“I drink it,” said Smellpriest, “including the rascal priest.”
“And I drink it,” said the sheriff, “as it has been proposed.”
“What was it?” said Lord Deilmacare; “come, I drink it—it doesn't matter. I suppose, coming from our excellent host, it must be right and proper.”
They caroused deeply, and in proportion as the liquor affected their brains, so did their determination to rid the squire of the rebel Reilly form itself into an express resolution to that effect.
“Hang Reilly—hang the villain—the gallows for him—hurra!” and in this charitable sentiment their voices all joined in a fierce and drunken exclamation, uttered with their hands all clasped in each other with a strong and firm grip. From one mouth alone, however, proceeded, amidst a succession of hiccups, the word “transportation,” which, when Lord Deilmacare heard, he changed his principle, and joined the old squire in the same mitigation of feeling.
“I say, Deilmacare,” shouted Sir Robert, “we must hang him high and dry.”
“Very well,” replied his lordship, “with all my heart, Sir Robert; we must hang you high and dry.”
“But, Deilmacare,” said the squire, “we should only transport him.”
“Very good,” exclaimed his lordship, emptying a bumper; “we shall only transport you, Sir Robert.”
“Hang him, Deilmacare!”