The populace danced.
“On you go before me,” said Croom, releasing the collar. “Play me crucked, and I’ll brain yiz with the butt-end of me whip.”
“I’ll go quiet,” replied the other. “But, sure, it’s the fear of Paddy Murphy that’s before me.”
“Faith, it’s the fear of Billy Croom that’s behind yiz. On you go. Which way, now?”
“To the lift.”
Con led fair and straight, and in ten minutes they had reached the little path that led to the Druids’ Altar.
“To the lift again,” said Con. “There’s the ould tree—musha, but who’s them!”
“Sit quiet,” said Mr Fanshawe to Violet; “we may be able to bluff them without telling lies.”
Con, seeing Mr Fanshawe and knowing the strength of Croom, began to lose fear of Paddy Murphy, and did not bolt away as he might otherwise have done, but waited—for his own undoing—to see the sport.
Croom touched his hat to Mr Fanshawe’s scarlet coat.