"Arrah, will ye spake English!" cried his rider indignantly; "shure, lonely has no meaning at all—nor no sinse."
"I just mane what I say—he has a lonely look," and with a perceptible pause, and a wink to the audience, he added, "for the want of a plough behind him!"
At this joke there was a roar of laughter from all, save Tom, the horse-trainer, who glared at Larry in a ferocious manner that was really fearful to witness, but Larry, nothing daunted, turned to the porter with an off-hand air, and said,—
"Anything for me, Pat?"
"Nothing at all—barrin' the mails—and this young lady! I'm after telling her, you'll lave her at the gate. She's going to the Castle, only"—approaching nearer, and whispering behind his hand, with a significant glance at Finnigan's mare.
"Oh, the sorra a fear!" rejoined Larry, loudly, and then addressing Helen, he said,—
"Up ye git, miss, and I'll rowl ye there as safe as if ye were in a sate in church."
It was all very well to say "Up ye git," but, in the first place, there was no step to the car, and in the second, it is by no means an easy feat, to climb on any vehicle when in motion, and Larry's rampant investment kept giving sudden bounds and playful little prancings, that showed her impatience to be once more on the road. However, by dint of being held forcibly down by the united strength of two men, she consented to give the lady passenger an opportunity of scrambling up on the jarvey, and Larry, having produced a horse-sheet (with a strong bouquet of the stable), wrapped it carefully about her knees—then mounting on the other side of the vehicle himself, he laid hold of the reins, and with a screech to his friends to "give her her head,"—they were off, as if starting for a flat race—accompanied by a shout of "Mind yourself, miss," from the friendly porter, and "Safe home, Larry," from the little knot of spectators, who were gathered round the station door.
At first, all the "So-hoing" and "Easy now, my girl," might just as well have been addressed to the hard flint road, along which they were rattling. The "girl" kept up what is known as "a strong canter" for the best part of a mile, and Helen's whole energies were devoted to clinging on with both hands, as the light post-car swung from side to side with alarming velocity.
"You need not be the laste taste unaisy, she's only a bit fresh in herself," said Larry, soothingly, "and after a while when she settles down, you'll be delighted with the way she takes hould of the road."