“That and other things. These are bad times for honest folk.”
As I knew the fellow to be an arrant harbourer of smugglers and rebels, I took his lamentation for what it was worth.
“Maybe you’re a stranger to these parts, captain,” said he presently, giving me another step in the service.
“I’ve heard something of them,” said I. “I met a young fellow called Gallagher not long since, and he was talking of Lough Swilly.”
“Tim was it, or Barry?” asked the landlord, with interest.
“Are there two of them, then?”
“Faith, yes; and one’s as black as the other’s white. Tim, bless him! is a rale gentleman and a friend to the people.”
“Which means a rebel, I suppose. And what of Barry?”
“Bedad, he’s a white-livered sneak, and he’d best not show his face in these parts. There’s a dozen men sworn to have the life of him.”
I laughed.