That was all.
A dead silence took the yelling crowd.
“He’s kilt!” came a voice.
“He isn’t; sure, his legs is wavin’.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the Mimber of Parlyment.”
“Off wid you, Bob Mahony—you’ve kilt the Mimber of Parlyment! Run for your life, and don’t lave off runnin’ till you’re out of the county.”
“Hold your tongue!” cried General Grampound. “Boxall—hullo! Boxall! are you hurt?”
“I’m all right,” replied Mr Boxall, who, from being legs upwards, was now on hands and knees in the ditch. “I’ve lost something—dash it!”
“What have you lost?”