The three letters he had just written would make everything all right at the other end. This was the hot end of the poker, and it had to be grasped.
Patsy was the person who would help him to grasp it. Patsy he felt to be a tower of strength and ‘cuteness’, if such a simile is permissible. And, rising from the writing-table and putting the letters in his pocket, he went to find Patsy. He had not far to go, for as he came into the big hall Patsy was crossing it with a tray in hand.
“Patsy,” said Mr Fanshawe, “when does the post go out?”
“If you stick your letters in the letter-box be the hall door, sir,” said Patsy, “it will be cleared in half an hour. Jim Murphy takes the letter-bag to Castle Knock.”
“Right!” said Mr Fanshawe. “And, see here, I want to have a shot at the rabbits before dark. I’m going to stroll down to the woods. Rake out a bag to put the cartridges in, and stick on a cap; I want you to follow me.”
“Right, sir,” said Patsy; then, glancing round to see that no one was listening; “I’ve got the pulley, and the screws for it, Mr Fanshawe, and the ould rope from the flagstaff, and all ready for fixing.”
“Good!” said Mr Fanshawe. “And, see here, we’ll want help; do you know any one who could be trusted?”
“Larry, the stable-man, is the chap you want, sir; he’s as strong as an ox, and for half a crown he’d be as dumb as a coffin board.”
“Very well, you can arrange with him. Now cut off and get the bag.”
He went to his room and took a Boss double-barrelled choke bore from its case, fitted it together, put it under his arm, put on a cap, and joined Patsy, who was waiting in the hall with the cartridges and the bag.