"There's Jersey," observed Daisy doubtfully. "I don't know where it is, but I daresay it's quiet enough."
"Jersey be hanged!" exclaimed his energetic friend. "Why not Guernsey, Alderney, or what do you say to Sark? No, we must hit on a happier thought than that. You crossed last night, you say. Does any one know you're in town?"
"Only the waiter at Limmer's. I had breakfast there, and left my portmanteau, you know."
"Limmer's! I wish you hadn't gone to Limmer's! Never mind; the waiter is easily squared. Now, look here, Daisy, you're not supposed to be in London. Is there no retired spot you could dodge back to in Ireland, where you can get your health, and live cheap? Who's to know you ever left it?"
His friend Denis occurred to Daisy at once.
"There's a farm up in Roscommon," said he, "where they'd take me in and welcome. The air's good, and living must be cheap, for you can't get anything to eat but potatoes! I shouldn't wonder if they hunted all the year round in those hills, and the farmer is a capital fellow, never without a two-year-old that can jump!"
"That sounds like it," responded the other, with certain inward longings of his own for this favoured spot. "Now, Daisy, will you ride to orders, and promise to be guided entirely by me?"
"All right," said Daisy; "fire away."
"Barney!" shouted his friend, in a voice that resounded over the barracks, startling even the sergeant of the guard. "Barney! look sharp. Tell them to put a saddle on Catamount, and turn him round ready to go out; then come here."
In two minutes a shock-headed batman, obviously Irish, entered the apartment and stood at "attention," motionless, but for the twinkling of his light blue eyes.