“Sure, he’s one eye short,” said he.
“That may be,” replied Mr Fanshawe, “but Mr Boxall is very rich, and, the fact of the matter is, I have determined to marry Miss Lestrange without asking any one’s opinion or permission. The fact of the matter is, I am going to run away with her, Patsy, and marry her in Dublin; the bother is how to get to the station without being caught.”
“What o’clock was you thinkin’ of runnin’ off wid her, sir?” asked Patsy, in the most matter-of-fact tone in the world.
“The night express from Carlow goes through Tullagh station at four o’clock in the morning. I have written to the manager of the railway to have it stopped on Friday morning. The question is how are we to get from here to the station—we can’t walk.”
“I was thinkin’, sir, I might get the ould trap from the inn at Castle Knock and meet yiz at the cross-roads; but sure, if wind of it got about, the whole county would be out to give yiz a send-off.”
“That wouldn’t do,” said Mr Fanshawe. “This isn’t a business one wants old slippers and rice mixed up with.”
“No, sir; and Mrs Lyburn, the lan’lady of the inn, is’nt to be thrusted; she’s a whisperin’ gallery for lettin’ out saycrets. I’m thinkin’ the best way is to harness Fly-by-night to the dogcart; the moon’s near the full, it’s a straight road to Tullagh, and the divil on a dhromedary wouldn’t catch the ould mare wanst she has the hard high-road undher her hoofs. The only thing, sir——”
“Yes?”
“The ould Gineral’s bedroom window is over the stable-yard.”
“Oh, it is, is it?”