on the threshold of great dignity and power, walks into Mr. O'Meagher's presence, he find himself all of a tremble, and glows and chills chase each other up and down his spinal column. "Ah, Mr. O'Meagher," he says, "good-morning! Good-morning! Happy to see you so er well. Charming day, so warm for the er season." "Yes," says Mr. O'Meagher, "so it be."
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