“Of what family?” said the other ruffian.
“The family of Kilcullen.”
“Hell and furies!” exclaimed both together. “What is the meaning of all this? I fancy we are in the centre of a hobble. Are you, sir, son of Colonel O’Halloran?”
“I am.”
“How many arms has he?” asked the keeper, sharply.
“But one—the left he lost in Holland.”
“Where were you going to?”
“Dublin.”
“Your business there?”
“To join my regiment.”