“Lit up,” came Larry’s voice. “Lave me be, or I’ll kick the stuffin’ out of you when I get on me pins. Whoa-up—what’s the matter? Gineral—why, it’s you. I wasn’t dhrunk, I’s only aslape—what do you say—Misther Fanshawe? Why, he’s dew be this to be off to Tullagh to kitch the train.”
“Up you get,” came the General’s voice, “on to your legs—up on the box with you—there you are, take the reins, drive for all you’re worth, and mark you, if you stop before we overtake them, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. You can find the road to Tullagh, can you, you half-drunken beast?”
“Arrah, get in wid you,” came Larry’s voice from the box—“in wid you, and I’ll drive you to the divil (hic)—in you get. Tullagh is it?—Right y’are.”
The General bounced in and shut the door, and the old coach started with a jerk and took the corner of the stable-yard, just shaving overset and destruction.
Mr Boxall, running to the corner, saw the vehicle in the moonlight making full speed down the avenue; he saw the General’s head suddenly protruded through the right window, and heard his voice, borne on the night breeze, shouting, “Stop! hi, stop! the d—d thing is full of children!” and Larry’s voice, “Aisy—sit aisy, we’ll be afther overtaking thim in a minit.”
Who he would be “afther overtaking” must have been a very dark question in Mr Lyburn’s mind, obsessed as it was with whisky and the two ideas—Tullagh and speed.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE OFF HUB
As the dogcart left the park gates, a remark that the coachman had made to Larry Lyburn that morning recurred to Patsy’s mind.
Larry had drawn the cart out of the coach-house for inspection. Dan, the coachman, had been passing, and Dan, who had the eye of an eagle for faults, had made a remark on the hub of the off wheel.
“There’s a crack in the hub of the off wheel you could put your nose into,” said Dan.