“And who have ye with ye, Jim?” he asked. “Any of the Glenmornan people?”
“Lots,” answered Jim. “Willie the Duck, Eamon Doherty, Judy Farrel, Maire a Glan, Norah Ryan—but she’s not from Glenmornan, she’s a Frosses girsha.”
He looked sharply at Dermod as he spoke.
“She was at Glenmornan school with me,” said Flynn. “Where is she now?”
“There’s a dance goin’ on in the Donegal House; that’s where we had our bit and sup, and she’s shaking her feet on the floor there.”
“Can we go there and see the dancers?”
“There’s not much time now,” said Jim. “And there’s the boat, that big one nearest us, that we’re goin’ on this very night. She’s a rotten tub and we’ll be very sick goin’ round the Mulls of Cantyre.”
“Will we?”
“What I mean is that ye and all the rest of the men and women will be sick. I was never sea-sick in my life.”
“When is it going away?”