“Shure, yer honour,” says he, “an’ so I will.”
“Sergeant-major,” says I, “tell my groom to put a saddle and bridle on this Rosinante” (at the mention of which name the sergeant-major looked perplexed) “and get one of the other horses ready for me.”
In a few minutes Mick and I were riding down the old street, making for a bit of open country. We soon came to a high road, bounded on each side by fairly stiff, stone walls. Having come to a gate on one side I pulled up.
“Now,” says I, “Mick, are you game to go into that field and take the double across the road?”
“Shure, I am,” says he; “but ’tis a long day, yer honour, since I had a jump. Would you lend me your whip? The old horse’ll want it, it may be.”
I gave him the whip, jumped off my nag, opened the gate, and away went Mick into the field. It was a sight to do one good. There was Mick, what he called his hat stuck on the back of his head, and what was left of his coat-tails flying in the air behind him, heading for the first stone wall, and, before you could say “knife,” he was over it like a bird, across the road, over the wall the other side, with a “whoop-la” that you could have heard in the cathedral in Limerick.
Just as well to mention that Rosinante’s age was what is known amongst horse-copers as “uncertain,” that is, anywhere between nine years old and twenty-four.
After that (it was not long before we were again at the Castle) I asked Mick Molloy how much he wanted for the horse. He said, “Shure, I’ll just take what I gave for it. He’s no good to me.”
I asked him how much that was, and he said, “Five pounds.”
I was so surprised, that he became quite apologetic, thinking he was asking too much, and quickly began to sing the praises of his mount. I at once disabused him of the idea by telling him that I couldn’t give him less than £7 10s., which might help him a little towards his getting an animal that would pull his car up the hill. The horse became mine, and the late owner left the barracks wishing me all the blessings that our good God and Ould Oireland could bestow on my humble head. The end of Mick Molloy came later on.