“Feel your legs to see if they’re bruck,” commanded the driver.
“Legs is all right,” replied Mr Mahony, feeling them contemplatively; “back’s all right, and arums. I’ll be on me pins again in a minit when the wheels has done spinnin’ in me head.”
“Right y’are,” replied the other. “I’ll be after getting the dunkey on her feet.”
General Grampound, furious with anger at being stopped, had been aiming himself like a gun now at Mr Mahony, now at the driver, now at the donkey lying on its side on the road, but he had withheld his fire. Patsy’s red head (he had lost his cap) as the “tub” made its appearance in the gateway, served as a target, however, and he let fly.
“Hi, you, boy,” cried General Grampound, “you, boy, with the red head—how dare you disgrace your livery, sir, racing sweeps in donkey-carts and blocking my road!”
One might have fancied that the road, the stone walls, the earth and the sky were the property of General Grampound. As a matter of fact, he had less to do with the matter than Uncle Molyneux; but Uncle Molyneux was a placid, and easygoing person, who if the sky had fallen would not have been much put out, as long as the pieces did not hit him, and he was quite content to sit still, observe matters through his eye-glass, and let General Grampound do the shouting.
“Why, it’s Uncle Molyneux!” cried Lord Gawdor, as Patsy engineered the “tub” through the gate, avoiding the donkey and cart, which were now on their respective legs and wheels.
Uncle Molyneux nodded; but before he could speak, Miss Lestrange, who had got out of the waggonette, approached the “tub.”
“How you have grown, Doris! and you too, Bob. Don’t you remember me? What a jolly little cart; have you room for me? I think I will drive the rest of the way with you. It’s not far from here, is it?”
“Only a mile or two,” replied Doris. “Yes; do get in, there’s lots of room; isn’t there, Patsy?”