He answered immediately,
"Jonathan Pym." "If you think him so good you might say Mr. Pym." "When
a man is the best in any way he's too big for Mr.," said the man
readily.
"I dare say," I remarked, "that this Jonathan Pym is very
little better than the rest." "But I say he is," retorted the man
fiercely. "Where inside of the four seas of Ireland will you get his
aiquil? He bought the land, coming among us a stranger, and he did not
raise the rents. The people live under the rents their fathers paid."
"Well, that's not much?" "If you were a tenant you would think
differently. He took off the thatch of the cabins and put on slates at
his own expense: There is not a broken roof on the land that he owns.
Every tenant he has owns a decent house, with byre and barn, shed and
stable, and he done it all out of the money he had, that never was
lifted out of the land, and after all left them in at the ould rents.
There has never been wan eviction on his place yet." "Has he been shot
at yet?" I enquired innocently. "Arrah, what would he be shot for?"
demanded the man, turning his swarthy face and black eyes full on me. "I
thought maybe some one might shoot him for fun," I explained, feebly.
"Fun!" growled the car-man, "quare fun!
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