CHAPTER IX
PINS AND PORK
“Sure, this is blessed Erin, an’ this the same glen;
The gold is on the whin-bush, the wather sings again:
The Fairy Thorn’s in flower—an’ what ails my heart then?”
Moira O’Neil.
‟WELL—of all the deserters!”
“Is it me?” asked Wally, modestly. He made an enormous stride from a half-submerged stone into the boat, and nearly lost his balance, collapsing in the stern.
“You!” said Jim, steadying the boat, which endeavoured, under the assault, to bury her nose in a muddy bank of rushes. “You, that was going to catch several hundred trout, and instead cleared out——”
“In a plutocratic motor,” said Norah.
“With a bloated aristocrat,” added Jim.