IN WHICH MR.

IRONS RECOUNTS SOME OLD RECOLLECTIONS ABOUT THE PIED HORSE AND THE FLOWER DE LUCE.
It was so well known in Chapelizod that Sturk was poking after Lord Castlemallard's agency that Nutter felt the scene going on before his eyes between him and Dangerfield like a public affront.

His ire was that of a phlegmatic man, dangerous when stirred, and there was no mistaking, in his rigid, swarthy countenance, the state of his temper.
Dangerfield took an opportunity, and touched Nutter on the shoulder, and told him frankly, in effect, though _he_ wished things to go on as heretofore, Sturk had wormed himself into a sort of confidence with Lord Castlemallard.
'Not confidence, Sir--_talk_, if you please,' said Nutter grimly.
'Well, into talk,' acquiesced Dangerfield; 'and by Jove, I've a hard card to play, you see.

His lordship will have me listen to Doctor Sturk's talk, such as it is.' 'He has no talk in him, Sir, you mayn't get from any other impudent dunderhead in the town,' answered Nutter.
'My dear Sir, understand me.

I'm your friend,' and he placed his hand amicably upon Nutter's arm; 'but Lord Castlemallard has, now and then, a will of his own, I need not tell you; and somebody's been doing you an ill turn with his lordship; and you're a gentleman, Mr.Nutter, and I like you, and I'll be frank with you, knowing 'twill go no further.
Sturk wants the agency.