An old gentleman, with a periwig tied with red ribbon, put his head out through the window.
“Damn you, who are you? Why do you hesitate?” yelled the angry crowd.
The gentleman made an effort to speak.
“Oh, he stutters; give him time, boys.”
“Come now, old stutterin’ Bob, who are you?”
“I—I’m Lord In—Inchiquin, b-b-boys! O’B—Brien’s my n-name!”
“A cheer for him, boys, he’s all right. Pass in, your lordship, an’ good luck to ye.”
And as Lord Inchiquin passed in we endeavoured to follow in his wake.
But another shout arose and the crowd was swaying like a tumultuous sea.