“Very true, your honour! Well, at any rate, when your honour gets to Swansea, you will not be able to say that Pat Flannagan walked for miles with your honour along the road, without offering your honour a glass of whiskey.”
“Nor shall Pat Flannagan be able to say the same thing of my honour. I have a shilling in my pocket at Pat Flannagan’s service, if he chooses to splice with it the mainbrace for himself and for me.”
“Thank your honour; but I have a shilling in my own pocket, and a dollar too, and a five-pound note besides; so I needn’t be beholden for drink money to anybody under the sun.”
“Well then, farewell! Here’s my hand!—Slan leat a Phatraic ui Flannagan!”
“Slan leat a dhuine-uasail!” said Patrick, giving me his hand; “and health, hope, and happiness to ye.”
Thereupon he turned aside to ---, and I continued my way to Swansea. Arrived at a place called Glandwr, about two miles from Swansea, I found that I was splashed from top to toe, for the roads were frightfully miry, and was sorry to perceive that my boots had given way at the soles, large pieces of which were sticking out. I must, however, do the poor things the justice to say, that it was no wonder that they were in this dilapidated condition, for in those boots I had walked at least two hundred miles, over all kinds of paths, since I had got them soled at Llangollen. “Well,” said I to myself, “it won’t do to show myself at Swansea in this condition, more especially as I shall go to the best hotel; I must try and get myself made a little decent here.” Seeing a little inn, on my right, I entered it, and addressing myself to a neat comfortable landlady, who was standing within the bar, I said:—
“Please to let me have a glass of ale!—and hearkee; as I have been walking along the road, I should be glad of the services of the ‘boots.’”
“Very good, sir,” said the landlady with a curtsey.
Then showing me into a nice little sanded parlour, she brought me the glass of ale, and presently sent in a lad with a boot-jack to minister to me. Oh, what can’t a little money effect? For sixpence in that small nice inn, I had a glass of ale, my boots cleaned, and the excrescences cut off, my clothes wiped with a dwile, and then passed over with a brush, and was myself thanked over and over again. Starting again with all the spirited confidence of one who has just cast off his slough, I soon found myself in the suburbs of Swansea. As I passed under what appeared to be a railroad bridge I inquired in Welsh of an ancient-looking man, in coaly habiliments, if it was one. He answered in the same language that it was, then instantly added in English:—
“You have taken your last farewell of Wales, sir; it’s no use speaking Welsh farther on.”