“He’ll pay you to-night, if he doesn’t drink the money first, for there’s a Mimber of Parlymint goin’ to the meet, and he’ll most like put a suverin in the poor box.”
Mr Mullins made no reply, but went on whaling away at his shoe, and Bob Mahony, having stepped into his cottage for a light for his pipe, came back and took up his post again at the door.
The crowd round the inn was growing bigger and bigger. Sneer as he might, Mr Mahony could not but perceive that Shan was having the centre of the stage, a worshipping audience, and free drinks.
Suddenly he turned to his offspring, who were crowding behind him, and singling out Billy, the eldest:
“Put the dunkey to,” said Mr Mahony.
“Sure, daddy,” cried the boy in astonishment, “it’s only the tarriers.”
“Put the dunkey to!” thundered his father, “or it’s the end of me belt I’ll be brightenin’ your intellects with.”
“There’s two bags of sut in the cart and the brushes,” said Billy, as he made off to do as he was bidden.
“Lave them in,” said Mr Mahony; “it’s only the tarriers.”
In a few minutes the donkey, whose harness was primitive and composed mainly of rope, was put to, and the vehicle was at the door.