| “‘And three merry men, and three merry men, And three merry men are we, As ever did sing three parts in a string, All under the gallows tree.’ |
“If I have to get up in the milkman hours, begad, when that day comes I’ll make it a point to be at Tyburn to see your promotion over the heads of humdrum honest folks,” he drawled, and at the tail of his speech yawned in our faces.
“We’ll send you cards to the entertainment when that happy day arrives,” laughed Creagh, delighted of course at the aplomb of the Macaroni.
Donald Roy came up to ask what should be done with Watkins. It appeared that Volney had mistaken him for one of us and let fly at him. The fellow lay groaning on the ground as if he were on the edge of expiration. I stooped and examined him. ’Twas a mere flesh scratch.
“Nothing the matter but a punctured wing. All he needs is a kerchief round his arm,” I said.
Captain Macdonald looked disgusted and a little relieved.
“’Fore God, he deaved (deafened) me with his yammering till I thought him about to ship for the other world. These Englishers make a geyan work about nothing.”
For the moment remembrance of Volney had slipped from our minds. As I rose to my feet he stepped forward. Out flashed his sword and ripped the mask from my face.
“Egad, I thought so,” he chuckled. “My young friend Montagu repairing his fallen fortunes on the road! Won’t you introduce me to the other gentlemen, or would they rather remain incog? Captain Claude Duval, your most obedient! Sir Dick Turpin, yours to command! Delighted, ’pon my word, to be rum-padded by such distinguished—er—knights of the road.”
“The honour is ours,” answered Creagh gravely, returning his bow, but the Irishman’s devil-may-care eyes were dancing.