I had never seen any scutching mill. I have only a vague idea of what a scutching mill is.
“It’ll not be more than twenty miles from this,” said Cahoon. “And in my car we’ll do it and be back for dinner.”
I did not particularly want to spend the rest of the afternoon rushing about the country in Cahoon’s motor car. I preferred to stay quietly on the Castle Affey lawn and talk about Home Rule.
“But about the working-man,” I said, “and the prospect of his fighting—”
“You’ll be better able to talk about that,” said Cahoon, “when you’ve seen the man I’m going to take you to. Seeing’s believing.”
I was, of course, quite willing to go with Cahoon if he would really show me a citizen soldier in a scutching mill. We got out the motor car and started.
“He’s a man by the name of McConkey,” said Cahoon.
“A good name,” I said. “One expects something from a McConkey.”
Cahoon did not say anything for about ten minutes. Then he went on—