"Oh, come now! How the deuce could you leap a ditch in a post-chaise?"
"I never said we leaped ditches; I only said we rode steeple-chases. The system is this:—You go for a given point, taking high road, by-road, plain, or lane, as the case may be, making the best of your way how you can. Now our horses in this country are celebrated for being good swimmers, so it's a favourite plan to shirk a bridge sometimes by swimming a river."
"But no post-chaise will float," said Furlong, regularly arguing against Dick's mendacious absurdity.
"Oh! we are prepared for that here. The chaises are made light, have cork bottoms, and all the solid work is made hollow; the doors are made water tight, and, if the stream runs strong, the passenger jumps out and swims."
"But that's not fair," said Furlong; "it alters the weight."
"Oh! it's allowed on both sides," said Dick, "so it's all the same. It's as good for the goose as the gander."
"I wather imagine it is much fitter for geese and ganders than human beings. I know I should wather be a goose on the occasion."
All this time they were nearing the party on shore, and as the post-chaise became more developed, so did the personages on the bank of the river: and amongst these Dick Dawson saw Handy Andy in the custody of two men, and Squire O'Grady shaking his fist in his face and storming at him. How all this party came there, it is necessary to explain. When Handy Andy had deposited Furlong at Merryvale, he drove back to pick up the fallen postilion and his brother on the road; but before he reached them, he had to pass a public-house—I say had to pass—but he didn't. Andy stopped, as every honourable postilion is bound to do, to drink the health of the gentleman who gives him the last half-crown: and he was so intent on "doing that same," as they say in Ireland, that Andy's driving became very equivocal afterwards. In short, he drove the post-chaise into the river; the horses got disentangled by kicking the traces (which were very willing to break) into pieces; and Andy, by sticking to the neck of the horse he rode, got out of the water. The horses got home without the post-chaise, and the other post-chaise and pair got home without a postilion, so that Owny Doyle was roused from his bed by the neighing of the horses at the gate of the inn. Great was his surprise at the event, as, half clad, and a candle in his hand, he saw two pair of horses, one chaise, and no driver, at his door. The next morning the plot thickened. Squire O'Grady came to know if a gentleman had arrived at the town on his way to Neck-or-Nothing Hall. The answer was in the affirmative. Then "Where was he?" became a question. Then the report arrived of the post-chaise being upset in the river. Then came stories of postilions falling off, of postilions being changed, of Handy Andy being employed to take the gentleman to the place; and out of these materials the story became current, that "an English gentleman was dhrownded in the river in a post-chaise." O'Grady set off directly with a party to have the river dragged, and near the spot encountering Handy Andy, he ordered him to be seized, and accused him of murdering his friend.
It was in this state of things that the boats approached the party on land, and the moment Dick Dawson saw Handy Andy, he put out his oars and pulled away as hard as he could. At the moment he did so, Andy caught sight of him, and pointing out Furlong and Dick to O'Grady, he shouted, "There he is!—there he is!—I never murdhered him? There he is!—stop him! Misther Dick, stop, for the love of God!"
"What's all this about?" said Furlong, in great amazement.