“It would fail me to do that,” said Peter, “for she’s out, Miss Priscilla and the young gentleman with the sore leg has her.”
“Sir Lucius was partly in doubt,” said the sergeant, “but it might be the way you say, for I told him myself that the boat was gone. But his lordship wouldn’t be put off, and you’re to hire another boat.”
“What boat?”
“It was Joseph Antony Kinsella’s he mentioned,” said the sergeant, “when I told him it was likely he’d be in with another load of gravel. But sure one boat’s as good as another so long as it is a boat. His lordship wouldn’t be turned aside from going.”
“Them ones,” said Peter Walsh, “must have their own way whatever happens. It’s pleasure sailing they’re for, I’m thinking, among the islands?”
“It might be,” said the sergeant “I didn’t ask.”
“You could guess though.”
“And if I could, do you think I’d tell you? It’s too fond of asking questions you are, Peter Walsh, about what doesn’t concern you.”
The sergeant turned his back and walked away. Peter Walsh watched him enter the barrack. Then he himself went back to Sweeny’s shop.
“They’re wanting a boat,” he said. “Joseph Antony Kinsella’s or another.”