He left the library and went to his room, where Patsy had just brought his hot water.
“Everything is going on all right, Patsy, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir; everything is fixed now, and Larry will have the yard strawed be wan.”
“Right!” said Mr Fanshawe.
“Have you heard of Paddy Murphy, sir?” asked Patsy, as he was leaving the room.
“No—what about him?”
“He rode into Castle Knock yesterday, on Con Cogan——”
“On what?”
“Faith, on me uncle,” said Patsy, “for Con’s me uncle, and a bad, black baste of a man he is. Con gave Paddy away, and Paddy cocht him an’ saddled and bridled him, so they say, and now he’s ridin’ him over the country-side, clane cracked wid the whisky. He rode up to the inn at Castle Knock yesterday, afther they’d chased him, wid Billy Croom’s coat on his back and spurs on and all, and he mounted on Con like a dunkey, and Con brayin’; and he pulled out a handful of gowld and stood trate to every man he met; and they say you could hear the hullaballoo at Castle Grange—the people shoutin’ and cheerin’ Paddy, and he mounted on Con, and ridin’ him up and down the street. Thin he bought two bottles of whisky, and off he wint at a canter; and they say he’s highwaying people and cuttin’ up the divil’s own shine on the roads.”
“Good Lord!” said Mr Fanshawe, “are there no police at all in this country?”