In the meantime Sir Percival had been poking about on the table which was still littered with the manuscripts thrown upon it during Moore's interview with Lord Brooking.
"To Bessie!" murmured the baronet in an amused tone. "Our rhymer wastes a vast number of sheets in that young lady's name,--'The Meeting of the Waters,' 'She is Far from the Land,' 'Oft in the Stilly Night,' 'Love's Young Dream.' Will these ever see print, I wonder?"
"On that I 'll stake my life, Sir Percival," responded Farrell. "Though I dislike Tom Moore with all my heart, I know he is a genius in his line. If he will only keep his courage in the face of disappointment there is no man who will achieve more success in the writing of verses, I feel certain."
"Dear me," said Sir Percival, taking snuff, "if such is really the truth, I 'll have to interest myself in his affairs again. Hullo, what is this?"
As he spoke, the baronet drew from the heap of manuscripts the verses satirizing the Prince of Wales written and left in Moore's keeping by Mr. Dyke, which the poet had accidentally taken from the drawer when he flung his armful of rejected poems on the table before Lord Brooking.
Sir Percival scanned the verses, his dubious expression changing to one of great delight as he read on, until as he finished he laughed aloud.
"Egad, Terence, I 've happened on a treasure. A satire on the Prince. Gad, he cooks Wales to a cinder. Listen, Terence.
"It is of scraps and fragments built, Borrowed alike from Fools and Wits,-- His mind is like a patchwork quilt Made up of motley, cast-off bits. Poor Prince! And how else could it be, His notions all at random caught, His mind a mental fricassee Made up of odds and ends of thought.'
"And so on for several more verses. The Regent has n't had such a toasting in many a day. I swear I 'll have this published immediately."
"'T will ruin Moore," replied the baronet, regarding the other in surprise.
Farrell surveyed the attic with a contemptuous stare before answering.
"Surely, Sir Percival, this shabby hole is not indicative of either success or affluence," said he slowly. "One does not dig into the earth to crush a worm under foot."
"You speak in riddles, Terence," observed Sir Percival, pleasantly puzzled.