I touched my cap in salute, and immediately turned my horse’s head to comply with his request.
‘Did you see that, George?’ cried another gentleman, who sat on the opposite side of the vehicle; ‘did you remark that fellow’s salute? My life on’t he’s a French soldier.’
‘Nonsense, man; he’s the steward of a Clyde smack, or a clerk in a counting-house,’ said the first, in a voice which, though purposely low, my quick hearing could catch perfectly.
‘Are we far from Letterkenny just now, sir?’ said the other, addressing me.
‘I believe about five miles,’ said I, with a prodigious effort to make my pronunciation pass muster.
‘You’re a stranger in these parts, I see, sir,’ rejoined he, with a cunning glance at his friend, while he added, lower, ‘Was I right, Hill?’
Although seeing that all concealment was now hopeless, I was in nowise disposed to plead guilty at once, and therefore, with a cut of my switch, pushed my beast into a sharp canter to get forward.
My friends, however, gave chase, and now the jaunting-car, notwithstanding the sufferings of the invalid, was clattering after me at about nine miles an hour. At first I rather enjoyed the malice of the penalty their curiosity was costing, but as I remembered that the invalid was not the chief offender, I began to feel compunction at the severity of the lesson, and drew up to a walk.
They at once shortened their pace, and came up beside me.
‘A clever hack you’re riding, sir,’ said the inquisitive man.