With the cap on his head and the hunting-coat on his back, Mr Murphy made a figure sufficiently bizarre. There remained the whip, which he picked up, and the spurs, which he let lie.
“Here’s the powther and the balls,” said Con Cogan, lowering himself down from the tree. “Glory be to God, Paddy, what are yiz dressin’ yourself out in thim things for?”
“I’m goin’ huntin’,” said Mr Murphy, putting the powder and balls in the tail pocket of his coat. “Put me old coat into the tree and come back to me.”
Con did as he was bid.
“Now,” said Mr Murphy, pointing to the spurs, “kneel down wid you and put thim spurs on me boots.”
Con knelt down and proceeded to do as he was directed.
“What for are you puttin’ spurs on when you haven’t a horse?” asked Con, as he buckled the straps of the spurs.
“I haven’t a horse, but I have a dunkey.”
“Where is he?”
“I’ll show you him in a minit.”