Mat would not be enlightened.
"Is there not Bal or Bally something?"
"Oh, a power o' Bailies, sir; there's Ballygash, and Ballyslash, and Ballysmish, and Ballysmash, and——" so went on Mat, inventing a string of Ballies, till he was stopped by the enraged Furlong.
"None o' them! none o' them!" exclaimed he, in a fury; "'t is something about 'dirt' or 'mud.'"
"Maybe 't would be gutther, sir," said Mat, who saw Furlong was near the mark, and he thought he might as well make a virtue of telling him.
"I believe you're right," said Furlong.
"Then it is Ballysloughgutthery you want to go to, sir."
"That's the name!" said Furlong, snappishly; "dwive there!" and, hastily pulling up the glass, he threw himself back again in the carriage. Another troubled vision of what the secretary would say came across him, and, after ten minutes' balancing the question, and trembling at the thoughts of an official blowing up, he thought he had better even venture on an Irish squire; so the check-string was again pulled, and the glass hastily let down.
Mat halted. "Yes, sir," said Mat.
"I think I've changed my mind—dwive to the Hall!"