Tim Casey got to his feet indignantly. "I'm after resentin' that, Larry Dermott. Sure, an' the way we talk in Ireland is—"
Dameri Tass interrupted, pointing to a bedraggled horse that had made its way to within fifty feet of the vessel. "Now what could that be after bein'?"
The patrolmen followed his stare. "It's a horse. What else?"
"A horse?"
Larry Dermott looked again, just to make sure. "Yeah—not much of a horse, but a horse."
Dameri Tass sighed ecstatically. "And jist what is a horse, if I may be so bold as to be askin'?"
"It's an animal you ride on."
The alien tore his gaze from the animal to look his disbelief at the other. "Are you after meanin' that you climb upon the crature's back and ride him? Faith now, quit your blarney."
He looked at the horse again, then down at his equipment. "Begorra," he muttered, "I'll share the kerit helmet with the crature."
"Hey, hold it," Dermott said anxiously. He was beginning to feel like a character in a shaggy dog story.