“Fight—fight a duel!” exclaimed Merl, aloud.
“Whisht! whisht! speak lower,” said Brierley; “there's maybe a chap listening at the door this minute!”
Accepting the intimation in a very different spirit from that in which it was offered, Merl rushed to the door, and threw it wide open. “Waiter!—landlord!—house!—waiter!” screamed he, at the top of his voice. And in an instant three or four slovenly-looking fellows, with dirty napkins in dirtier hands, surrounded him.
“What is it, your honer?—what is it?” asked they, in a breath.
“Don't you hear what the gentleman's asking for?” said Brierley, with a half-serious face. “He wants a chaise-to the door as quick as lightning. He 's off this minute.”
“Yes, by Jupiter! that I am,” said Merl, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.
“Take your last look at the West, dear, as you pass the Shannon, for I don't think you 'll ever come so far again,” said Brierley, with a grin, as he moved by him to descend the stairs.
“If I do, may—” But the slam of his room-door, and the rattle of the key as he locked it, cut short Mr. Merl's denunciation.
In less than half an hour afterwards a yellow post-chaise left the “Martin Arms” at full speed, a wild yell of insult and derision greeting it as it swept by, showing how the Oughterard public appreciated its inmate!