“He 'd have no chance in the borough without us,” said Repton, confidently.
“If old Dan would consent to spend the money, he'd be the member in spite of us,” rejoined Scanlan.
“I'll not dispute local knowledge with you, sir,” said Repton, peevishly. “Let us turn back at once. Where's Mr. Massingbred? I saw him standing on the hill yonder a few minutes ago; maybe, he 's strolling along the road in front.” Repton moved forward to a rising spot of ground, from whence a wide view extended for a distance on every side, but no trace of Massingbred could be discovered. “What can have become of him?—has he turned towards Cro' Martin?” asked Repton.
“There he is,” cried Scanlan, suddenly; “there he is, walking with Magennis. They're taking the short cut over the hills to Oughterard—that's unfortunate, too!”
“How so?”
“Why, before they're in the town they'll be as thick as two pickpockets—see how they 're talking! I think, if I was to drive on, I'd catch them before they entered the town.”
“Do so, then, Scanlan. Say that a sudden message from Mr. Martin recalled me, but that you'll drive him back with you to Cro' Martin.”
“Am I to allude to the contents of the note, sir?”
“I think not; I opine it's best not to speak of it. Say, however, that something of importance has occurred at Cro' Martin, and suggest to him that the sooner he returns thither the better.”
There was an amount of vacillation and uncertainty about Repton's manner as he uttered these few words that showed not only how gravely he regarded the crisis, but how totally unprepared he found himself for the emergency. Not so Scanlan, who took his seat once more on his lofty “buggy,” and was soon spinning along the road at a pace of full twelve miles the hour.