"Sing away now, ye will!" he cried. "Ye'll not sing much afore ye're long away." For all that he was singing louder than any three of the party himself before we arrived at the railway station.
The platform was crowded. I saw youngsters who had come a distance of twelve miles and who had been travelling all night. They looked worn out and sleepy. With some of the children fathers and mothers came.
"We are goin' to drive a hard bargain with the masters," some of the parents said.
"Some of them won't bring in a good penny because they're played out on the long tramp to the station," said others.
They meant no disrespect for their children, but their words put me in mind of the manner of speaking of drovers who sell bullocks at the harvest-fair of Greenanore.
There was a rush for seats when the train came in and nearly every carriage became crowded in an instant. There were over twenty in my compartment, some standing, a few sitting, but most of us trying to look out of the windows. Next to us was a first-class carriage, and I noticed that it contained only one single person. I had never been in a railway train before and I knew very little about things.
"Why is there only one man in there, while twenty of us are crammed in here?" I asked the boy with the clay pipe, for he happened to be beside me.
My friend looked at me with the pride of one who knows.
"Shure, ye know nothin'," he answered. "That man's a gintleman."