“I wouldn’t doubt you, miss; but it could be——”
“No, it couldn’t,” said Miss Blow. “At all events, it won’t. Kindly go and get the car at once.”
Constable Cole returned to the kitchen grinning broadly.
“It’s yourself that’s in luck this day, Moriarty,” he said. “It’s not every man that gets the chance of driving round the country on a car with the like of that one. Be careful now what you’re saying to her, or you’ll have the doctor out after you with a stick if he has to come all the way back from America for the purpose.”
“What do you mean?” said Moriarty.
“She said she’d go with you to Ballymoy, as soon as ever she heard it was you that was going. But if I hear tell of any impropriety of conduct, I’ll send word to the red-haired girl that you used to be walking out with on Sundays when you were up in the depôt learning your drill. I heard of you.”
Moriarty was young, very young. He blushed hotly.
“I’d be ashamed of my life to be seen with her,” he said. “I’d never hear the last of it.”
“Off with you at once and get the car,” said the sergeant. “In the name of God, if the girl’s willing to go out of this, will you take her along with you before she changes her mind? Haven’t we had enough of her this two days?”
In less than half an hour the car—Jimmy O’Loughlin’s car—was at the door of the barrack. Constable Moriarty, in full panoply, his grey cape rolled round his chest, his carbine between his knees, sat on one side. Miss Blow, looking very handsome, got up on the other. Sergeant Farrelly wrapped a rug round her knees and tucked the end of it under her feet. Then he presented her with a sixpenny box of chocolates. He had gone round to Jimmy O’Loughlin’s shop and bought this offering while the horse was being harnessed.