CHAPTER XXX
“PUT THE DUNKEY TO”
It was perhaps through the mouth of Con Cogan that wind of the matter got about. However, that may have been, it is certain that by eight o’clock next morning the news was all over the country-side that Paddy Murphy had been caught and was a prisoner in Glen Druid House.
From cabin to cabin, from Castle Knock to Shepherd’s Cross, the news went, filling hearts with exultation and a sneaky sort of sorrow.
Paddy was feared and hated. Mark you, I do not put it hated and feared, for in the Irish mind there is a lot of difference between the two statements.
The hatred he had caused was not the leaden and colourless hatred which a landlord or a tyrant can inspire; it was born entirely of his lawless and desperate acts of ruffianism, and therefore had a romantic tinge.
He was hated because he was feared, and now that fear of him became remote, the hatred of him began to fade from the public mind.
Cattle-driving was going on merrily beyond Shepherd’s Cross, and all the police were clumped in that district as busy as bees; the one constable at Tullagh was down with the influenza. These facts were remembered and quoted with a certain glee.
“So Paddy is nailed at last!” cried Mr Mullins, the cobbler, to Mr Mahony across the road.
“So I b’lave,” said Mr Mahony.