66 OINEY O'SHBA. 



welcome or not. As my uncle had no children and the 

 help were, at all events during the summer months (I 

 was never there at any other time) compelled to eat in 

 the woodshed and sleep in the barn, I found their com- 

 pany more enjoyable than that of my aunt. Uncle 

 John was a dear, good old soul, but his wife well, the 

 least said the better, as she is now dust, something she 

 could not tolerate while living. 



"And do you know who I am ?" was the next ques- 

 tion fired at me. 



This put me at my ease, as here was a chance to air 

 my local knowledge, and I told him that he was Oiney 

 O'Shea, the race horse man. You should have heard 

 him chuckle when I said it, and slapping me on the 

 back, he raised me to the seventh heaven of delight by 

 saying that I was a cute lad and that he had no doubt 

 I would one day be nothing short of a Member of Par- 

 liament, which I afterwards learned was, in his eyes, 

 the limit of human greatness. 



"And your name," said Oiney, "is Charles, is it?" 



"No I did not say that," I replied. "My name is 

 Lawrence." 



"Ah, but that is music in my ears," replied Oiney, as 

 he slipped one of his hands into his pocket and with a 

 polite bow, wanted to know if it would- be "Larry for 

 short." 



This was something that I had never heard of, but 

 supposed it would, as a great race horse man like 

 Oiney O'Shea, with his jaunty air and cunning look, 

 must know everything, or at least I thought so. 



As I did not venture to reply or feel able to make a 

 remark of any kind, Oiney attracted my attention by 

 pulling a piece of silver about the size of a quarter 



