m. 
 
 JOHNA.SEAVERNS 
 
 m 
 
 -^7^ 
 
 m 
 
 m. 
 
 v^^ 
 
TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES 
 
 
 
 
 SYDNEY R. SMITH SPORTING BOOKS 
 
 CANAAN 
 
 NEW YORK 1 2029 
 
 ^T. 
 
y^.^qs 
 
Vltebstar Fdm% Lil^ary of Ve^nary MeoNone 
 
 Qtfnmings School of Veterinary Medictne al 
 
 Tufis University 
 
 200 Westboro Road 
 
 North Grafton, MA 01996 
 
GARRYOWEN 
 
WORKS BY H. DE VERB STACPOOLE 
 
 Crown 8vo., cloth, 6s. 
 
 ROMANCE 
 
 THE CRIMSON AZALEAS 
 
 (Also a Sixpenny Edition) 
 
 THE BLUE LAGOON 
 
 (Also at 3s. 6d. and is.) 
 
 THE POOLS OF SILENCE 
 
 SOCIAL COMEDY 
 
 PATSY (Also a Shilling Edition) 
 
 FANNY LAMBERT 
 
 (Also a Sixpenny Edition) 
 
 GARRYOWEN 
 
 THE DOCTOR 
 
 THE BOURGEOIS 
 
 THE LADY-KILLER 
 
 London : T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
This book is dedicated to my little doi,' " Whisky, 
 sportsman and a faithful friend. 
 
 thorouiih 
 
GARRYOWEN 
 
 Zbc IRomance ot a 1Race*1borse 
 
 BY 
 
 H. DE VERE STACPOOLE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 " THE POOLS OF SILENCE,' 
 "THE BLUE LAGOON," ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 A DELPHI TERRACE 
 1909 
 

 [^// Rights Reserved^ 
 
 COLSTONS LIMITED, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART I 
 
 I. 
 
 In the Roar of the Sea 
 
 9 
 
 II. 
 
 On the Cliffs 
 
 16 
 
 III. 
 
 Mr Giveen 
 
 23 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Adventure at the Castle 
 
 29 
 
 Y. 
 
 Garryowen 
 
 53 
 
 VI. 
 
 Effie 
 
 62 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Devil's Kitchen 
 
 72 
 
 ►^III. 
 
 Effie's Secret 
 
 93 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Meet of the Hounds 
 
 99 
 
 PART II 
 
 X. 
 
 Mr Mead . 
 
 121 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Compact 
 
 126 
 
 XII 
 
 The Warning 
 
 134 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw's Five Points 
 
 142 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Black Larry 
 
 PART III 
 
 150 
 
 XV. A Bit of England 
 XVI. Money Matters . 
 XVII. The Kiss . 
 XVIII. Mr Dashwood Leaves 
 
 169 
 174 
 186 
 203 
 
vin 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XTX 
 
 Effie's Business . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 207 
 
 XX. 
 
 Effie's Business (continued) 
 
 221 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Bundle of Letters . 
 
 226 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The Bazaar 
 
 232 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Miss Hitchen 
 
 249 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Deportation 
 
 261 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Letter 
 
 266 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Marshland and Sea 
 
 274 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The Story 
 
 280 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 A Convert to Socialism . 
 
 298 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Bon Gre — Mal Gre 
 
 311 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Mr Welsh 
 
 325 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The City and Suburban . 
 
 330 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 A Last Glance at French 
 
 347 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The Roman Road 
 
 351 
 
GARRYOWEN 
 
 PART I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA 
 
 The great old house of Drumgool, ugly as a barn, 
 with a Triton dressed in moss and blowing a conch 
 shell before the front door, stands literally in the 
 roar of the sea. 
 
 From the top front windows you can see the 
 Atlantic, blue in summer, grey in winter, tre- 
 mendous in calm or storm, and the eternal roar of 
 the league-long waves comes over the stunted fir 
 trees sheltering the house front, a lullaby or 
 menace just as your fancy wills. 
 
 Everything around Drumgool is on a vast and 
 splendid scale. To the east beyond Drumboyne, 
 beyond the golden gorse, the mournful black bogs 
 and the flushes of purple heather, the sxm with one 
 sweep of his brush paints thirty miles of hills. 
 
 Vast hills ever changing and always beautiful, 
 
 gone now in the driving mist and rain, now un- 
 
 wreathing themselves of cloud and disclosing sun- 
 
 ht crag and purple glen outlined against the f ar- 
 
 ofE blue and magical with the desolate beauty of 
 
 distance. 
 
 A 9 
 
10 GARRYOWEN 
 
 The golden eagle still haunts these hills, and lying 
 upon the moors of a summer day you may see the 
 peregrine falcon hanging in the air above, and 
 watch him vanish to the cry of the grouse he has 
 struck down and whose head he will tear off 
 amidst the heather. 
 
 Out here on the moors under the sun, on a day 
 like this, you are in the pleasant company of 
 Laziness andLoneUness, and Distance and Summer. 
 The scent of the gorse is mixed with the scent of 
 the sea, and the silence of the far-off hills with the 
 sound of the billows booming amidst the caves of 
 the coast. 
 
 Except for the sea and the sigh of the wind 
 amidst the heather bells there is not a sound, nor 
 token of man except a pale wreath of peat smoke 
 away there six miles towards the hills, where hes 
 the village of Drumboyne, and that building away 
 to the west towards the sea, which is Drumgool 
 House. 
 
 The railway stops at Cloyne, fifteen miles to the 
 east, as though civihsafcion were afraid of venturing 
 further. 
 
 Now if you stand up and shade your eyes and 
 look over there to the north, and beyond Drumgool 
 House, you will notice a change in the land. There 
 is the beginning of the four-mile track. Four miles 
 of velvety turf such as you will get nowhere else in 
 the whole wide world. The finest training ground 
 in existence. 
 
 The Frenchs of Drumgool (no relation of any 
 
IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA ii 
 
 other Frenchs) have trained many a winner on 
 the four-mile track. Once upon a time those 
 big stables there at the back of Drumgool House 
 were filled with horses. Once upon a time — is not 
 that the sorrowful motto of Ireland? 
 
 This morning, as beautiful a September morning 
 as one could wish to see, a bath-chair, drawn by a 
 spirited-looking donkey, stood at the front steps of 
 Drumgool House. 
 
 By the donkey's head Moriarty, a long, foxy, 
 evil-looking personage in leggings, stood with a 
 blackthorn stick in his hand and a straw in his 
 mouth. He was holding the donkey by the bridle 
 whilst Miss French was being assisted into the 
 bath-chair by Mrs DriscoU, the cook and general 
 factotum of the French household. 
 
 Miss French had on a black felt hat adorned 
 with a dilapidated ostrich feather. Her pale, 
 inconsiderable face and large dark eyes had a 
 decidedly elfish look seen under this structure. 
 She had also on a cloak, fastened at the neck by a 
 Tara brooch, and Mrs Driscoll was wrapping a 
 grebe boa round her neck, though the day was 
 warm enough in all conscience. 
 
 Miss French had a weakness of the spine which 
 affected her legs. The doctors had given this con- 
 dition a long Latin name, but the country people 
 knew what was wrong with the child much better 
 than the doctors. She was a changeHng. Had 
 Miss French been born of poor folk a hundred 
 years ago she would have undoubtedly met with 
 
12 GARRYOWEN 
 
 a warm reception in this world, for she would have 
 been put out on a hot shovel for the fairies to take 
 back. She was a changehng, and she looked it as 
 she sat in the bath-chair, " all eyes like an owl," 
 whilst Mrs DriscoU put the boa round her throat. 
 
 " Now keep the boa round you, Miss Effie," 
 said Mrs DriscoU, " and don't be gettin' on the 
 chffs, Moriarty, but keep in the shelter of the trees 
 and go aisy with her. Be sure, whatever you do, 
 to keep clear of them cliffs." 
 
 Moriarty hit the donkey a blow on the ribs with 
 his blackthorn stick, just as a drummer strikes a 
 drum, with somewhat of the same result as to 
 sound, and the vehicle started. 
 
 Mr French had trained a good many winners, 
 and Moriarty was Mr French's factotum in stable 
 matters ; what Moriarty did not know about horses 
 would be scarcely worth mentioning. 
 
 Very few men know the true inwardness of a 
 horse — what he can do under these circumstances 
 and under these, his spirit, his reserve force, his 
 genius. 
 
 A horse is much more than an animal on four 
 legs. Legs are the least things that win a race, 
 though essential enough no doubt. It is the soul 
 and spirit of the beast that brings the winner along 
 the last length of the Rowley Mile, that strews the 
 field behind at Tattenham Corner, that, with one 
 supreme effort, gains victory at the winning-post 
 by a neck. 
 
 It is this intuitive knowledge of the psychology 
 
IN THE ROAH OF THE SEA 13 
 
 of a horse that makes a great trainer or a great 
 jockey. 
 
 Moriarty was possessed of this knowledge, but 
 he was possessed of many other quaHties as well. 
 He could turn his hand to anything, rabbit- 
 catching, rearing pheasants, snaring birds, doctor- 
 ing dogs, carpentry. 
 
 " Moriarty," said Miss French, when they were 
 out of earshot of the house. 
 
 " Yes, miss," said Moriarty. 
 
 " Drive me to the cUffs." 
 
 Moriarty made no reply, but struck the donkey 
 another drum-sounding blow on the ribs, and 
 pulHng at its bridle turned the vehicle in the 
 direction indicated. 
 
 " You'll be afther loosin' thim things," said 
 Moriarty, without turning his head as he toiled 
 beside the donkey up the steep chff path. 
 
 " I don't care if I do," said Miss French; " be- 
 sides, we can pick them up as we go back — come 
 off! " She was apostrophising the boa. The big 
 hat, the flop of which falhng on the ground had 
 drawn Moriarty's attention, was now followed hj 
 the boa, and Miss French, free of her lendings all 
 but the cloak, sat up a much more presentable and 
 childhke figure, the wind blowing amidst her curls, 
 and her brown seaweed-coloured eyes full of hght 
 and mischief. 
 
 " Now, Moriarty," said Miss French, when she 
 had cleared herself sufficiently for action, " gimme 
 the reins." 
 
14 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Moriarty unwisped the reins from the saddle of 
 the harness and placed them in the small hands of 
 his mistress, who, as an afterthought, had unlatched 
 the Tar a brooch and slipped off the cloak. 
 
 " Arrah, what have yiz been afther? " said 
 Moriarty, looking back at the strewn garments as 
 though he had only just discovered what the child 
 had been doing. " Glory be to God, if you haven't 
 left the half of yourseK behint you on the road — 
 sure what way is that to be behavin'. Now look 
 here, and I'll tell you for onct and for good, if you 
 let another stitch off you, back yiz'll go, dunkey 
 and all, and it's Mrs Driscoll will give you the 
 dhressin' — musha ! but you're more thrubble than 
 all me money — let up wid thim reins and donH he 
 jibhin' the dunkey' s mouth I " 
 
 The last sentence was given in a shout as he ran 
 to the donkey's head just in time to avert disaster. 
 
 Moriarty sometimes spoke to Miss French as 
 though she were a dog, sometimes as though she 
 were a horse, sometimes as though she were his 
 young mistress. Never disrespectfully. It is only 
 an Irish servant that can talk to a superior like 
 this and in so many ways. 
 
 " I'm not jibbing his mouth," rephed Miss 
 French. "Think I can't drive! You can hold 
 on to the reins if you like, though, and, see here, 
 you can smoke if you want to." 
 
 " It's not you I'd be axin' if I wanted to," re- 
 phed Moriarty, halting the donkey on a part of 
 the path that was fairly level, so as to get a Hght 
 
IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA 15 
 
 for his pipe before they emerged into the sea breeze 
 on the cKS top. 
 
 Miss French watched the operation critically; 
 she did not in the least resent the tone of the last 
 few words. Moriarty was a character. In other 
 words, he had a character. Moriarty would not 
 have given the wall to the Lord-Lieutenant him- 
 self. Moriarty was not a servant but a retainer. 
 He received wages, it is true, but he did not work 
 for them; he just worked for the interests of the 
 Frenchs. 
 
 He had a huge capacity for doing the right thing, 
 and a knack of doing everything well. 
 
 The latter he proved just now by Hghting his 
 pipe with a single match, though the sea breeze, 
 despite the shelter of the ch£E top, was gusting and 
 eddying around him. 
 
 The pipe alight, he set the donkey going, and the 
 next minute they were on the cHff top. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 ON THE CLIFFS 
 
 The sea lay below, far below, and stretching like 
 a sapphire meadow to the rim of the world. 
 
 You could hear the song of the breakers in the 
 cave and on the sand, and the cry of the seaguUs 
 from the cHif and rock, and the breeze amidst the 
 cliff grass, but these sounds only emphasised the 
 silence of the great sunht sapphire sea. 
 
 The sea is a very silent thing. Three thousand 
 miles of pampas grass would emit more sound 
 under the lash of the wind than the whole Atlantic 
 Ocean; and a swallow in its flight makes more 
 sound than the forty-foot wave, that can wreck a 
 pier or break a ship, makes in its passage towards 
 the shore. 
 
 Up here, far above the shore, the faint, sonorous, 
 tune of wave upon wave breaking upon the sands 
 below served only to accentuate the essential 
 silence of the sea. 
 
 Through this sound could be distinguished 
 another, immense, faint, dream-like — the breath- 
 ing of leagues of coast. A sound made up of the 
 boom of billows in the sea-caves, and the bursting 
 of waves on rock and strand, but so indefinite, so 
 
 vague that, Ustening, one sometimes fancied it to 
 
 i6 
 
ON THE CLIFFS 17 
 
 be the wind in the bent grass, or a whisper from 
 the stunted firs on the landward side of the chff. 
 
 Away out on the sparkhng blue the brown sails 
 of fisher boats bound for Bellturbet filled to the 
 light wind, and a mile out from shore, and stretch- 
 ing north-westward, the Seven Sisters rocks broke 
 from the sea. 
 
 That was all. But it was immensely beautiful. 
 
 Nowhere else, perhaps, can you get such loneli- 
 ness as here, on the west coast of Ireland. Loneli- 
 ness without utter desolation. The vast shore, 
 left just as the gods hewed it in the making of the 
 world, hes facing the immense sea. They tell each 
 other things. You can hear the billow talking to 
 the cave and the cave to the billow, and the wind 
 to the chff and the wave to the rock, and the gulls 
 lamenting. And you know that it was all Uke this 
 a thousand years and more ago, when Maeldune 
 set his sails to the wind and headed his ship for 
 the Island of Shouting. 
 
 Moriarty, leaving the donkey to nibble at the 
 scant grass on the cliff top, took his seat on the 
 ground and began to cut a split out of the black- 
 thorn stick, whilst Miss French, with the reins in 
 her hands, looked about her and over the sea. 
 
 She could see a white ring round the base of each 
 of the Seven Sisters rocks; it was a ring of foam, 
 for, placid though the sea looked from these 
 heights, a dangerous swell was running. Now 
 and then, Hke a puff of smoke, a ring of seagulls 
 would burst out from the rocks, contract, dissolve 
 
1 8 GARRYOWEN 
 
 and vanish. Now and then a great cormorant 
 would pass the cliff edge, sailing along without a 
 movement of the wings and sinking from sight 
 with a cry. 
 
 The sea-breeze blew, bringing with it the crown- 
 ing dehght of the cliff-top — the smell of the sea. 
 The smell of a thousand leagues of waves, the smell 
 of seaweed from the shore, the smell that men 
 knew and loved ten thousand years ago, the smell 
 which is freedom distilled into perfume, and the 
 remembrance of which makes us turn each year 
 from the land and seek the sea. 
 
 " Moriarty," said the child, " where are those 
 ships going to? " 
 
 " Which ships? " asked Moriarty. 
 
 " Those ships with the brown sails to them.'* 
 
 " Limerick," replied Moriarty, without raising 
 an eye from the job he was on, or knowing in the 
 least which way the ships were going, or whether 
 Limerick was by the sea or inland. Moriarty had 
 a theory that one answer was as good as another 
 for a child as long as you satisfied it, and the 
 easiest answer was the best, because it gave you the 
 least trouble. Moriarty was not an educationaUst ; 
 indeed, his own education was of the slightest. 
 
 " Why are they going to Limerick? " demanded 
 Miss French. 
 
 " Why are they goin' to where? " asked 
 Moriarty, speaking like a man in a reverie and 
 whittling away with his knife at the stick. 
 
 " Limerick." 
 
ON THE CLIFFS 19 
 
 " Sure what else would they be goin' for but to 
 buy cods' heads." 
 
 " Why? " asked Miss French, who felt this 
 answer to be both bizarre and unsatisfactory. 
 
 " I d'nno. I've never axed them." 
 
 This brought the subject to a cul-de-sac and brick 
 wall. 
 
 And if you will examine Moriarty's answers you 
 will find that he had constructed an impregnable 
 position, a glacis across which no child could get 
 a " why? " 
 
 Miss French ruminated on this for a moment 
 whilst Moriarty, having finished his operations on 
 the stick, tapped the dottle out of his pipe, refilled 
 it and lit it. 
 
 Then, leaning on his elbow, he lay watching the 
 ships going to Limerick and thinking about stable 
 matters, and Garryowen, the latest addition to 
 Mr French's stable, in particular. 
 
 Moriarty had spotted Garryowen. It was by 
 his advice that Mr French had bought the colt, 
 and it was in his hands that the colt was turning 
 into one of the fleetest things that ever put hoof to 
 turf. 
 
 Miss French watched her companion and they 
 sat hke this for a long, long time, whilst the wind 
 blew, and the sea boomed, and the gulls passed 
 overhead, honey-coloured where the sunUght 
 pierced the snow of their wings. 
 
 " Moriarty," said the child at last, " how would 
 you like to have a governess? " 
 
20 GARRYOWEN 
 
 This question brought Moriarty back from his 
 reverie and he rose to his feet. 
 
 " Come along," said he, taking the donkey's 
 reins; "it's moidhered you'll be gettin' with the 
 Bun on your head and you without a hat." 
 
 "I'm going to have a governess," said the 
 child; " she's coming this day week, and she's 
 forty years old — what'll she be like, do you think, 
 Moriarty? " 
 
 " Faith," said the evader of questions, " it's I 
 that am thinkin' she won't be like a rosebud." 
 
 Miss French drew a letter from the pocket of 
 her sku^t as Moriarty led the donkey towards the 
 path. It was a letter written purposely in a large 
 round hand that a child could easily read; each 
 character was nearly printed, and though the con- 
 tents were simple enough, the thing spoke volumes 
 about the good heart of the sender. 
 
 Mr French was in Dublin, but every day during 
 his absence he wrote his little daughter a letter hke 
 this. A pleasant trait in a man living in a world 
 the key-note of which is forge tfulness of the absent. 
 The child read out the letter as Moriarty guided 
 the donkey down the steep hill path. 
 
 It was a funny letter; it began as though Mr 
 French were writing to a child, it went on as 
 though he were writing to an adult, and it finished 
 as though the age of his correspondent had just 
 occurred to him. It told of what he was doing in 
 town, of a visit to Mr Legge, the family solicitor, 
 and of bother about money matters. 
 
ON THE CLIFFS 21 
 
 " However," said Mr French in one passage, 
 " Garry owen will put that all right." 
 
 As Miss French read this aloud Moriarty 
 emphasised his opinion on the matter by striking 
 a drum note on the donkey's ribs with the butt 
 of his stick. 
 
 " I've got a governess for you at last," said Mr 
 French; " she's forty and wears spectacles. I 
 haven't seen her, but I gather so from her letter; 
 she's coming from England this day week. I'll 
 be back to-morrow by the 5.30 train." 
 
 " That's to-day," said Miss French. 
 
 " I know," replied Moriarty. " Mrs Driscoll 
 had a post-card. I'm to meet the train wid the 
 car. Now, Miss Effie, here's your cloak and on 
 you put it." 
 
 " Bother," said Miss French, as Moriarty picked 
 up the discarded cloak from the ground. 
 
 She put it on and they resumed their way till 
 they reached the boa. 
 
 This, too, was grumblingly put on, and they 
 resumed their way till they came to the great hat 
 lying on the ground. 
 
 Moriarty placed the elastic of this under the 
 child's chin and gave the crown a sUght twitch to 
 put it straight. 
 
 With the putting on of the hat Miss French's 
 light-hearted look and gaiety, which had dwindled 
 on the assumption of the cloak and boa, com- 
 pletely vanished, like a candle flame under an 
 extinguisher, and they began the dead march to 
 
22 GARRYOWEN 
 
 the house, Moriarty at intervals striking funereal 
 drum notes on the donkey's ribs. 
 
 Mrs DriscoU met them at the door. 
 
 " That's right, Moriarty," said she, " you 
 haven't let the hat off her, have you? " 
 
 " She tuck it off," said Moriarty, " and I put it 
 on her head again wid me own hands — what's that 
 you say? Have I kep her out of the wind? Which 
 wind d'y mane, or what are you talkin' about? 
 Here you are, take her into the house, for I have 
 me stables to look after and its close on wan." 
 
 Mrs DriscoU disappeared into the house, bearing 
 in her arms the last of the Frenchs. Poor child! 
 If ever anyone stood a chance of being killed by 
 kindness it was she. 
 
 Muffled to death. 
 
 Many an invahd has gone through that martyr- 
 dom and sure process of extinction. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MR GIVEEN 
 
 Drumgool was a bachelor's, or rather, a 
 widower's household. The dining-room, where 
 dead-and-gone Frenchs looked at one another from 
 dusty canvases, was rarely used, the drawing-room 
 never. Guns and fishing-rods found their way 
 into the sitting-room, which had once been the 
 Hbrary, and still held books enough to lend a per- 
 fume of mildew and leather to the place, a perfume 
 that mixed not unpleasantly with the smell of 
 cigar smoke and the scent of the sea. 
 
 The house hummed with the sound of the sea; 
 fling a window open and the roar of it came in and 
 the smell of it, better than the smell of roses. 
 
 Room after room of Drumgool, had you 
 knocked at the doors of them, would have 
 answered you only with echoes. 
 
 " Here there was laughter of old, 
 There was weeping — " 
 
 Laughter there was none now, nor weeping, just 
 silence, dust ; old furniture so used by the sea air 
 that a broker's man would scarcely have taken the 
 trouble to take possession of it. 
 
 In the sitting-room, which was also the Hbrary 
 
 of Drumgool, on the morning of the day on which 
 
 23 
 
24 GARRYOWEN 
 
 the governess was expected to arrive, Mr French 
 was talking to his cousin, Mr Giveen, who, with his 
 hat by his side, was seated on the sofa glancing 
 over a newspaper. 
 
 The breakfast things were still on the table ; the 
 window was open to let in the glorious autumn 
 day, and a blue haze of cigar smoke hung in the 
 air, created by the cigar of Mr French. 
 
 Mr Giveen did not smoke; his head would not 
 stand it. Neither did he drink, and for the same 
 reason. 
 
 He looked quite a young man when he had his 
 hat on, but he was not; his head was absolutely 
 bald. 
 
 He was dressed in well-worn grey tweed, and his 
 collar was of the Gladstone type. Cruikshank's 
 pictm-e of Mr Dick in David Copperfield might have 
 been inspired by Mr Giveen. 
 
 This gentleman, who carried about with him a 
 faint atmosphere of madness, was not in the least 
 mad in a great many ways ; in some other ways he 
 was — ^well, pecuhar. 
 
 He inhabited a bungalow half-way between 
 Drumgool House and Drumboyne, and he had a 
 small income, the exact extent of which he kept 
 hidden. He had no profession, occupation or 
 trade ; no family — French was his nearest relation, 
 and continually wishing himself further away — 
 no troubles, no cares. He neither read, smoked, 
 drank, played bilhards, cards, or games of any 
 description; all these methods of amusement were 
 
MR GIVEEN 25 
 
 too much for Mr Giveen's head. He had, however. 
 
 two pastimes that kept his own and his neighbours' 
 hands full. Collecting news and distributing it was 
 one of these pastimes, making love was the other. 
 Small as was Drumboyne, and few as were the 
 gentry distributed around, jVIr Giveen's gossiping 
 propensities had aheady created much mischief, 
 and there was not a girl or unmarried woman 
 within a range of fifteen miles that jVIr Giveen had 
 not either made eyes at or love to. 
 
 The strange thing is that he could have been 
 married several times ; there were girls in Drum- 
 boyne who would have swallowed Mr Giveen for 
 the sake of the bungalow and the small income 
 which popular report made big, but he was not 
 a marrying man; on the other hand, he was a 
 most moral man. He made love just for the sake 
 of making love. It is an Irish habit. The 
 question of bringing a governess to Drumgool 
 House had been held in abeyance for some time 
 on account of Mr Giveen. 
 
 Mr French knew quite well that anything with 
 petticoats on it and in the way of a lady would 
 cause his cousin to infest the house. However, 
 Effie's education had to be considered. 
 
 " Sure," said Mr French to himself, " it'll be all 
 right if I get one old enough." 
 
 It was only this morning that he broke the news. 
 
 " Dick," said Mr French, " there's a governess 
 coming for Efiie." 
 
 " A what did you say? " asked Mr Giveen, 
 
26 GARRYOWEN 
 
 looking up from the newspaper, the advertisement 
 page of which he had been reading upside down. 
 (One of his not altogether sane habits was to sit 
 and stare at a paper and pretend to be reading it, 
 so that his thoughts might wander unperceived. ) 
 " A what did you say? " 
 
 " A governess is coming for Effie." 
 
 " Oh," said Mr Giveen, and relapsed into the 
 study of the newspaper. 
 
 Now this appearance of indifference was a very 
 ominous sign. The news that a new servant was 
 coming would have caused this infernal tattler to 
 break into a volley of questions, questions of the 
 most minute and intimate description as to the 
 name, age, coloiu", looks, height and native place 
 of the newcomer, yet this important information 
 left him dumb ; but it was a speechlessness that 
 only affected the tongue. If you had watched him 
 closely you would have noticed that his eyes were 
 travelhng rapidly up and down the columns of the 
 paper, that his hand was tremulous. 
 
 Mr French, who was not an observer, went on 
 to talk of other matters, when suddenly ]\lr Giveen 
 dropped his paper. 
 
 " What's she like? " said he. 
 
 " What's who like? " rephed Mr French, who at 
 the moment was discussing turnips. 
 
 " The governess." 
 
 " I haven't seen her yet," said Mr French, " but 
 her name is Grimshaw, and she's over forty." 
 ., At this news Mr Giveen clapped his hat on his 
 
MR GIVEEN 27 
 
 head and made for the open French window. 
 *' I'll see you to-morrow," he cried back as he dis- 
 appeared amidst the rose trees. 
 
 Mr French chuckled. 
 
 Then through the same window he passed into 
 the garden and thence to the stable-yard, where 
 he found Moriarty, who was standing at the har- 
 ness room door engaged in cleaning a bit. 
 
 " Moriarty," said Mr French, " you'll take the 
 car to the station to meet the half -past five train." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Moriarty. " Any luggage? " 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't think much," rephed Mr 
 French. " You're to meet the lady that's coming 
 as governess for Miss Effie. You're sure to re- 
 cognise her — she's elderly. If she has more than 
 one trunk you can tell Brady to bring it on in the 
 morning." 
 
 As he went back to the house he took the letter 
 he had received a week before from Miss Grimshaw 
 from his pocket and re-read it. 
 
 " The question of salary," said Miss Grimshaw, 
 " does not weigh particularly with me, as I am 
 possessed of a small income of my own, to which 
 I can, if I choose, add considerably with my pen. 
 I am very much interested in the study of Ireland 
 and the Irish, and would like to become more 
 intimate at first-hand with your charming country, 
 so I think we wiU waive the question of pounds, 
 shilhngs and pence. Any instruction I can give 
 your little daughter will be amply repaid by your 
 hospitahty." 
 
28 GARRYOWEN 
 
 A nice letter, written in a nice, firm, sensible 
 
 woman's hand- 
 Miss Grimshaw had referred Mr French to 
 
 several highly respectable people, but Mr French, 
 
 with that splendid indifference to detail which was 
 
 part of his nature, had not troubled to take Miss 
 
 Grimshaw's character up. 
 
 "Oh, bother her character," said he; "no 
 
 woman has any character worth troubhng about 
 
 over forty." 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 
 
 " Porter, porter, does this train stop at TuUagh? " 
 
 "You're in the wrong train, mum; this train 
 stops nowhere; this is the ixpress all the way 
 to Cloyne — out you get, for we want to be goin' 
 on. Right, Larry." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, dusty and tired, seated in the 
 corner of a first-class carriage, heard the foregoing 
 dialogue and smiled. 
 
 It came to her with a puff of gorse-scented air 
 through the open window of the railway carriage. 
 
 " Now," said Miss Grimshaw to herself, " I 
 really beheve I am in Ireland." 
 
 Up to this at Kingstown, in her passage through 
 Dubhn, and during the long, dusty, dull journey 
 that followed, she had come across nothing 
 especially national. It is not in the grooves of 
 travel that you come across the spirit of Ireland. 
 
 Davy Stevens selhng his newspapers on the 
 Carhsle pier at Kingstown had struck her fancy, 
 but nothing followed him up. The jarvey who 
 drove her from station to station in Dubhn was 
 surly, and so speechless that he might have been 
 
 29 
 
30 GARRYOWEN 
 
 English. The streets were like English streets, 
 the people like Enghsh people, the rain like EngHsh 
 rain — only worse. 
 
 But it was not raining here. Here in the west 
 the train seemed drawing out of civilisation into 
 a new world. Vast hills and purple moors, great 
 spaces of golden afternoon, unspoiled by city or 
 town, far mountain tops breaking to view and 
 veiled in the loveliness of distance. 
 
 " And people go to Switzerland with this at 
 their elbow," said Miss Grimshaw, leaning her 
 chin upon her palm and gazing upon the view. 
 
 She was alone in the carriage and so could 
 place her feet on the opposite cushions. Very 
 pretty Httle feet they were too. 
 
 V. Grimshaw was dressed with plainness and 
 distinction in a Norfolk jacket and skirt of Harris 
 tweed, a brown Homburg hat and youth. She 
 did not look more than eighteen, though she was 
 in fact twenty-two. Her face, ht by the warm 
 afternoon hght, was both practical and pretty, 
 her hair was dark and seemed abundant. Beside 
 her, on the cushions of the carriage, lay several 
 newspapers. The Athenceum amongst others, and 
 a book, Tartarin of Tarascon, in the original French. 
 
 This was the personage who had replied to Mr 
 French's advertisement. There was no deception. 
 She had stated her age plainly as twenty-two in 
 her first letter to him. The mistake was on his 
 part. In reading the hundred and fifty or so re- 
 plies to his advertisement he had got mixed some- 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 31 
 
 how, and had got some other lady's age in his head 
 attached to the name of Grimshaw. 
 
 As for the spectacles, he had drawn in his 
 imagination the portrait of a governess of forty- 
 fom', named Grimshaw, and the portrait wore 
 spectacles. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw didn't. Those clear grey eyes 
 would not require the aid of glasses for many a 
 year to come. 
 
 American by birth, born in the State of Massa- 
 chusetts twenty- two years ago, Miss Grimshaw's 
 people had " gone bust " in the railway collapse 
 that followed the shooting of Garfield. Miss 
 Grimshaw's father, a speculator by nature and 
 profession, had been one of the chief bulls in Wall 
 Street. He had piled together a colossal fortune 
 during the steady inflation of railway stock that 
 preceded the death of Garfield. The pistol of 
 Guiteau was the signal for the bottom to fall out of 
 everything, and on that terrible Saturday afternoon 
 when Wabash stock fell sixteen points without re- 
 covery Curtis Grimshaw shot himself in his office, 
 and V. Grimshaw, a tiny tot, was left in the world 
 without father or mother, sister or brother, or any 
 relations save an uncle in the dry goods trade. 
 
 He had taken care of her and educated her at 
 the best school he could find. Four years ago he 
 had died, and V. Grimshaw at eighteen found her- 
 seK again on the world, this time most forlorn. 
 The happy condition remained, however, that 
 Simon Gretry, the dry goods uncle, had settled a 
 
32 GARRYOWEN 
 
 thousand dollars a year on his niece, this small 
 income being derived from real estate in New 
 York City. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw emigrated to Europe, not to 
 find a husband, but to study art in Paris. Six 
 months study told her, however, that art was not 
 her walk in hfe, and, being eminently practical, she 
 cast aside her palette and took up with writing 
 and Hterary work generally, working for Hard- 
 muths Press Syndicate and tiring of the work in 
 a year. 
 
 Just after she had dropped Hardmuths, Miss 
 Grimshaw came upon Mr French's advertisement 
 in a lady's paper. Its ingenuousness entirely 
 fascinated her. 
 
 " He's not hterary, anyhow," said she. " It's 
 the clearest bit of writing I've come across for 
 many a day — might try it — I've long been wanting 
 to go to Ireland, and if I don't like it — why, I'm 
 not tied to them." 
 
 Mr French's reply to her apphcation decided 
 her, and so she came. 
 
 The train was now passing through a glen where 
 the bracken leaped six feet high, a glen dim and 
 dream-like, a vast glen, echo-haunted and peopled 
 with waterfalls, pines and ferns that grow nowhere 
 else as they grow here. 
 
 It is the glen of a thousand echoes. Call here 
 and echo replies and repHes and rephes, and you 
 hear your commonplace voice, the voice that you 
 ordered a beef-steak with yesterday, chasing 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 32, 
 
 itself past fern and pine and dying away in Fairy- 
 land. 
 
 A tunnel took the train, and then out of the 
 roaring darkness it swept into sunlight again and 
 great plains of bracken and heather. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw undid the strap of her rug and 
 packed her newspapers and books inside. The 
 train was slowing. By the time she had got all 
 her things together it was drawing up at a long 
 platform whose notice-board read: 
 
 " CLOYNE " 
 
 The girl opened the door of the carriage and 
 stepped on to the platform and into a world of 
 sunlight, silence and breeze. 
 
 The air was like wine. 
 
 There were a few people on the platform, a 
 woman in a red cloak, a priest who had stepped 
 out of the train, a couple of farmers and several 
 porters busily engaged in taking some baskets of 
 Uve fowl (to judge by the sound) out of the guard's 
 van, and a seedy-looking individual in a tall hat 
 and frock coat who looked strangely out of keeping 
 with his surroundings. 
 
 " Is there not a porter to take luggage out of 
 the train? " asked Miss Grimshaw of a long, squint- 
 eyed, foxy-looking man — half groom, haK game- 
 keeper — who was walking along the train length 
 peeping into each carriage as if in search of some- 
 thing. 
 
 " Porthers, miss," repHed the foxy person, 
 
34 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " thim things that's gettin' the chickens out of the 
 van calls themselves porthers, I b'lave." 
 
 Without another word he stepped into the 
 carriage and whipped the travelling-bag, the 
 bundle of rugs, and other small articles on to the 
 platform. 
 
 " You didn't happen to see an ouldish lady'^in 
 the train anywhere between here and Dubhn, 
 miss? " said Moriarty — for Moriarty it was — as he 
 deposited the last of the bundles. 
 
 " No," said Miss Grimshaw, " I didn't." 
 
 " Begorra, then," said Moriarty, " she's either 
 missed the train or tumbled out of it. Billy " — 
 to a porter who was coming leisurely up — " when 
 you've done thinkin' over that prize you tuk in the 
 beauty show, maybe you'll atind to the company's 
 business and hft the young lady's luggage." 
 
 " I expected a trap to meet me from Mr French 
 of Drumgool," said Miss Grimshaw as Billy took 
 the luggage. 
 
 " Mr French did you say, miss? " said Moriarty. 
 
 " Yes, Mr French of Drumgool House; he ex- 
 pected me by this train." 
 
 Moriarty broke into a grin that broadened and 
 spread over his ugly face like the ripple on a pond. 
 
 " Faith, thin," said he, " it's Mr French will have 
 a most agrayable surprise. ' Moriarty,' says he 
 to me, ' take the car and meet the lady that's 
 comin' by the ha'f-pas' five thrain. You can't 
 mistake her,' he says, ' for she's an ouldish lady 
 in spic tides.' " 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 35 
 
 Miss Grimshaw laughed. " Well," she said. 
 " it was Mr French's mistake. Let us find the car. 
 I suppose you are going to drive me? " 
 
 " It's fifteen miles to Drumgool, miss," said 
 Moriarty. " Mr Frinch tould me to say you were 
 to be sure and have some tay at the hotel here 
 afther your journey; it's only across the road — " 
 
 " Thanks," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 She followed Moriarty and the porter to the 
 station gate; an outside car, varnished, silver- 
 plated as to fittings, and very up-to-date, stood 
 near the wicket. A big roan mare with a temper 
 was in the shafts, and a bare-footed gossoon was 
 holding on to the bridle. 
 
 The station inn across the road flung its creaking 
 sign to the wind from the moors, seeming to beckon, 
 and Miss Grimshaw came. 
 
 The front door was open and a dirty child was 
 playing in the passage. Miss Grimshaw passed the 
 child, knocked at a door on the left of the passage, 
 and receiving no answer opened it to find a bar- 
 room, smelhng vilely of bad tobacco and spirits. 
 She closed the door and opened one on the right 
 of the passage, to find a stuffy sitting-room with 
 a stuffed dog under a glass case for its presiding 
 genius. 
 
 Two clocks stood on the mantelpiece, one 
 pointing to three, the other to twelve — neither of 
 them going; a sofa covered with American cloth, 
 chairs to match, a picture of the Day of Judgment, 
 some dusty sea- shells and a drugget carpet com- 
 
36 GARRYOWEN 
 
 pleted the furniture of the place. Miss Grimshaw 
 was looking around her for a bell when the following 
 dialogue between Moriarty and some female un- 
 known struck her ears. 
 
 " Mrs Sheelan," came Moriarty's voice, evidently 
 from the back-yard. 
 
 " What do you want? " came the reply, evidently 
 from an upper room. 
 
 "What are you doin'? " 
 
 " I'm clanin' meself." 
 
 " Well, hurry up clanin' yourseK and put the 
 kittle on the fire for there's a young lady wants 
 some tay." 
 
 " Oh, glory be to God!— Moriarty." 
 
 " Well? " 
 
 " Shout for Biddy — she's bey ant there in the 
 cow-house. Tell her the kittle's on and to stir the 
 fire and make the tay — I'll be wid ye in wan 
 minit." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw took her seat and waited, listen- 
 ing to the stumping noise upstairs that told of 
 speed, and wondering what Mrs Sheelan would be 
 like when she was cleaned. 
 
 Almost immediately Biddy, fresh from the cow- 
 house, a girl with apple-red cheeks, entered the 
 room, altogether, whisked the stuffed dog on to a 
 side-table, dumped down a dirty table-cloth which 
 shehad brought in rolled up under her arm, dragged 
 out the drawer of a cupboard, and from the drawer 
 knives, forks, spoons, a salt-cellar and a pepper- 
 caster of pewter. 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 37 
 
 " You needn't lay all those things for me," said 
 the traveller, " I only want tea." 
 
 " Oh, it's no thrubble, miss," replied Biddy, with 
 an expansive smile. She finished laying the cloth 
 and then hung at the door. 
 
 " Well? " asked Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 "I thought, miss," said Biddy, in a diffident voice, 
 " you might be wantin' to — change your hat afther 
 the journey." 
 
 As Miss Grimshaw was sitting at her tea some 
 ten minutes later a knock came to the door. It 
 was Moriarty who entered on the knock and stood 
 hat in hand. 
 
 " I'm sendin' your trunk by Brady, the carrier, 
 miss," said Moriarty, " and I'm takin' your smaU 
 thraps on the car." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 " If you plaze, miss," said Moriarty, " did you 
 see a man step out of the train wid a long black 
 coat on him and a face hke an undertaker? " 
 
 " I did," said Miss Grimshaw, " if you mean a 
 man in a tall hat." 
 
 " That's him," said Moriarty, " bad luck to him! 
 I knew what he was afther when I set me eyes on 
 him, and when I was puttin' your bag on the car 
 he ups and axes me did I know of a Mr French 
 living here away. ' Which Mr Frinch? ' says I. 
 ' Mr Michael Frinch,' says he. ' Do I know where 
 he lives? ' says I. ' Sure, what do you take me for, 
 me that's Mr Frinch's own man? ' ' How far is it 
 away? ' says he. ' How far is what? ' says I. ' Mr 
 
38 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Frinch's house,' says he. * A matter of fifteen 
 miles,' says I. ' Bad luck to it,' says he, ' I'll have 
 to walk it.' ' Up you get on the car,' says I, ' and 
 sure I'll drive you.' And up he gets, and there he's 
 sitting now, waitin' to be druv — ^bad cess to him! " 
 
 " But who is he? " asked the girl, not quite 
 comprehending the gist of this flood of information. 
 
 Moriarty lowered his voice hah a tone. " He's 
 a bailiff, miss, come down to arrist the horses." 
 
 " Arrest the horses! " 
 
 " It's this way, miss. Mr Frinch had some 
 dalin's wid a Jew money-lender in DubHn be the 
 name of Harrison, and only this mornin' he said to 
 me, ' Moriarty,' he says, ' keep your eye out at the 
 station, for it's I that am afraid this black baste of 
 a Harrison would play us some trick, for them 
 money-lenders has ears that would reach from here 
 to Clontarff,' says he, ' and it's quite on the cards 
 he's heard from his agent I've sold Nip and Tuck, 
 and if he has,' he says, ' it's sure as a gun he'll have 
 a bailiff in before I can get them off the primises ! " 
 
 *' Are Nip and Tuck horses? " asked Miss Grim- 
 shaw, who was beginning to find a subtle interest 
 in Moriarty's conversation. 
 
 " Yes, miss, as clane a pair of hunters as you'd 
 find in Galway." 
 
 " Yes, go on." 
 
 " Well, miss, the horses were due to be taken off 
 be the nine train to-night. Major Sherbourne 
 has bought thim and paid for thim, and now if 
 this chap nails thim Mr Frinch will have to refund 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 39 
 
 the money, and sure wouldn't that be a black 
 shame — " 
 
 " And this man has come down to arrest the 
 horses? " said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 " Yes, miss ; and that's why I've come to ax you 
 to let him drive with us. For I'm going to play 
 him a trick, miss, with your leave and Ucense, and 
 that's why I've got him on the car." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw laughed. 
 
 " I'm no friend of money-lenders," said she. 
 
 " Sure I could tell that be your face, miss." 
 
 " But I do not wish to see the man injured or 
 hurt—" 
 
 "Hurt, missl " cried Moriarty, in a virtuous 
 voice. " Sure, where would be the good of hurtin' 
 him unless he was kilt outright — you lave it to me, 
 miss, and I'll trate him as tender as an infant. 
 I've tould him I'll drive him to Mr Frinch's house, 
 and I will, but he won't get Nip nor Tuck." 
 
 " Very well," said Miss Grimshaw, " as long as 
 you don't hurt him I don't care." 
 
 Moriarty withdrew and Mrs Sheelan appeared. 
 The cleaning process was evident in the poHsh of 
 her face. She would take nothing for the tea; it 
 was to go down to Mr French's account by his own 
 express orders. 
 
 Having bestowed a shilling upon Biddy, the 
 traveller left the inn. 
 
 The seedy personage in the tall hat was comfort- 
 ably seated on the outside car reading a day before 
 yesterday's Freeman^s Journal, and a new gossoon 
 
40 GARRYOWEN 
 
 was holding the mare's head vice the old gossoon, 
 who had been sent on horseback hot foot to Drum- 
 gool to give warning to Mr French. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw got on the side of the car oppo- 
 site to the baihff, Moriarty seized the reins, the 
 gossoon sprang away and the mare rose on 
 end. 
 
 " Fresh," said the man in the tall hat. 
 
 " Faith, she'll be stale enough when IVe 
 finished with her," said Moriarty. " Now then, 
 now then, what are yiz afther? Did you never see 
 a barra of luggage before? Is it a mothor car 
 you're takin' yourself to be, or what ails you, at 
 all, at all? Jay up, y'divil." 
 
 The Dancing Mistress — such was her ominous 
 name — having performed the cake-walk to her own 
 satisfaction, turned her attention to a mixture of 
 the Washington Post and the two-step. 
 
 " Hit her with the whip," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 "Hit her with the whip!" repHed Moriarty. 
 " Sure it's kicked to matches we'd be if she heard 
 me draa it from the socket — now then, now then — 
 now then." 
 
 " That's better," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 "Yes, miss," replied Moriarty; "once she's 
 started nothin' will stay her, but it's the startin' is 
 the divil." 
 
 It was getting towards sunset now and in the 
 east the ghost of a great moon was rising pale as a 
 cloud in the amethyst sky. 
 
 The moors swept away forever on either side of 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 41 
 
 the road, moor and black bog desolate and silent 
 but for the wind and the cry of the plover. Vast 
 mountains and kingly crags thronged the east, 
 purple in the level hght of evening, and peaceful 
 with the peace of a milHon years ; away to the west, 
 beyond the smoke wreaths from the chimneys of 
 Cloyne, the invisible sea was thundering against 
 rock and cUff, and the gulls and terns, the guille- 
 mots and cormorants, were wheeUng and crying, 
 answering with their voices the deep boom of the 
 sea caves. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw tried to imagine what life would 
 be like here fifteen miles from a railway station. 
 Despite the beauty of the scenery there was over 
 all, or rather in it all, a touch of darkness, desola- 
 tion and poverty, a sombre note rising from the 
 black bog patches, the wretched cabins by the way, 
 the stone walls, the barren hills. 
 
 But the freshness of the air, the newness of it 
 all, made up to the girl for the desolation. It was 
 different from Fleet Street, and anything that is 
 different from Fleet Street must have a certain 
 beauty of its own. She tried to imagine what 
 trick Moriarty was going to play on the gentleman 
 whose tall hat was so extremely out of keeping 
 with the surroundings. That person, who had left 
 the refreshments of the inn untried, had not come 
 unprovided; he produced a flask from his pocket 
 at times, fouHng the air v/ith the smell of bad 
 brandy, but not a word did he speak as mile after 
 mile sUpped by and the sun sank and vanished, 
 
42 GARRYOWEN 
 
 and the moon glowed out, making wonderland of 
 the world around them. 
 
 " We're more than ten miles on our road now, 
 miss," said Moriarty, speaking across the car to 
 Miss Grimshaw. " Do you see that crucked tree 
 bey ant on the right be the bog patch? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It was haK-way betune that and thim bushes 
 they shot ould Mr Moriarty two years ago come 
 next June." 
 
 " Shot him? " 
 
 " Faith they filled him so full of bullets that the 
 family had to put a sintry over the grave for fear 
 the boys would dig him up to shtrip him of his 
 lead." 
 
 " But who shot him? " 
 
 " That's what the jury said, miss, when they 
 brought it in not guilty against Billy the Rafter, 
 Long Sheelan and Mick Mulcahy, and they taken 
 with the guns smokin' in their hands — the black- 
 guards! " 
 
 *' Good heavens, but why did they shoot him? " 
 
 " Well, he'd got himself disliked, miss. For 
 more than five years the boys had been warning 
 him ; sure they sent him enough pictures of coffins 
 and skulls to paper a wall with, and he, he'd fight 
 his pipe with them. Little he cared for skulls or 
 cross-bones. ' To blazes with them,' he'd say. 
 ' All right,' says the boys, ' we'll give you one 
 warnin' more.' ' Warn away,' says he, and they 
 warned. Two nights after they laid him out — do 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 43 
 
 you see away bey ant those trees, miss, thim towerg 
 — there, you see them poppin' up." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That's Mr Frinch's house." 
 
 " Wliy, it's a castle." 
 
 " Yes, miss, I b'lave they called it that in the 
 old days." 
 
 At a gateway, where the gate was flung wide 
 open, Moriarty drew up. 
 
 " Now," said he to the person in the tall hat, 
 " that's your way to the back primises, down with 
 you and in with you and sarve your writ, for it's a 
 writ you've come to sarve, and you needn't be 
 hidin' it in your pocket, for it's stickin' out of j^our 
 face — ^round with you to the back primises and 
 give me complements to the cook and say I'll be in 
 for me supper when I've left this lady at the hall 
 dure." 
 
 The man in possession, standing now in the road 
 under the moonUght, examined the car and the 
 horse that had brought him. 
 
 " The horse and car are Mr French's? " he asked. 
 
 " They are." 
 
 " Well, when you've put 'em in the stables," said 
 he, " mind and don't you move 'em out again; all 
 the movables and Hve stock are to be left in statue 
 quod till my business is settled." 
 
 " Right y'are, sorr," replied Moriarty, cheerfully, 
 and the man in the tall hat strode away through 
 the gate and vanished in the direction of the back 
 premises. 
 
44 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Miss Grimshaw felt rather disgusted at this 
 spiritless fiasco ; she was quite without knowledge, 
 however, of Moriarty's thorough methods and far- 
 reaching ways. 
 
 " I thought you were going to play him a trick," 
 said she. 
 
 Moriarty, who had got down for a moment to 
 look at the mare's off fore shoe, sprang on to the 
 car again, turned the car, touched the mare with 
 the whip and turned to the astonished Miss Grim- 
 shaw. 
 
 " This isn't Mr Frinch's house at all, miss." 
 
 " Why — you said it was." 
 
 " It's his house, right enough," said Moriarty, 
 " but it hasn't been lived in for a hundred and tin 
 years; it's got nothin' inside it but thistles and 
 bats. He axed me for Mr Frinch's house ; well, I've 
 driv him to Mr Frinch's house, him and his ow-de- 
 cologne bottle, but Mr Frinch doesn't hve here, 
 he fives at Drumgool — " 
 
 '' How far is Drumgool from here? " 
 
 *' It's fifteen miles from here to Cloyne, miss, and 
 fifteen from Cloyne to Drumgool." 
 
 "Oh, good heavens!" said Miss Grimshaw, 
 " thirty miles from here." 
 
 " There or thereabouts, miss; we'll have to get 
 a new horse at Cloyne. The ould mare is nearly 
 done, and she'd be finished entirely, only I gave 
 her a two-hours' rest before I tuk you up at the 
 station." 
 
 " Look! " groaned the girl. 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 45 
 
 Far away behind them on the moonlit road a 
 figm:e had appeared; it was running and shouting 
 and waving its arms. 
 
 " That's him," said Moriarty. " Faith he looks 
 as if he had seen the Banshee — look, miss, there's 
 his hat tumbled off." 
 
 Running was evidently not the baiUff's forte, 
 but he continued the exercise manfully for a 
 quarter of a mile or so, hat in hand, before giving 
 up. When he disappeared from view Miss Grim- 
 shaw felt what we may suppose the more tender- 
 hearted of Alexander Selkirk's marooners felt 
 when Tristan d'Acunha sank from sight beyond 
 the horizon. 
 
 " What will he do with himself? " asked she, 
 her own grievance forgotten for a moment, veiled 
 by the woes of the other one. 
 
 " Faith, I don't know, miss," replied Moriarty; 
 " he can do what he plazes for what I care, but 
 there's one thing he won't do, and that's lay finger 
 on the horses, and it's sorry I am, miss, to have 
 dhriven you out of your way, but sure, wouldn't 
 you have done it yourself if I'd been you and you'd 
 been me and that black baste of a chap puttin' his 
 ugly foot in the master's business? " 
 
 Miss Grimshaw laughed inarather dreary manner. 
 
 " But it isn't his fault." 
 
 " Whose fault, miss? " 
 
 '* That man's; he was only doing his duty." 
 
 *' Faith, and that's the truth," said Moriarty, 
 " and more's the pity of it, as Con Meehan said 
 
46 GARRYOWEN 
 
 when he was diggin' in his pitata garden and the 
 pleeceman came to arrist him. I'm disremem- 
 brin' what it was he'd done — chickens I think it was 
 he'd stole — but the pleeceman says to him, ' Come 
 off wid you to gaol,' says he. ' It's sorry I am to 
 have to take you,' says he, ' but it's me painful 
 duty.' ' The more's the pity it gives you such 
 pain,' says Con; ' and where does it hurt you most, 
 may I ax? ' ' In me feehn's,' replies him. ' Faith, 
 I'll aise you,' says Con, and wid that he knocks 
 him sinsless with the flat of the spade." 
 
 " That was one way of relieving him of his pain- 
 ful duty." 
 
 " Yes, miss," said Moriarty, and they drove on 
 in silence for awhile. Miss Grimshaw trying to 
 imagine how the case of Con Meehan bore ex- 
 tenuation to the case of the bailiff and failing. 
 
 A long hill brought them to a walk, and Moriarty 
 got down and walked beside the mare to " aise " 
 her. 
 
 HaK-way up the hill a man tramping on ahead 
 hatted, turned, and stood waiting for them to 
 come up. He had a fishing-rod under his arm, 
 and Miss Grimshaw, wondering what new surprise 
 was in store for her, found it in the voice of the 
 stranger, which was cultivated. 
 
 " Can you tell me where I am? " asked the 
 stranger. 
 
 " Yes, sorr," said Moriarty, halting the mare. 
 *' You're eleven miles and a bit from Cloyne, if 
 you're going that way." 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 47 
 
 " Good God," said the stranger, half beneath 
 his breath; then aloud, " Eleven Irish miles." 
 
 " Yes, sorr, there aren't any EngHsh miles in 
 these parts — ^were you going to Cloyne, sorr? " 
 
 " Yes, I'm staying at the inn there, and I came 
 out to-day to fish a stream over there between 
 those two hills, and the fool of a fellow I took with 
 me got lost — at least he went off and never came 
 back, and I'll break his neck when I catch him." 
 
 " Was it Billy Sheelan of the inn be any chance, 
 sorr? " 
 
 " Yes, I beheve that was his name." 
 
 " Then he hasn't got lost, sorr, he's got drunk. 
 This is Mr Frinch's car, and if you'll step onto it 
 I'U drive you back to Cloyne, if the young lady 
 has no objection." 
 
 " Not in the least," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 The stranger raised his cap. He was a good- 
 looking youth, well dressed, and his voice had a lot 
 of character of a sort. It was a good-humoured, 
 easy-going, happy-go-lucky voice, and it matched 
 his face, or as much of his face as could be seen in 
 the moonhght. 
 
 " It's awfully good of you," he said. " I'm 
 dead beat — been on my legs since six ; had good 
 luck too, only I lost all my fish tumbling into one 
 of those bog holes. Just escaped with my fife 
 and my rod." He mounted on the same side of 
 the car as the girl and continued to address his 
 remarks to her as Moriarty drove on. "I beheve 
 I ought to introduce myseK. Dashwood is my 
 
48 GARRYOWEN 
 
 name ; I came over for some fishing, and the more 
 I see of Ireland the more I like it ; your country — " 
 
 Miss Grimshaw laughed. 
 
 " It's not my country — I'm American." 
 
 " Are you? " said Mr Dashwood in a reheved 
 voice; "how jolly. I thought you might be 
 Irish. I say," in a confidential tone of voice, 
 " isn't it a beastly hole? " 
 
 " Which? " 
 
 " Ireland." 
 
 " Why, I thought you said you liked it." 
 
 " I thought you were Irish. I do hke it in a way. 
 The mountains and the whisky aren't bad, and the 
 people are jolly enough if they'd only wash them- 
 selves, but the hotels — oh, my! " 
 
 " You're staying at the inn near the railway 
 station at Cloyne? " 
 
 " I am," said Mr Dashwood. 
 
 " Then you know Biddy and the stuffed dog — " 
 
 " Intimately — have you stayed there? " 
 
 " I had tea there this afternoon — " 
 
 'You Uve near here? " 
 
 " I beheve I am going to five for awhile near 
 here. I only arrived this afternoon." 
 
 " Only this afternoon. Excuse me for being 
 so inquisitive, but where did you arrive at — I 
 mean — " 
 
 " Cloyne." 
 
 " But you're driving to Cloyne now." 
 
 " I know — I've been driving all over the 
 country. We had to leave a gentleman at a 
 
ADVENTURE AT THE CASTLE 49 
 
 castle — and now we are going back to Cloyne. 
 Then I have to go on to a place called Drumgool, 
 which is fifteen miles from Cloyne." 
 
 " To-night? " said Mr Dashwood, looking in 
 astonishment at the wanderer, 
 
 " I don't know," said the girl, with a touch of 
 hopelessness in her voice. " I expect they'll 
 have to tie me on to the car, for I feel dropping off 
 now — no thanks, I can manage to hold on by my- 
 seK; I was speaking metaphorically." 
 
 Mr Dashwood said nothing for a few minutes. 
 There was a mystery about Miss Grimshaw that 
 he could not unravel and which she could not 
 explain. 
 
 Then he said, " We've both been travelling 
 round the country, seems to me, and we're both 
 pretty tired and we've met like this — fiumy, isn't 
 it? " 
 
 " Awfully," said Miss Grimshaw, trying to stifle 
 a yawn. 
 
 " Do I bore you talking? " 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " That's all right. I know you must be tired, 
 but then, you see, you can't go to sleep on an out- 
 side car, so one may as well talk. How far are we 
 from Cloyne now? " to Moriarty. 
 
 " Nine miles, sorr." 
 
 " Good. I say, you said this car belonged to a 
 Mr French. I met a Mr French six months ago 
 in London — a Mr Michael French." 
 
 " That's him, sorr." 
 
50 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Well, that's funny," said Mr Dashwood. " I 
 met him at my club, and he told me he lived some- 
 where in Ireland — a big man — very big man — 
 goes in for horses." 
 
 " That's him, sorr." 
 
 " Awfully rummy coincidence," said Mr Dash- 
 wood, turning to his companion. " I lost two 
 ponies to him over the Gatwick SelHng Plate." 
 
 " That's him, sorr," said Moriarty, with con- 
 viction. 
 
 " Awfully funny — do you know him? " 
 
 " No," replied Miss Grimshaw — " at least only 
 by writing to him. I'm going there for awhile 
 to act as governess," she explained. 
 
 " And of course I'll call there to-morrow and 
 look him up. Well, it's extraordinary, really. 
 Joke if we met someone else going to see him that 
 had been lost and wandering about all day — sort 
 of Canterbury Pilgrimage, you know, and we could 
 all sit round the fire at the inn and teU tales." 
 
 " I hope not," said Miss Grimshaw, devoutly, 
 thinking of the gentleman they had left at the old 
 castle and the tale he'd have to tell. 
 
 Moriarty was now talking to the Dancing 
 Mistress, telling her of the feed of corn waiting 
 for her at the inn, and they jogged along rapidly, 
 till presently a few glow-worm sparks before them 
 indicated the Hghts of Cloyne. 
 
 " How long will you be getting the other horse? " 
 asked Miss Grimshaw of Moriarty as they drew 
 up at the inn, which was still open. 
 
ADV^ENTURE AT THE CASTLE 51 
 
 " I don't know, miss, I'll ax," replied Moriarty. 
 
 Mr Dashwood helped his companion down and 
 she followed him into the passage and from there 
 to the sitting-room. 
 
 A bright turf fire was bm'ning and the table was 
 still laid, and almost immediately Biddy appeared 
 to say that Mr French had sent word that the lady 
 was to stay at the inn and make herseK comfort- 
 able for the night and to come on to Drumgool in 
 the morning, and to say he was sorry that she 
 should have been put to any inconvenience on 
 account of the horses; all of which seemed as 
 wonderful as wireless telegraphy to Miss Grimshaw, 
 inasmuch as she knew nothing of the gossoon 
 Moriarty had despatched to his master earher in 
 the evening, with a succinct message stating his 
 plan against the baihff, and the absolute necessity 
 of taking the governess along, lest the said baihff , 
 seeing the governess and luggage left behind at the 
 imi, might smell a rat. 
 
 " And what'll you be plazed to have for supper, 
 miss? " asked Biddy. 
 
 " What can you give us? " asked Mr Dashwood. 
 
 " Anything you like, sorr." 
 
 " Well, get us a cold roast chicken and some 
 ham. I'm sure you'd like chicken, wouldn't you? " 
 turning to the girl. 
 
 " Yes," said she, " as long as they haven't to 
 cook it. I'm famished." 
 
 Biddy retired. There was no cold chicken and 
 there was no ham on the premises, but the spirit 
 
52 GARRYOWEN 
 
 of hospitality demanded that ten minutes should 
 be spent in pretending to look for them. 
 
 They had fried rashers of bacon — there were no 
 eggs — and tea, and when Miss Grimshaw retired 
 for the night to a stuffy bedroom ornamented with 
 a stuffed cat, she could hear the deep tones of 
 Moriarty's voice colloguing with Mrs Sheelan, 
 telHng her most hkely of the trick he had played 
 on the bailiff man. 
 
 She wondered how far that benighted individual 
 had wandered by this on his road to Cloyne, and 
 what he would say to Moriarty, and what Moriarty 
 would say to him when they met. 
 
 She could not but perceive that the commercial 
 morality of the house she was going to was of an 
 old-fashioned type dating from somewhere in the 
 times of the buccaneers, and she felt keenly inter- 
 ested in the probable personality of Mr French. 
 
 Moriarty she liked unreservedly, and in Mr 
 Dashwood, her fellow-stranger in this land un- 
 known, she felt an interest which he was returning 
 as he lay in bed, pipe in mouth, and his head on a 
 pillow stuffed presumably with brick-bats. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 GABRYOWEN 
 
 Andy Meehan was a jockey who had akeady won 
 Mr French three races. He was a product of the 
 estate and a prodigy, though by no means an 
 infant. 
 
 Nobody knew his age exactly; under five feet, 
 composed mostly of bone with a Httle skin stretched 
 tightly over it, with a face that his cap nearly 
 obhterated, Andy presented a problem in physiol- 
 ogy very difficult of solution. That is to say, in 
 Mr French's words, the more he ate the fighter he 
 grew. In the old days, before ]\Ir French took 
 him into his stable as helper, when food was 
 scarce and AndyhaK starved, he was comparatively 
 fat. Housed and fed well, he waxed thin, and 
 kicked — kicked for a better job, and got it. He 
 was a heaven-born jockey. He possessed hands, 
 knees and head. He was made to go on a horse 
 just as a fimpet is made to go on a rock. Nothing 
 on the ground, he was everything when mounted. 
 He was Insight, Dexterity, Coolness, Courage and 
 Judgment, 
 
 Several owners had tried to lure Andy away from 
 his master. Prospects of good pay and advance- 
 ment, however, had no charm for Andy. French 
 
 53 
 
54 GARRYOWEN 
 
 was his master, and to all alien offers Andy had 
 only one reply, " To h — 1 wid them." I doubt if 
 Andy's vocabulary had more than two hundred 
 words. Except to Mr French or Moriarty he was 
 very speechless. " Yes " and " No " f or ordinary 
 purposes, and when he was vexed, " To h — 1 wid 
 you," served him for almost all everyday needs. 
 
 Last night he had single-handed taken Nip and 
 Tuck to the station and entrained them, re- 
 turning on foot, and this morning he was mending 
 an old saddle in the sunshine of the stableyard 
 when Mr French appeared at the gate. Mr French 
 had come out of the house without his hat. He had 
 a cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets. 
 He gave some directions to Andy to be handed on 
 to Moriarty when that personage arrived, and then 
 with his own hands opened the upper door of a 
 loose-box. 
 
 A lovely head was thrust out. It was Garry- 
 owen's. The eyes so full of kindliness and fire, 
 the mobile nostrils telHng of delicate sensibilities 
 and fine feeling, the nobiHty and intelligence that 
 spoke in every line of that delicately-cut head; 
 these had to be seen to be understood. 
 
 Garry o wen was more than a horse to Mr French. 
 He was a friend, and more even than that. Garry- 
 owen was to pull the family fortunes out of the 
 mire, to raise the family name, to crown his master 
 with laurels. 
 
 Garryowen was French's last card, on which 
 he was about to speculate his last penny. In 
 
GARRYOWEN 55 
 
 simpler language, he was to run in the City and 
 Suburban in the ensuing year, and to win it. I 
 daresay you have already gathered the fact that 
 Mr French's financial affairs were rather involved. 
 The Nip and Tuck incident, however, was only 
 a straw showing the direction of the wind which 
 threatened in a few months to strengthen into a 
 gale. Only an incident, for the debt to Harrison 
 was not considerable, and it would not require 
 more than a week or so to collect the money to 
 satisfy it. 
 
 The bother to Mr French was that in the spring 
 of next year he would have to find fifteen hundred 
 pounds to satisfy the claims of a gentleman named 
 Lewis, and how he was to do this, and at the same 
 time bear the expense of getting the horse to 
 England and running him, was a question quite 
 beyond solution at present. 
 
 Not only had the horse to be run but he had to 
 be backed. 
 
 French had decided to win the City and Sub- 
 urban. He wished sometimes, now, that he had 
 made Punchestown the Hmit of his desires; but 
 having come to a decision, this gentleman never 
 went back on it. Besides, he w^ould never have so 
 good a chance again of winning a big English race 
 and a fortune at the same time, for Garry owen was 
 a dark horse, if ever a horse wa.s dark, and a flyer, 
 if ever a creature without wings deserved the title. 
 
 "Oh, bother the money! We'll get it some- 
 how," French would say, closing his bank-book 
 
56 GARRYOWEN 
 
 and tearing up the sheet of notepaper on which he 
 had been making figures. He calculated that, 
 gathering together all his resources, he would have 
 enough to run the horse and back him for a 
 thousand. To do this he would have to perform 
 the most intricate evolutions in the borrowing 
 hne. It could be done, however, if Lewis were 
 left out of the calculation. 
 
 The fifteen hundred owing to Lewis was a debt 
 which would have to be paid by the end of March, 
 and the City and Suburban is run in April. If it 
 were not paid then Lewis would seize Garryowen 
 with the rest of Mr French's goods, and that un- 
 fortunate gentleman would be stranded so high 
 and dry that he would never swim again. 
 
 The one bright spot in his affairs was the fact 
 that Effie had two hundred and fifty a year, 
 settled on her so tightly by a prescient grandfather 
 that no art or artifice could unsettle it or fling it 
 into the melting-pot. 
 
 This was French's pet grievance, and by a 
 man's pet grievance you may generally know him. 
 
 Garryowen blew into his master's waistcoat, 
 allowed his ears to be stroked, nibbled a lump of 
 sugar, and repUed to some confidential remarks 
 of his owner by a subdued, flickering whinny. 
 Then Mr French barred the door, and, leaving the 
 stable-yard, came out into the kitchen garden, 
 from whence a good view could be had of the road. 
 
 The adventure of the governess on the preceding 
 night had greatly tickled his fancy. The idea of a 
 
GARRYOWEN 57 
 
 sedate, elderly lady assisting, even unwillingly, in 
 the marooning of the baihjff, had amused him, 
 but that was nothing to the fact that Moriarty had 
 used her for bait. 
 
 This morning, however, the amusement had 
 worn off, and he was reckoning uncomfortably on 
 an interview with an outraged elderly female, who 
 would possibly carry her resentment to the point 
 of renouncing her situation and returning home. 
 
 He looked at his watch. It pointed to haK-past 
 ten. He looked at the road winding away, a white 
 streak utterly destitute of life or sign of Moriarty, 
 the car, or the dreaded governess. The fine 
 weather still held, and the distant hills stood out 
 grand in the brave morning Ught. 
 
 The gossoon sent by Moriarty the previous day 
 had announced that Moriarty was going to drive 
 the bailiff to the " ould castle " and drop him 
 there, at the same time giving full details of the 
 plan. The arrival of the outraged baihff had to be 
 counted on later in the day, and would, no doubt, 
 form a counterpart to the arrival of the outraged 
 governess. 
 
 To a man of French's philosophical nature, how- 
 ever, these things were, to quote Sophocles, " in 
 the future," non-existent at present, and not worth 
 bothering about till they materiahsed themselves. 
 
 As he stood, casting a leisurely glance over the 
 great sweep of country that lay before him, a 
 black, moving speck far away on the road caught 
 his eye. He watched it as it drew nearer and 
 
58 GARRYOWEN 
 
 developed. It was the car. He shaded his eyes 
 as it approached. Three people were on it: 
 Moriarty and two others — a woman and a man. 
 
 The idea that the bailiS and the governess were 
 arriving together, allied forces prepared to attack 
 him, crossed his brain for one wild instant. Then 
 he dismissed it. Moriarty was much too clever a 
 diplomat to allow such a thing as that. 
 
 Then, as the car came up the drive, he saw that 
 the woman was a young and pretty girl, and the 
 man youthful and well-dressed, and, concluding 
 that the governess had vanished into thin air, and 
 that these were visitors of some sort, he hurried 
 back to the house and shouted for Norah, the 
 parlour-maid. 
 
 " Open the drawing-room and pull up the 
 bhnds," cried Mr French. " There's visitors 
 coming. Let them in, and tell them I'll be down 
 in a minute." 
 
 He ran upstairs to make himseK tidy, being at 
 the moment attired in a shocking old shooting- 
 coat gone at the elbows, and, as to his feet, i,n a 
 pair of carpet slippers. 
 
 As he changed he heard the visitors being ad- 
 mitted, and then Norah came tumbhng up the 
 stairs and thumped at his door. 
 
 " They're in the draaing-room, sir." 
 
 " All right," said Mr French. " I'U be down in 
 a minute." 
 
 Mr Dashwood and his companion had break- 
 fasted together at the inn. The double free- 
 
GARRYOWEN 59 
 
 masonry of youth and health had made the meal a 
 happy affair, despite the teapot with a broken 
 spout, the bad, sad, salt bacon, and the tea that 
 tasted Hke a decoction of mahogany shavings. 
 
 It was Miss Grimshaw who proposed that as Mr 
 Dashwood was going to see his friend, and as she 
 was bound on the same errand, they might use 
 the same car. 
 
 Moriarty, who was consulted, consented with 
 alacrity. 
 
 " He's not turned up yet, miss," said Moriarty, 
 as he held the horse whilst Miss Grimshaw got on 
 the car. 
 
 " I wonder what's become of him," said the girl, 
 settling the rug on her knees. 
 
 " Faith, and I expect he's wonderin' that him- 
 self," said Moriarty, taking the reins; "unless 
 he's tuck a short cut across the country and landed 
 in a bog-hole." All of which was Greek to Mr 
 Dashwood. 
 
 In the drawing-room of Drumgool House they 
 were now awaiting the arrival of Mr French. 
 
 " I say," said Mr Dashwood, " I hope he is the 
 man I met in London." 
 
 " I hope so too," said the girl, looking round 
 the quaint old room, with its pot-pourri vases, its 
 antimacassars, its furniture of a distant day. The 
 place smelt like an old valentine with a tinge of 
 must cUnging to it. Pretty women had once sat 
 here, had played on that rosewood piano whose 
 voice was like the voice of a harp in the bass, like 
 
6o GARRYOWEN 
 
 a banjo in the treble; had woven antimacassars, 
 had read the romances of Mr Richardson, had 
 waited for the gentlemen after dinner — the claret- 
 flushed gentlemen whose cheery voices would be 
 heard no more. 
 
 " I hope so too," said Miss Grimshaw. " I'm all 
 right, for I'm the governess, you know. If he 
 isn't it will look very strange us arriving together 
 so you must explain, please. Are you good at 
 explaining things? " 
 
 " Rather! I say, is he a family man? I mean, 
 are there a lot of children? " 
 
 " No. Mr French has only one little daughter, 
 an invaHd. I'm not a real governess. I don't 
 take a salary and aU that. I've just come over 
 to — well, I want a home for a while, and I want to 
 see Ireland." 
 
 " Strikes me you'll see a lot of it here," said Mr 
 Dashwood, looking out at the vast soHtudes to the 
 east, where the hills stood ranged like armed men 
 guarding a country where the bird shadow and the 
 cloud shadow were the only moving things. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Grimshaw, and yawned. She 
 liked Mr Dashwood, but his Ught-hearted con- 
 versation just now rather palled upon her. 
 
 " And won't you catch it in the winter here! " 
 said he, as he watched Croag Mahon, a giant mono- 
 lith, sunht a moment ago, and now wreathing itself 
 with mist just as a lady wreathes herself with a 
 filmy scarf. " What on earth will you do with 
 yourself when it rains? " 
 
GARRYOWEN 6i 
 
 " I don't know," replied Miss Grimshaw. 
 " Don't be gloomy. All!" 
 
 The door opened, and Mr French entered the 
 room — a gentleman that Bobby Dashwood had 
 never seen in his life before. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 EFFIE 
 
 The master of Drumgool, genial and easy and the 
 very personification of welcome, had scarcely 
 taken in with a glance the two pleasant-looking 
 young people who had invaded his drawing-room, 
 when the explainer of situations rushed into the 
 breach. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry," said he, " but IVe made a 
 mistake. I met this young lady at the inn at 
 Cloyne, and, as she was coming here, I came on 
 the same car, for I thought you were a Mr Michael 
 French I'd met in London. I've been fishing 
 down here." 
 
 " You expected me last night," said Miss Grim- 
 shaw. " My name is Grimshaw." 
 
 " Faith," said Mr French, " this is a pleasant 
 surprise. Sit down, sit down." 
 
 " I ought to say my name is Dashwood," put 
 in the explainer. 
 
 " Sit down, sit down — I'm dehghted to see you 
 both. Staying at the inn, are you? And how do 
 you like Mrs Sheelan? And you met at the inn? 
 Of course you did. Miss Grimshaw, I don't know 
 how in the name of wonder I'm going to apologise 
 
 62 
 
EFFIE 63 
 
 to you for driving you all over the country. Is 
 that chair easy? No, it's not — take this one. 
 Look at it before you sit in it. Dan O'Connell 
 took his seat in that chair when he was here for 
 the elections, in my grandfather's time, and I 
 have the bed upstairs he slept in. Which Michael 
 French, I wonder, was it you met? Was it a man 
 with a big black beard? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr Dashwood. 
 
 " And gold-rimmed spectacles? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And bawls like a bull? " 
 
 " He had rather a loud voice." 
 
 " That's him. He's my cousin, bad luck to 
 him. No matter. I'll be even with him some day 
 yet. He's the biggest black — I mean, we have 
 never been friends; but that's always the way 
 between relations. And that reminds me — I've 
 never bid you welcome to Drumgool, Miss Grim- 
 shaw. Welcome you are to the house and all it 
 holds, and make yourself at home. And here we 
 are sitting in the old drawing-room that's only 
 used for company once in a twelvemonth. Come 
 down to the sitting-room, both of you. There's a 
 fire there, and Effie will be in in a minute. She's 
 out driving in the donkey-carriage. This isn't a 
 bad bit of an old hall, is it? " continued he, as they 
 passed through the hall. "It's the oldest part of 
 the house. Do you see that split in the panelling 
 up there? That's where a bullet went in the duel 
 between Counsellor Kinsella and Colonel White. 
 
64 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Black White was his nickname, and well he de- 
 served it. They fought here, for it was snowing 
 so thick outside you couldn't see a man at ten 
 paces. Eighteen hundred and one that was, and 
 they in their graves all these years ! No, no one 
 was killed. Only a tenant that had come in to see 
 the fun, and he got in the Une of fire. He re- 
 covered, I believe, though they say he carried the 
 bullet in his head to the end of his days. This is 
 the sitting-room. It's the warmest room in 
 winter. The old house is as full of holes as a 
 cullender; but you'll never get a draught here. 
 Norah! " putting his head out of the door. 
 
 " Yes, sir? " 
 
 " Bring the decanters. You don't mind smok- 
 ing. Miss Grimshaw? Thafs a good job. Are you 
 fond of horses, Mr Dashwood? " 
 
 "Rather!" 
 
 " Well, there's the hoof of the Shaughraun. He 
 carried everjrthing before him in Ireland ; lie was 
 my grandfather's, and he was entered for the 
 Derby, and some blackguards poisoned him. It 
 would be before your time, and his death made 
 more stir than the death of anything that ever 
 went on four legs, except, maybe, old Nebuchad- 
 nezzar. They made songs about it, and I have a 
 ballad upstairs in my desk a yard long my father 
 bought from an old woman in Abbey Street. 
 Here's the whisky. Sure, Norah, what have you 
 been dreaming about, and why didn't you bring 
 the wine for the young lady? Not drink wine! 
 
EFFIE 65 
 
 Well, now, just say the word and I'll get you some 
 tea. Or would you like coffee? Well, ^vell. Say 
 ' when,' Mr Dashwood." 
 
 " I like this room," said Miss Grimshaw, looking 
 round at the books and the oak panelling. " It's 
 so cosy, and yet so ghosty. Have you a ghost? " 
 
 " A which? — I beg your pardon," said Mr 
 French, pausing in his operations with a soda- 
 water syphon. 
 
 "A ghost!" ' 
 
 " I believe there's an old woman without a head 
 walks in the top corridor by the servants' bed- 
 rooms. At least that's the story, but it's all 
 nonsense, though it does to frighten the girls with 
 and get them to bed early. Who's that? " 
 
 " If you plaze, sir," said Norah, speaking 
 through the half -open door, " Miss Effie's back 
 from her drive and upstairs, and she's wild to see 
 the young lady." 
 
 " That's me, I suppose," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 " I'll go up if I may." 
 
 " Sure, with pleasure," said Mr French, holding 
 the door open for her with all the grace of a 
 Brummell, whilst the girl passed out. 
 
 Then he closed the door, waited till she was well 
 out of earshot, and then, sitting down in an arm- 
 chair, he " rocked and roared " with laughter. 
 
 " Don't speak to me," said he, though Mr 
 Dashwood had not said a word. " Did you see 
 me trying to keep my face? Sure, man, she's the 
 governess, and I thought it was an old lady in 
 
66 GARRYOWEN 
 
 spectacles that would be coming. Faith, and I'll 
 have to get a chaperon. You might have blown 
 me away with a fan when she said who she was. 
 But I didn't let on, did I? I didn't show the 
 start she'd given me? Are you sure? " 
 
 Assured on this point, Mr French poured him- 
 self out another glass of whisky. He explained 
 that he'd got Miss Grimshaw " out of an advertise- 
 ment." Then, much to the edification of Mr 
 Dashwood, he went into the bailiff business, the 
 beauty of Mp and Tuck, the price Colonel Sher- 
 bourne had paid, explaining that it was not the 
 money he cared about so much as the injury it 
 would have done him in Sherbourne's estimation 
 if the horses had not been dehvered. 
 
 It was an adventure after the heart of Bobby 
 Dashwood, who, in his short life, had dealt freely 
 and been dealt with by money-lenders. Mr 
 Dashwood was what women call a " nice-looking 
 boy," but he was not particularly intellectual 
 when you got him off the subjects he had made 
 particularly his own. He had failed for Sand- 
 hurst. If a proficiency in cricket and fives had 
 been allowed to count he would have got high 
 marks, but they wanted mathematics, and Mr 
 Dashwood could not supply this requirement; 
 in French, too, he was singularly deficient. The 
 deficiencies of Mr Dashwood would have furnished 
 out half a dozen young men well equipped for 
 failure in business, and that is why, I suppose, he 
 managed to make such a success of life. 
 
EFFIE 67 
 
 The joy Mr Dash wood managed to extract from 
 that usually unjoyful thing called hfe hinted at 
 alchemy rather than chemistry. Joy, too, with- 
 out any by-products in the way of headaches or 
 heartaches. Utterly irresponsible, but without 
 a serious vice, always bright, clean and healthy 
 and alert for any sort of sport as a terrier, he was 
 as good to meet and have around one as a spring 
 morning — that is to say, when one was in tune for 
 him. 
 
 He had five hundred a year of his own (with 
 prospects of great wealth on the death of an uncle), 
 and even out of this poverty he managed to extract 
 pleasure of a sort in the excitement of setthng with 
 creditors and trying to make both ends meet — 
 which they never did. 
 
 "What a joke!" said Mr Dashwood. "And 
 she never spht. She said she'd been leaving a 
 gentleman at an old castle — and she never grumbled 
 though she was nearly dropping off the car. I 
 say, isn't she a ripper? " 
 
 " Here's to her," said French. " And now, 
 come out and have a look at the stables and 
 grounds. Lunch is at one and we have an hour." 
 
 The youth and prettiness of Miss Grimshaw, 
 after the first pleasing shock, did not trouble him 
 in the least. A straight-minded man and the soul 
 of honour in everything not appertaining to bill 
 discounters, the propriety or impropriety of the 
 situation did not cause him a moment's thought. 
 The only thing that worried him for a second or 
 
68 GARRYOWEN 
 
 two was the remembrance of Mr Giveen. How 
 would that gentleman act under the intoxication 
 sure to be produced by the newcomer's youth and 
 prettiness? 
 
 " She'd have been down herself to see you, miss," 
 said Norah, as she led the way upstairs, " only she's 
 gone in the legs. This way, miss, along the 
 passidge — ^this is the door." 
 
 A scuffling noise made itseK evident as Nor ah 
 turned the door handle, and Miss Grimshaw, 
 entering a bright and pleasantly-furnished room, 
 found herself face to face with Miss French, who 
 was sitting up on a sofa, flushed and bright-eyed, 
 and with the appearance of having suddenly 
 returned to her invalidhood and position on the 
 couch after an excursion about the apartment. 
 
 " Hullo," said the child. 
 
 " Hullo," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 "Oh, will you look at her!" cried Norah. 
 '* And the rug I put round her legs all over the 
 place! You've been off the couch, Miss Effie." 
 
 " I only put my feet on the ground," protested 
 the child. " You needn't be going on at me. 
 Bother my old legs ! I wish they were cut off." 
 
 " And so you are Effie," said Miss Grimshaw, 
 taking her seat on the edge of the couch. " Do 
 you know who I am? " 
 
 " Rather," replied Miss French. " You're Miss 
 Grimshaw." 
 
 There was a subdued chuckle in the tone of her 
 voice, as though Miss Grimshaw was a joke that 
 
EFFIE 69 
 
 had just come off rather than a governess who had 
 just arrived, a chuckle hinting at the fact that Miss 
 Grimshaw had been the subject of humorous dis- 
 cussion and speculation in the French household 
 for some time past. 
 
 " You'll ring, miss, when you want me to show 
 you your room," said Norah. Then she withdrew, 
 and Miss Grimshaw found herseM alone with her 
 charge. 
 
 The room was half nursery, haK sitting-room, 
 papered with a sprightly green-sprigged and rose- 
 patterned paper. Pictures from Christmas 
 numbers of the Graphic and pictures of cats by 
 Louis Wain adorned the walls; there were a 
 number of yellow-backed books on a book-shelf, 
 and in one corner a pile of old comic papers — 
 Punchs, Judys and Funs — all of an ancient 
 date. 
 
 All the hght literature in Drumgool House found 
 its way here and remained. The yellow-backed 
 books were the works of Arthur Sketchley, a most 
 pleasing humorist whose name has faded almost 
 from our memories. Mrs Brown'' s 'Oliday Outings, 
 Mrs Brown in Paris, Mrs Brown at the Sea-side — 
 all were here. They had been bought by some 
 member of the French family with a taste for 
 humour, as had also the comic papers. 
 
 To Miss French in her captivity the dead-and- 
 gone artists, the dead-and-gone jokes, the fashions 
 and manners of the 'Eighties, which are as Thebes 
 to us, were fresh and vigorous. Up-to-date 
 
70 GARRYOWEN 
 
 papers and books came little in her way, for 
 French was not a reading man. 
 
 " Where's your spectacles? " asked Effie, after 
 they had conversed for a while, tucking the rug 
 round herself and speaking with the jocularity 
 and familiarity which generally is associated with 
 long acquaintanceship. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 " Father said you'd be in spectacles." 
 
 " Oh, my spectacles? They are coming by the 
 next train — also my snuff-box and a birch rod." 
 
 " Get out with you," said Miss French, moving 
 under the rug as if someone had tickled her. 
 "Your snuff-box and your birch rod! Get out 
 with you! " 
 
 It was the first time that Miss Grimshaw had 
 come across a child brought up almost entirely by 
 servants — and Irish servants at that — but there 
 was an entire good-humour about the product 
 that made it not displeasing. 
 
 " So that's how you welcome me, telling me to 
 get out almost as soon as I have come! Very 
 well, I am going." 
 
 " Off with you then," rephed the other, falling 
 into the vein of badinage as easily as a bilHard 
 ball into a pocket. " Potwallop along with you. 
 / don't care. Hi! come back! " 
 
 " What is it? " inquired Miss Grimshaw, now at 
 the door, with her hand on the door handle. 
 
 " I want to tell you somethin'." 
 
 " Well? " 
 
EFFIE 71 
 
 " I want to whisper it." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw came to the couch. 
 
 " Bend down closer." 
 
 She bent; two small arms flung themselves 
 tentacle- wise round her neck, and she was nearly 
 deafened by a " Boo " in her ear, followed and 
 apologised for by a moist and warm-hearted kiss. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 " Since I last wrote to you young Mr Dash wood 
 has left. He stayed three days. ]Mr French 
 insisted on his staying — sent for his luggage to the 
 inn at Cloyne, put him up in the best bedroom, 
 where I believe Dan O'Connell once slept, and kept 
 him up till all hours of the morning, drinking far 
 more whisky than was good for his constitution, 
 I am sure. 
 
 " We had an awfully good time whilst he was 
 here, and the house seems a httle dull now that he 
 is gone. He asked me, before he left, might he 
 write to me and tell me how he was getting on? 
 But he hasn't written yet. He was a nice boy, 
 but irresponsible. And, talking of irresponsibiHty, 
 the word does not even vaguely describe the affairs 
 of this household. 
 
 " I told you of the bailiff man. Well, he 
 arrived in a closed carriage from Cloyne next day, 
 and has been in bed ever since, with influenza 
 caught by exposure on the moors. He is con- 
 valescent now, and I met him in the garden this 
 morning, ' taking the air on a stick,' to use Mr 
 
 French's expression. I believe the debt is paid 
 
 72 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN ^^ 
 
 to Mr Harrison, but the bailiff is staying on as a 
 guest. Mr French gets me at night, sometimes, 
 to help him in his accounts. He tells me aU his 
 affairs and money worries. His affairs are simply 
 appalHng, and he has a mad scheme for running 
 a horse next spring in a big Enghsh race — the 
 Suburban something or other — by which he hopes 
 to make a fortune. WHien I point out the im- 
 possibiUty of the thing he closes up his account- 
 books and says there is no use in meeting troubles 
 haK-way. 
 
 " Effie is a bright httle thing, but there is some- 
 thing about her I can't quite understand. She 
 has a secret which she tells me she is going to tell 
 me some day, but what it is I can't make out. 
 Now I must stop. Oh! but I forgot. How 
 shall I say it? — how shall I tell it? I have an 
 admirer. He is a little mad — a cousin of IMr 
 French's. You remember those pictures of Sunny 
 Jim we used to admire on the posters? Well, he 
 is not like that — much stouter and more serious- 
 looking, and yet there is a family resemblance. 
 He has taken to haunting me. Mr French has 
 warned me not to mind him. He says he is sure 
 to propose to me, but that I'm not to be offended, 
 as it's a disease ' the poor creature is afflicted with, 
 just as if he had epileptic fits,' and that he would 
 make eyes at a broomstick with a skirt on it if he 
 could get nothing else ; aU of which is interesting 
 but scarcely complimentary! Things are so dull 
 just at present that I really think I must lead him 
 
74 GARRYOWEN 
 
 on. I am sure when he does do it it will be awfully 
 funny. His name is Giveen. Everything is queer 
 about him. It rained yesterday and the day 
 before, but to-day is simply glorious. And now 
 I must stop in earnest. — Ever yours lovingly, 
 
 " Violet." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw had been writing her letter at 
 the writing-table in the sitting-room window. 
 The sitting-room was on the ground floor, and as 
 she looked up from addressing the envelope Mr 
 Giveen, at the window and backed by the glorious 
 September afternoon, met her gaze. 
 
 He was looking in at her. How long he had 
 been standing at the window gazing upon her it 
 would be impossible to say. Irritated at having 
 been spied upon, Miss Grimshaw frowned at Mr 
 Giveen, who smiled in return, at the same time 
 motioning her to open the window. 
 
 " Well? " said Miss Grimshaw, putting up the 
 sash. 
 
 " Come out with me," said Mr Giveen. 
 *' Michael is off at Drumboyne, and there's no one 
 to know. Put on your hat and come out with 
 me." 
 
 " Go out with you? Where? " 
 
 " I'll get the boat and take you to see the seals 
 on the Seven Sisters rocks. The sea is as smooth 
 as a — smooth as a — smooth as a what's-its-name? 
 I'll be thinking of it in a minit. Stick on your 
 hat and come out with me." 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN 75 
 
 " Some other day, when Mr French is at home. 
 I don't understand your meaning at all when you 
 talk about nobody knowing. I never do things 
 that I want to hide." 
 
 " Sure, that was only my joke," grinned Mr 
 Giveen; " and if you don't come to-day you'll 
 never come at all, for it's the end of the season, 
 and it's a hundred to one you won't find another 
 day fit to go till next summer — and I'll show you 
 the big sea cave," finished he, " for the tide will 
 be out by the time we've had a look at the seals. 
 It's not f oolin' you I am ; the boat's on the beach, 
 and it won't take ten minutes to get there! " 
 
 " I'll come down and look at the sea," said Miss 
 Grimshaw, who could not resist the appeal of the 
 lovely afternoon, " if you'll wait five seconds till 
 I get my hat." 
 
 " Sure I'd wait five hundred years," replied the 
 cousin of Mr French, propping himself against the 
 house wall, where he stood whisthng softly and 
 breaking off every now and then to chuckle to 
 himself, after the fashion of a person who has 
 thought of a good joke or has got the better of 
 another in a deal. 
 
 Five minutes later, hearing the girl leaving the 
 house by the front door, he came round and met her. 
 
 " This way," said Mr Giveen, taking a path that 
 led through the kitchen garden and so round a 
 clump of stunted fir trees to the break in the cliffs 
 that gave passage to the strand. " Now down by 
 these rocks — it's a powerfully rough road, and I've 
 
^6 GARRYOWEN 
 
 told Michael time out of mind he ought to have it 
 levelled ; but much use there is in talking to him 
 and him mth his head full of horses. Will you 
 take a hold of my arm? " 
 
 " No thanks; I can get on quite well alone." 
 
 " Well, step careful. Musha! but I was nearly 
 down there myseK. Do you know the name they 
 give this crack in the cHffs? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It's the Devil's Keyhole." 
 
 " W\i^ do they call it that? " 
 
 " Why? Faith, you'll know that when you 
 hear the wind blowing through it in winter. It 
 screeches so you can hear it at Drumboyne. Do 
 you know that I hve at Drumboyne? " 
 
 " That's the village between here and Cloyne? " 
 
 " That's it. But do you know where I Hve in 
 Drumboyne? " 
 JNo. 
 
 " WeU, now, by any chance, did you see a 
 bungalow on the right before you left Drumboyne, 
 as you were driving here that day on the car with 
 the young chap — Mr What's-his-name? " 
 
 " Dashwood. Yes, I did see a bungalow." 
 
 " That's mine," said Mr Giveen, with a sigh. 
 " As nice a house as there is in the country, if it 
 wasn't that I was all alone in it." 
 
 " Don't you keep a servant? " 
 
 " A servant ! Sure, of course I keep a servant 
 — ^two. But it wasn't a servant I was meaning. 
 Shall I tell you what I was meaning? " 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN ^^ 
 
 " I'm not much interested in other people's 
 affairs," said Miss Grimshaw, hmriedly. "Ah! 
 there's the sea at last." 
 
 A turn of the cleft had suddenly disclosed the 
 great Atlantic Ocean. 
 
 Blue, and smooth as satin, it came glassing in, 
 breaking gently over and around the rocks, huge 
 black rocks shaggy with sea- weed, holding amongst 
 them pools, where at low tide you would find rock 
 cod, lobsters and crabs. 
 
 In winter, during the storms, this place was 
 tremendous and white with flying foam ; the waves 
 bursting to the very cliff's base, the echoes shouting 
 back the roar of the breakers,the breakers thunder- 
 ing and storming at the echoes, and over all the 
 wind making a bugle of the Devil's Keyhole ; but 
 to-day nothing could be more peaceful, and the 
 whisper of the low tide waves seething in amidst 
 the rocks was a lullaby to rock a babe to sleep. 
 
 Just here, protected by the rocks, lay a tiny cove 
 where French kept his boat, which he used for 
 fishing and seal-shooting. And here to-day, on 
 a rock beside the boat, which was half water-borne, 
 they found Doolan, the man who looked after the 
 garden and hens and did odd jobs, amongst which 
 was the duty of keeping the boat in order and 
 looking after the fishing tackle. 
 
 " What a jolly Uttle boat ! " said the girl, resting 
 her hand on the thwart of the sturdy httle white- 
 painted dinghy. " Do you go fishing in this? " 
 
 " Michael does," rephed IVIr Giveen, " but I'm 
 
7^ GARRYOWEN 
 
 no fisherman. Doolan, isn't the sea smooth 
 enough to take the young lady for a row? " 
 
 He shouted the words into the ear of the old 
 weather-beaten man, who was as deaf as a post. 
 
 " Say smooth enough to take the young lady for 
 a row? " rephed Doolan in a creaky voice that 
 seemed to come from a distance. " And what 
 smoother would you want it, Mr Dick? Say 
 smooth enough to take the young lady for a row? 
 Sure, it's more hke ile than say water it is to-day. 
 Is this the young lady you tould me you were goin' 
 to take to say the sales? " 
 
 " I don't want to see any seals," cut in Miss 
 Grimshaw. " I only came down to look at the 
 sea." 
 
 " There you are! " burst out Mr Giveen, Hke a 
 child in a temper. " After I get the boat ready 
 for you, thinking to give you a bit of pleasure, and 
 take Doolan away from his work and all, and now 
 you won't go! " 
 
 " But I said I wouldn't go." 
 
 " You didn't." 
 
 " I did — " searching her memory. " At least, 
 I didn't say I would go." 
 
 " Well, say you will go now, and into the boat 
 with you." 
 
 " I won't." 
 
 "Well, then, all the fun's spoiled," said Mr 
 Giveen, " and it's a fool you've been making of me. 
 Sure, it's hundreds of girls I've taken out to see 
 the caves, and never one of them afraid but you." 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN 79 
 
 " I'm not afraid," said Miss Grimshaw, begin- 
 ning to waver, " and I don't want to spoil your 
 fun. How long would it take us to see the caves? " 
 
 " Not more than an hour or two — less, maybe." 
 
 " Weil," said the girl, suddenly making up her 
 mind, " I'll come." 
 
 It was a momentous decision, with far-reaching 
 effects destined to touch all sorts of people and 
 things, from Mr French to Garryowen — a de- 
 cision which, in the ensuing April, might have 
 changed the course of racing events profoundly. 
 
 So slender and magical are the threads of cause 
 that the fortunes of thousands of clerks with an 
 instinct for racing, thousands of sportsmen and 
 innumerable bookies, all were swept suddenly 
 that afternoon into the control of an event so 
 simple as a boating excursion on the west coast 
 of Ireland. 
 
 She stepped into the boat and took her seat in 
 the stern ; Mr Giveen and Doolan pushed the httle 
 craft ofi, and just as she was water borne Mr 
 Giveen tumbled in over the bow, seized a scull 
 and poled her into deep water. 
 
 The rocks made a tiny natural harbour, where 
 the dinghy floated with scarcely a movement, 
 whilst the oarsman got out both sculls. 
 
 " Isn't he coming with us? " asked Miss Grim- 
 shaw. 
 
 " Who? " 
 
 " The old man — Doolan — what's his name? " 
 
 " Sure, what would we be bothered taking him 
 
8o GARRYOWEN 
 
 for? " replied the other, turning the boat's nose 
 and sculhng her with a few pov\^erful strokes to 
 the creek's mouth, where the incoming swell lifted 
 her with a buoyant and balloon-like motion that 
 brought a sickening sense of insecurity to the 
 heart of the girl. 
 
 " Well, I thought he was coming with us or I 
 would not have got in." 
 
 " Well, you're in now," said Mr Giveen, " and 
 there's no use crying over spilt milk." 
 
 He had taken his hat off and his bald head 
 shone in the sun. Snow-white gulls were flpng 
 in the blue overhead. The profound and glassy 
 swell, which was scarcely noticeable from the 
 shore, out here made vales and hills of water, long 
 glass-green slopes in which the sea-weed floated 
 Hke mermaids' hair. 
 
 Far out, now, the loveliness of the scene around 
 her made the girl forget for a moment her sense of 
 insecurity. The whole beauty and warmth of 
 summer seemed gathered into that September 
 afternoon, and the coast showed itself league upon 
 league, vast cliff and silent strand, snowed with 
 seagulls, terns, guillemots, and fading away twenty 
 miles to the north and twenty miles to the south 
 in the haze and the blueness of the summer 
 sky. 
 
 The great silence, the vast distances, the happy 
 blue of sea and sky, the voicelessness of that 
 tremendous coast — all these cast the mind of the 
 gazer into a trance in which the soul responded 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN 8i 
 
 for a moment to that mystery of mysteries, the 
 call of distance. 
 
 " There's the Seven Sisters," said Mr Giveen, 
 resting on his oars and pointing away to the north, 
 where the peaked rocks stood from the sea, cutting 
 the sky with their shai'p angles and making froth 
 of the swell with their spurs. 
 
 Broad ledges of rock occurred here and there at 
 their base, and on these ledges the seals on an 
 afternoon like this would be sunning themselves, 
 watching with Uquid human eyes the surging 
 froth, and ready to dive fathoms deep at the 
 approach of man. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, coming back from her reverie, 
 heard borne on the breeze, which was blowing 
 from the north, the faint crying of the gulls round 
 the rocks. It was the voices of the Seven Sisters 
 for ever lamenting, blue weather or grey, calm or 
 storm. 
 
 " Where are you going to? " asked she. 
 
 " Wherever you please," said he. "If we were 
 to go on as we're going now, do you know where 
 we'd land? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " America. How'd you like to go to America 
 with me? Say the word now," went on Mr 
 Giveen, with a jocularity that was quite lost on 
 his companion. " Say the word and on we'll go." 
 
 " Turn the boat round," said Miss Grimshaw, 
 suddenly and with decision. " We are too far 
 out. Row back. I want to go home." 
 
82 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " And how about the seals? " 
 
 " I don't want to see them. Go back." 
 
 " Well, now, listen to me. Do you see over 
 there, behind us, that black hole in the chffs, 
 quarter of a mile, or maybe less, from the Devil's 
 Keyhole? " 
 
 "Which? Where? Oh, that! Yes." 
 
 " Well, that's the big sea cave that everyone 
 goes to see. Faith, you haven't seen Ireland at all 
 till you've been in the Devil's Kitchen — that's 
 the name of it. Shall I row you there? " 
 
 " Yes — anywhere, so long as we get close to the 
 shore. It frightens me out here." 
 
 " And, what call have you to be afraid when 
 Pm with you? " asked Mr Giveen in a tender tone 
 of voice, turning the boat's head and making for 
 the desired shore. 
 
 " I don't know. Let us talk of something else. 
 Why do they call it the Devil's Kitchen? " 
 
 " Faith, you wouldn't ask that if you heard the 
 hullabuUoo that comes out of it in the big storms. 
 You'd think, by the frying and the boiling, it was 
 elephants and whales they were cooking. But in 
 summer it's as calm as a — calm as a — what's its 
 name? Musha, I'll be remembering it in a minit." 
 
 Mr Giveen grumbled to himseK in thought as he 
 lay to his oars. Sometimes the brogue of the 
 common people, with whom he had collogued from 
 boyhood, and which underlay his cultivated speech 
 as a stratum of rock underhes arable land, would 
 crop up thick and strong, especially when he was 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN S3 
 
 communing with himseK, as now, hunting for a 
 metaphor to express the sea's calmness. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, passionately anxious to be on 
 land again, was not the less so as she watched him 
 muttering and mouthing and talking to himself. 
 She had now been contemplating him at close 
 quarters in the open light of day for a considerable 
 time, and her study of him did not improve her 
 opinion of him; in fact, she was beginning to per- 
 ceive that in Mr Giveen there was something more 
 than a harmless gentleman rather soft and with a 
 passion for flirtation. She saw, or thought she 
 could see, behind the Sunny Jim expression, be- 
 hind the jocularity and buffoonery and soft 
 stupidity which made him sometimes mildly 
 amusing and sometimes acutely irritating, a 
 mahgnant something — a spirit vicious and httle, 
 a spirit that would do a nasty turn for a man 
 rather than a nice one, and perhaps even a cruel 
 act on occasion. Whatever this spirit might be 
 it was little. A thing more to dislike than fear. 
 
 They were now in close to the cHffs, and the 
 entrance to the Devil's Kitchen loomed large, a 
 semi-circular arch beneath which the green water 
 flooded, washing the basalt pillars with a whisper- 
 ing sound which came distinctly to the boat. The 
 chfi; above stretched up immense, and the crying 
 of the cormorants filled the air and filled the 
 echoes. 
 
 WheeHng about the rocks away up, where in 
 the breeding season they had their nests, they 
 
84 GARRYOWEN 
 
 seemed to resent the approach of the boat. On a 
 ledge of rock near the cave mouth something dark 
 moved swiftly and then plashed into the sea and 
 vanished. It was a seal. 
 
 " I'll take you into the cave to have a look at it," 
 cried ^Ir Giveen, raising his voice to outshout the 
 cormorants. " You needn't be a bit afraid. The 
 Devil's not here to-day — it's too fine weather for 
 him." 
 
 *' Don't go far in," cried Miss Grimshaw, and 
 as she spoke the words the boat, urged by the 
 rower, passed into the gloom beneath the archway. 
 
 She saw the bottle-green water of the rising and 
 falling swell washing the pillars and the walls, from 
 which the sea- weed hung in fathom-long ribbons; 
 then they were in almost darkness, and as Mr 
 Giveen rested on his oars she could hear the 
 water slobbering against the walls, and from far 
 away in the gloom, every now and then, a bursting 
 sound as the swell fiUed some hole or shaft and was 
 spat out again. 
 
 After a moment or two, her eyes becoming 
 accustomed to the darkness, the vast size of the 
 place became apparent. Far greater than the 
 inside of a cathedral, given over to darkness and 
 the sea, the Devil's Kitchen was a place to make 
 one pause. 
 
 In the storms of winter, when, Hke the 
 mouth of some giant fighting the waves, it roared 
 and stormed and spat out volumes of water, filled 
 now almost to its roof, now blowing the sea out in 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN 85 
 
 showers of spray, the horror of it would be for a 
 bold imagination to conceive. 
 
 Even to-day, in its best mood, it was not a 
 place to linger in. 
 
 " Now I've brought you in," said Mr Giveen, his 
 voice finding echoes in the darkness, " and what 
 will you give me to bring you out? " 
 
 " Nothing. Turn the boat. I don't like the 
 place. Turn the boat, I say! " She stamped on 
 the bottom boards, and her voice came back to her 
 ears with a horrible cavernous sound, as did the 
 laughter of Mr Giveen. 
 
 He turned the boat so that she was fronting the 
 arch of hght at the entrance; but he did not row 
 towards it. Instead, he began rocking the boat 
 from side to side in a boyish and larky way that 
 literally brought the heart of Miss Grimshaw into 
 her mouth. 
 
 " Stop it! " she cried. " We'll be upset! Oh, 
 I'll tell Mr French ! Stop it ! Do, please — please 
 stop it! " 
 
 " Well, what will you give me if I stop it? 
 Come, now; don't be shy. You know what I 
 mean. What will you give me? " 
 
 " Anything you hke." 
 
 " Then we'll make it a kiss? " 
 
 " Yes — anything ! Only take me out of this." 
 
 " Two kisses? " asked Mr Giveen, pulhng in his 
 oars and making to come aft. 
 
 "Twenty! Only not here. You'll upset the 
 boat. DonH stand up ! You'll upset us! " 
 
86 GARIIYOWEN 
 
 " Well, when we get back then? " said the 
 amorous one. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you won't tell Michael? " 
 
 "No, no, no!" 
 
 " On your word of honour? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Swear by all's blue." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But that's not swearing." 
 
 " I don't know what all's blue is — ouch! " 
 
 The boat, drifting, had drifted up against the 
 wall of the cave, and the swell, which had a rise 
 and fall of eighteen inches or more, was grinding 
 the starboard thwart lovingly against the seaweed 
 and rock. 
 
 ' ' I swear by all's blue ! ' ' shrieked the girl. ' ' Any- 
 thing! Quick! Push her oS, or we'll be over." 
 
 " Faith, and that was a near shave," said Mr 
 Giveen, shoving the boat off with an oar. 
 
 He got the sculls in the rowlocks, and a few 
 strokes brought them out under the arch into day- 
 light again. 
 
 " Mind, you've sworn," said Mr Giveen, who 
 evidently had a very present and wholesome dread 
 of his cousin, Michael French. 
 
 " Don't speak to me," rephed his charge, whose 
 lips were dry, but whose terror had now, on finding 
 herself in comparative safety, turned into burning 
 wrath. " Don't speak to me, you coward! You 
 — ^you beast — or I'll hit you with this." 
 
 \ 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN 87 
 
 A boat-hook of ash and phosphor bronze lay at 
 her feet, and she seized it. 
 
 ]\Ir Giveen eyed the boat-hook. It did not 
 promise kisses on landing, but it was a very 
 efficient persuader, in its way, to a swift return. 
 
 Now Mr French, that day after luncheon, had 
 ridden into Drumboyne about some pigs he was 
 anxious to sell. He had failed to come to terms 
 with the pig merchant and had returned out of 
 temper. 
 
 In the stable-yard he met Moriarty. 
 
 " If you plaze, sorr," said Moriarty, " I've just 
 heard from Doolan that Mr Giveen has taken the 
 young lady out in the boat." 
 
 The contempt which Moriarty had for Mr Giveen, 
 and the dislike, were fully expressed in the tone of 
 his words. 
 
 " You mean to say that damned fool has 
 taken Miss Grimshaw out in the dinghy? " cried 
 Michael French, letting himseK down from the 
 saddle. 
 
 " Yes, sorr." 
 
 " To blazes with Doolan ! What the — what the 
 — ^what the — did he mean not telling me! " 
 
 " I don't know, sorr. Here he is himself. 
 Micky, come here. The master wants to speak 
 wid you." 
 
 Mr Doolan, who was passing across the yard 
 with a tin basin of fowls' food — it had a wooden 
 handle, and he was holding it by the handle — 
 
88 GARRYOWEN 
 
 approached, deaf to what Moriarty said, but 
 answering his gesture. 
 
 " Wnat did you mean by letting Mr Giveen take 
 the young lady out in the dinghy without teUing 
 me, you old fool? " asked his master. 
 
 "'sure, he tould me not to tell you, sorr," 
 creaked Micky. 
 
 "To the devil with you!" cried Mr French, 
 giving the tin basin a kick that sent the contents 
 flying into Micky's face, spattering it vnth meal 
 and soaked bread and finely-chopped bits of meat, 
 till it looked hke a new form of pudding. " Off 
 with you and clean your face, and not another 
 word out of you, or I'll send you flying after the 
 basin. Come on with me, Moriarty, down to the 
 cove, till we see if we can get sight of them." 
 
 ''Think of the fool letting the girl go out wdththat 
 egg-headed ass of a Dick! " grumbled French, half 
 to himself and haK to Moriarty, as he made down 
 the Devil's Keyhole, followed by the other. " He's 
 been hanging after her for the last week, popping 
 in at aU hours of the day, and as sure as he gets a 
 girl into the boat alone with him he's sure to be 
 making a fool of himself and maybe upsetting her 
 --and1:he both of them drowned. Not that he'd 
 matter— not that he'd drown, either, for that 
 bladder of a head of his would keep him afloat. 
 Do you see any sight of them, Moriarty?" 
 
 They had reached the shore, and Moriarty, 
 standing on a rock and shading his eyes, was 
 looking over the sea. 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN 89 
 
 " No, sorr." 
 
 *' Come on to the cove. He's sure to come back 
 there, if he ever comes back. If you can't see 
 them from there they must have gone down the 
 coast to the caves. I tell you what it is, Moriarty, 
 relations or no relations, I'm not going to have that 
 chap hanging round the premises any longer. He 
 comes to Drumgool and he sits and reads a news- 
 paper, and he pretends to be a fool, and all the 
 time he's taking everything in, and he goes oS and 
 talks about everything he sees, and I beheve it's 
 him and his talk that's knocked my bargain with 
 old Shoveler over those pigs. He heard me say 
 I'd take two pounds less than I was asking 
 Shoveler, and to-day the old chap was ' stiff as a 
 rock.' " 
 
 " I don't think he's any good about the place, 
 sorr," said Moriarty. " Yesterday, when Andy 
 was giving Garryowen his exercise on the f oiur-mile 
 track, there he was, pottin' about with his eye on 
 the horse. You know, sorr, Andy has no hkin' 
 for him, and as Andy was passin' the big scrub, 
 there was Misther Giveen, and he up and calls to 
 Andy. ' That's a hkely colt,' says he, ' and is me 
 cousin thinkin' of runnin' him next year? ' he 
 says." 
 
 " Good Lord! " said Garryo wen's owner, taking 
 his seat on a rock. " I hope Andy didn't spUt? " 
 
 " SpUt, sorr! ' To h — 1 wid you,' says Andy, 
 and on he goes, and Buck Slane, who was up on 
 the Cat — and be the same token, sorr, Garryowen 
 
90 GARIIYOWEN 
 
 can give the Cat two furlong in a mile and lather 
 her — Buck says the black blood come in his face, 
 and he shuck the stick he was holdin' in his hand 
 after Andy and the colt, as if he'd hke to lay it on 
 thim." 
 
 " Well, I'll lay a stick on him," said French, 
 " if he comes round asking his questions. Moriarty, 
 only you and me and the young lady — she's safe — 
 and Buck Slane — and he's safe — know what we're 
 going to do with Garryowen and where we're 
 going to run him. If we want to keep him dark 
 we mustn't have fellows poking their noses about 
 the place — " 
 
 " That young gintleman from over the water, 
 sorr, is he safe? " 
 
 " Mr Dashwood? Yes, he's a gentleman. Even 
 so, I did not tell him anything about it. He saw 
 the colt, and, by gad, didn't he admire him ! But 
 I said nothing of what I was going to do with 
 him—" 
 
 " Here they are, sorr," cried Moriarty, who was 
 standing up, and so had a better view of the sea. 
 
 Mr French rose to his feet. 
 
 The dinghy was rounding the rocks. Mr 
 Giveen, at the sculls, was evidently remonstrating 
 with the girl, who, seeing help at hand, and 
 vengeance in the forms of the two men on the 
 beach, was standing up in the stem of the boat — 
 at least, half standing up ; now almost erect, now 
 crouched and clutching the thwart, she seemed 
 ready to jump on the rocks they were passing, to 
 
THE DEVIL'S KITCHEN 91 
 
 jump anywhere, so long as she got free of the boat 
 and her companion. 
 
 One might have thought that fear was impelhng 
 her. It was not fear, however, but anger and 
 irritation. 
 
 French and Moriarty rushed into the water up 
 to their knees, seized the dinghy either side the 
 bow, and ran her up on the sand, whilst Mr Giveen, 
 with his coat in his hand and his hat on the back of 
 his head, tumbled over the side and made as if to 
 make off. 
 
 "Stop him!" cried the girl. "He's insulted 
 me. He has nearly drowned me. He frightened 
 me into swearing I wouldn't tell — " 
 
 " I didn't," cried Mr Giveen, now in the power- 
 ful grasp of his cousin. " It wasn't my fault. Let 
 loose of me ! Let up, or I'll have the law of you ! " 
 
 " Didn't you? " repUed French, who had caught 
 his kinsman by the scruff of his neck and was hold- 
 ing him from behind, shaking him as a terrier 
 shakes a rat. " We'll soon see that. Moriarty, 
 run for a poHceman. Take a horse and go for the 
 constable at Drumboyne. Well, then, what do 
 you mean, eh? What do you mean, eh? — you 
 blackguard, with your philandering ! You bubble- 
 headed, chuckle-headed son of a black sweep, 
 you! Call yourself an Irish gentleman! Insult- 
 ing a lady ! Miss Grimshaw, say the word and I'll 
 stick the ugly head of him in the water and drown 
 him." 
 
 "No, no!" cried the girl, taking the words 
 
92 GARRYOWEN 
 
 literally. " Perhaps he didn't mean it. I don't 
 think he is quite right. He only wanted to kiss 
 me. He rocked the boat — perhaps it was only in 
 fun." 
 
 " Now, listen to me," cried French, accentuating 
 every second word with a shake, " if I ever catch 
 you within five miles of Drumgool again I'll give 
 you a lambasting you won't get over in a month. 
 That's my last word to you, and — off you gol " 
 
 The last words were followed by a most explicit 
 kick, that sent Mr Giveen racing and running 
 across the bit of sand till he reached the rocks, over 
 which he scrambled, making record time to the 
 mouth of the Devil's Keyhole. Near that spot 
 he turned and shook his fist at his kinsman. 
 
 " I'll be even with you yet, Mick French! " cried 
 Mr Giveen. 
 
 " Away with you," replied the threatened one, 
 making as if to run after him. At which the figure 
 of Mr Giveen vanished into the Devil's Keyhole as 
 a rat vanishes up a drain. 
 
 French burst into a laugh, in which Miss Grim- 
 shaw joined. 
 
 " Now he'll be your enemy," said the girl, as 
 Moriarty flung the sculls over his shoulder and 
 they prepared to return to the house. 
 
 "Much I care! " rephed the owner of Garry- 
 owen. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 eftie's secret 
 
 The first and most pressing necessity of a woman's 
 life is — what? Love? No, a home. A home 
 imphes love and everything in life worth having. 
 
 A girl without a home and without relations is 
 the lonehest thing on earth, simply because she is 
 a woman, and nothing has such a capacity for 
 loneUness as a woman. 
 
 Give her anything in the way of a tie and she 
 will crystalhse on to it and take it to heart, just 
 as the sugar in a solution of barley-sugar takes the 
 string. 
 
 So it came about that Violet Grimshaw found 
 herself, in less than three weeks after her arrival 
 at Drumgool, not only acclimatised to her new 
 surroundings but hteraUy one of the family. 
 She had caught on to them, and they had caught 
 on to her. French, with that charming easiness 
 which one finds rarely now a days, except in that 
 fast-vanishing individual, the real old Irish gentle- 
 man, had from the first treated her as though he 
 had known her for years. Guessing, with the 
 sure intuition of the irresponsible, the level- 
 headedness and worth behind her prettiness, he 
 
 93 
 
94 GARRYOWEN 
 
 now talked to her about his most intimate affairs, 
 both financial and family. 
 
 In him and in the other denizens of Drumgool 
 was brought home to her the power of the Celtic 
 nature to imagine things and take them for 
 granted. 
 
 " Now, Where's me cullender? " Mrs DriscoU 
 would say (as, for instance, in a dialogue which 
 reached the girl one afternoon with a whiff of 
 kitchen-scented air through a swing-door left 
 open). " Where's me cullender? It's that black 
 baste of a Doolan. I b'lave he's taken it to feed 
 the chickens. I'll tie a dish-cloth to his tail if he 
 comes into me kitchen takin' me cullenders! 
 Doolan ! Doolan ! come here wid ye and bring me 
 me cullender. I'll tell the masther on you for 
 takin' me things. You haven't got it? May 
 God forgive you, but I saw you with the two eyes 
 in me head, and it in your hand. It's forenint me 
 nose? Which nose? Oh, glory be to God! so 
 it is! Now out of me kitchen wid you, and don't 
 be littherin' me floor with your dirty boots." 
 The connection of Doolan with the missing cul- 
 lender based on a pure assumption. 
 
 Just so French had adorned the portrait of Miss 
 Grimshaw, which he had painted in his own mind, 
 with spectacles. And he would have sworn to 
 those spectacles in a court of law. 
 
 Just so, by extension, he saw Garry owen passing 
 the winning-post despite all the obstacles in his 
 path. But it was the case of Ef&e that brought 
 
EFFIE'S SECRET 95 
 
 home to Miss Grimshaw this trait with full 
 force. 
 
 " Mr French," said she one morning, entering 
 the sitting-room, where he was writing letters, 
 " do you know Effie can walk? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon — what did you say? " 
 asked Mr French, dropping his pen and turning 
 in his chair. 
 
 " The child's not a cripple at all. She can walk 
 as well as I can." 
 
 " Walk! Why, she's been a cripple for years! 
 Walk! Why, Mrs Driscoll never lets her on her 
 feet by any chance — " 
 
 " Yes, but when she's alone she runs about the 
 room, and she's as sound on her legs as I am." 
 
 " But Dr O'Malley said with his own mouth 
 she was a cripple for Hfe — " 
 
 " How long ago was that? " 
 
 " Four years." 
 
 " Has he seen her lately? " 
 
 " Seen her lately! Why, how could he see her, 
 and he in his coffin three years come last October?" 
 
 " Have you had no other doctor to see her? " 
 
 " Sure, there's no one else but Rafferty at Cloyne 
 and he's a fool — and she won't see doctors; she 
 says they are no use to her." 
 
 " Well, all I can say is that I've seen her walking. 
 She can run, and she tells me she has been able to 
 for years, only no one will believe her. Whenever 
 they see her on her feet, she says, they pop her back 
 on the couch. The poor child seems to have be- 
 
96 GARRYOWEN 
 
 come so hopeless of making anyone believe her 
 that she has submitted to her fate. I believe she 
 haK beheves herself that she oughtnH to walk — 
 that it's a sort of sin — she does it more out of 
 perversity than anything else. She's been coddled 
 into invaUdhood, and I'm going to coddle her out 
 of it," said Miss Grimshaw. " And if you will 
 come upstairs with me now I'll show you that 
 she's as firm on her legs as you are yourself." 
 
 They went upstairs. As Miss Grimshaw turned 
 the handle of the door of Effie's room a scuffling 
 noise was heard, and when they entered the child 
 was sitting up on the couch, flushed and bright-eyed. 
 " Why, what's all this, Effie? " cried her father. 
 " What's all this I've been hearing about your 
 running about the room? Stick your legs out 
 and let me see you do it." 
 Effie grinned. 
 
 " I will," said she, " if you promise not to tell 
 Mrs DriscolL" 
 
 For three years the unfortunate child had been 
 suffering from no other disease but Mrs DriscoU's 
 vivid imagination and the firm belief held by her 
 that the child's back would " snap in two " if she 
 stood on her legs. Vivid and vital, this belief, 
 hke some people's faith, refused to listen to 
 suggestion or criticism. 
 
 " I won't tell," said Effie's father. "Up with 
 you and let's see you on your pins." 
 
 " Now," said Miss Grimshaw, when the evolu- 
 tions were over and Miss French had demonstrated 
 
EFFIE'S SECRET 97 
 
 her soundness in wind and limb to the full satis- 
 faction of her sire, " what do you think of that? " 
 
 " But how did you find it out? " asked the 
 astonished man. 
 
 " She told me it as a secret." 
 
 " But why didn't she tell anyone else, with a 
 whole houseful of people to tell, this three years 
 and more? " 
 
 " She did, but no one would believe her — would 
 they, Effie? " 
 
 " No," repHed Effie. 
 
 " You told IVIrs Driscoll over and over again you 
 could walk, and what did she say to you? " 
 
 " She told me to ' hold my whisht and not to be 
 talking nonsense.' She said she'd give me to the 
 black man that lives in the oven if I put a foot to 
 the ground; and I told papa I was all right and 
 could walk if they'd let me, and he only laughed, 
 and told me not to be getting ideas in my head." 
 
 " Faith, and that's the truth," said her papa. 
 " I thought it was only her fancies." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Grimshaw, " I examined her 
 back this morning, and there is nothing wrong 
 with it. Her legs are all right; she's in good 
 health, well — where's your invalid? " 
 
 "Faith, I don't know," saidFrench. "This beats 
 
 Bannagher." He went to the bell and pulled it. 
 
 " Send up Mrs Driscoll, " said the master of Drum- 
 
 gool. " Send up Mrs Driscoll. And what are you 
 
 standing therewith your mouth hanging open for ? " 
 
 " Sure, Miss Effie, and what are you doin' off the 
 
98 GARRYOWEN 
 
 couch? " cried Nor ah, shaken out of her respect 
 for her master by the sight of Effie on her legs. 
 
 " Doing off the couch? Away with you down 
 and send up Mrs Driscoll. You and your couch! 
 You've been murdering the child between you for 
 the last three years with your couches and your 
 coddhng. Off with you! " 
 
 " Don't be harsh to them," said Effie's saviour, 
 as Norah departed in search of the housekeeper. 
 " They did it for the best." 
 
 HaK an hour later Mrs Driscoll, with her pet 
 illusion still perfectly unshattered, returned to her 
 kitchen to conduct the preparations for dinner, 
 whilst Effie, freed for ever from her bonds, sat on a 
 stool before the nursery fire reading Mrs BrowrCs 
 Adventures in Paris. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, coming down a httle later, 
 found three letters that had just come by post 
 awaiting her. One was from Mr Dashwood. 
 
 It was a short and rather gloomy letter. He 
 had asked permission to write to her, and she had 
 been looking forward to a letter from him, for she 
 liked him, and his recollection formed a picture 
 in her mind pleasant enough to contemplate; but 
 this short and rather gloomy screed was so unlike 
 him that she at once guessed something wrong 
 in his affairs. 
 
 Woman-like, she was not over-pleased that he 
 should permit his private worries to take the edge 
 off his pen when he was writing to her, and she 
 determined to leave the letter unanswered. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 
 
 It was November, and it had been raining for a 
 week. 
 
 The sun had vanished, the hills had vanished, 
 the land had all but vanished; nothing remained 
 but the wind and the rain, the rain and the wind, 
 
 Effie's short lessons only consumed a couple of 
 hours of each rain-soaked, wind-blown day. No 
 one ever came to Drumgool except, maybe, a 
 farmer now and then to see Mr French, and the 
 long-drawn " hoo-hoo " of the wind through the 
 Devil's Keyhole, the rattling of windows fighting 
 with the wind, and the tune of waste-pipes 
 emptying into over-full water-butts were begin- 
 ning to prey upon Miss Grimshaw's nerves. 
 
 Even Mr Giveen would have been a distraction 
 these times; but Mr Giveen was now at open 
 enmity with his kinsman, and spoiling with all 
 the bitterness of his petty nature to do him an 
 injury. 
 
 And Giveen was not French's only enemy just 
 now. The United Irish Patriots were against him. 
 He had let farms on the eleven months' system, 
 and he had let farms for grazing, two high offences 
 in the eyes of the Patriots. 
 
 99 
 
loo GARRYOWEN 
 
 " The time has come to put an end to the big 
 grazing ranches and to plant the people on the 
 soil," say the Patriots — as though the people were 
 seed potatoes. " You mustn't take a farm on an 
 eleven-month agreement," goes on this Areopagus 
 of plunderers and short-sighted politicians. "For," 
 continue the Patriots, " if you do, we'll drive the 
 cattle off your land with hazel sticks, and on you 
 we will commit every dirty, petty outrage that 
 the black heart of a low-down Irishman can 
 invint. Begob! " And they do. 
 
 The Law of the Patriots is the law of the West of 
 Ireland. King Edward does not reign there in 
 the least. 
 
 " Come down here," cried Mr French one 
 morning, standing in the hall and calling up the 
 stairs, where he had caught the flutter of Miss 
 Grimshaw's skirt. " Come down here till I show 
 you something you've never seen before. Come 
 in here." 
 
 He led the way into a small room where he 
 received farmers and tenants, and there, sitting on 
 a chair, was an old man with a face furrowed hke 
 a ploughed field. His battered old hat was on the 
 floor, and he held in his hand two cows' tails; 
 and there he sat, half purbhnd, and twisting the 
 tails in his hands, a living picture of age and 
 poverty and affliction. 
 
 " Don't get up, Rj'-an. Sit you down where you 
 are," said French, " and tell the young lady what 
 you have in your hands." 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS loi 
 
 " Sure, they're me cows' tails," piped the old 
 fellow, like a child saying a lesson. " Me beautiful 
 cows' tails that the blackguards chopped off wid 
 a knife — divil mend them ! — and I lyin' in me bed 
 in the grey of the marnin'. * Listen,' I says to me 
 wife. ' What ails the crathurs and they boohooin' 
 Hke that? ' ' Get up an' see,' she says. And up 
 I gets and shps on me breeches and coat, and out I 
 goes, and finds thim hangin' over the rail, dhrippin' 
 wid blood, and they cut off wid a knife. Oh, the 
 blackguards, to chop their knives into the poor 
 innocent crathurs and lave me widout a cow, and 
 the rint comin' due and me wife sick in her bed and 
 all. Sure, what way is that to be thratin' a man just 
 bekase I niver answered their divil's notice to quit?" 
 
 "Cut off his cows' tails!" cried the girl in 
 horror. " Were they ahve? " 
 
 " Yes," said French. " It's little those ruffians 
 care for an animal — or a man either." 
 
 " Oh, but what a cruel, sneaking thing to do ! 
 Tf% did they doit? " 
 
 " Because he would not give up his bit of a farm. 
 And they call themselves Irishmen ; and the worst 
 of the business is, they are. Well, Ryan, keep your 
 seat and I'll send you in a drop of whisky. And 
 don't bother about the rent. I expect the next 
 thing will be they'll visit me. Faith, and they'U 
 get a warm reception if they do! " 
 
 He left the room, followed by the girl. " That's 
 the sort of thing that's been the ruin of Ireland," 
 said he, as he pulled the sitting-room bell for 
 
I02 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Norah. " Talk of landlords ! Good God! when 
 was there ever a landlord would cut a cow's tail off? 
 When was there ever a landlord would mutilate 
 horses? Did ye ever hear of a landlord fire a gun 
 through the window of a house where a lonely old 
 woman was, and nearly blow the roof off her skull, 
 all because her son refused to ' strip his farm,' as 
 they call it? And that was done ten miles from 
 here a month before you came. Norah, get the 
 whisky and give old Ryan a glassful and a bite to 
 eat. He's sitting in there in the little study, with 
 his two cows' tails those blackguards have cut off 
 in his hand. Take him into the kitchen and dry 
 him, and let him sit by the fire, and tell Ivirs Driscoll 
 to give him something for his old wife, for she's 
 sick in bed. Yes, that's what Ireland has come to. 
 A lot of poor, ignorant people like Ryan, ruled by 
 a syndicate of ruffians that make their own laws 
 and don't care a button for the law of God or the 
 law of the land. It's mibehevable, but there it is. 
 And now they'll be going for me. I've had several 
 anonymous letters in the last month, threatening 
 boycotting, or worse, if I don't amend my ways. 
 Much I care for them! Look, the rain's cleared 
 off. I'm going to the meet of the hounds at 
 Drumboyne. Would you care to drive with me? 
 If you had a riding-habit we might have ridden." 
 
 " But I have a riding-habit. It's pretty old, 
 but—" 
 
 " Up with you and put it on, then," said Mr 
 French; " and I'll tell Moriarty to saddle the grey 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 103 
 
 mare for you. She'll be round at the door in ten 
 minutes." 
 
 Twenty minutes later, Miss Grimshaw, in a 
 riding-habit and covert coat, relic of her money- 
 making days with Hardmuth, was accompanying 
 IVIr French down the drive, she on the grey mare, 
 he on a raw-boned hunter mth a head which had 
 suggestions about it of a fiddle and the devil. 
 
 She was a good horsew^oman. In London her 
 only extravagance had been an early morning 
 canter in the park on a hired hack. It was for this 
 she had bought the habit. 
 
 They struck the road. It was twenty minutes 
 past nine, and as the meet was at half-past ten 
 they had plenty of time. 
 
 The clouds had ceased raining, had risen to an 
 immense height, and there, under the influence of 
 some wind of the upper atmosphere, had become 
 mackerelled, a grey, peaceful sky, showing here 
 and there through a rift the faintest tinge of blue. 
 
 The air smelt of the rain and the rain-wet earth, 
 and the hills lay distinct, grey, peaceful, wonder- 
 fully clear. 
 
 Nowhere else in the world but in Ireland do you 
 get such weather as this ; it pays for weeks of rain, 
 damp, sad, clear, grey and exhilarating as wine. 
 
 Hennessey, the master of the hounds, hved at a 
 place called Barrington Court, seven miles south 
 of Drumbojme. He was a young man, a bachelor 
 and a pretty fast Uver; he owned a good bit of 
 land, and, Hke ^very other landowner in the 
 
I04 GARRYOWEN 
 
 county, was pretty much under the thumb of the 
 Tyrant. But he was, unlike French, a diplomat. 
 
 " That's Hennessey," said Mr French, when the 
 turning of the road suddenly showed them the 
 long, straggling street of Drumboyne, the market 
 cross,- the hounds, the master and his whips, and 
 about two dozen horsemen, mounted on all sorts 
 and conditions of nags, all congregated about the 
 cross. " We're just in time. The first meet of 
 the season, too, and a grand day for the scent." 
 
 Violet Grimshaw, who had never until this seen 
 a meet of the hounds, except in the illustrated 
 papers, looked before her with interest, not unmixed 
 with amusement, at the crowd surrounding the cross. 
 
 All sorts of rabble had gathered from north, 
 south, east and west. Gossoons without a shoe 
 to their feet; chaps from " over bey ant the big 
 bog " in knee-breeches, and armed with shil- 
 lelaghs; dirty Kttle girls dragging younger sisters 
 by the hand to have a look at the " houn's " ; 
 Father Roche, from Cloyne, who had stopped to 
 say a cheery word to Hennessey ; Long Doolan, 
 the rat-catcher, in an old red waistcoat; Billy 
 Sheelan of the station inn, the same who had 
 directed Mr Dashwood on his fishing expedition, 
 and who, by popular report, was ruining his mother 
 and " di'inking the inn dry " — all these, and a lot 
 more, were chattering and laughing, shouting one 
 to the other and giving advice to the Hunt ser- 
 vants, when French and his companion, rounding 
 the turn of the road, made their appearance. 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 105 
 
 The effect was magical. The talking and the 
 laughing ceased. Men fell away from one another 
 and, as French rode up to the master, three 
 farmers who had been talking to him turned their 
 horses so that their backs were presented to the 
 new-comers. 
 
 By the inn door, which was directly opposite 
 the cross, French perceived Mr Giveen. Mr 
 Giveen vanished into the inn, but a moment later 
 his face appeared at the bar-room window, and 
 remained there during all that followed. 
 
 *' Well, Hennessey," said the master of Drum- 
 gool, appearing to take no notice of the coldness 
 of his reception, " you've a fine day for the first 
 meet. Allow me to introduce you to a young lady 
 who is staying with me. Mr Hennessey — Miss 
 Grimshaw. And where are you going to draw? " 
 
 "Barrington scrub,IbeHeve," replied Hennessey, 
 saluting the girl. " Yes, it's not a bad day. Do 
 you intend to follow? " 
 
 " No. We'll go to see you draw the scrub, 
 that's all. Why, there's Father Roche! And 
 how are you to-day? Faith, it's younger you're 
 looking every time I meet you. And why haven't 
 I seen you at Drumgool these months? " As he 
 turned to talk to the priest several of the hunt 
 drew close to Hennessey, and spoke to him in a low 
 tone, but so vehemently that Violet, observing 
 everything, overheard several of their remarks. 
 
 " Not a fut does he follow the houn's. What 
 do I care about him? Sure, Giveen said he swore 
 
106 GARRYOWEN 
 
 he'd fling the whole of the Castle French property 
 into grazing land to spite us. Listen now, 
 and it's the last time I'll say it. If he goes we 
 stay." 
 
 " French," said the master, detaching himself 
 from the group. 
 
 " Hullo? " replied Mr French. 
 
 " Just a word with you." 
 
 He drew him aside. 
 
 " There's a lot of bad blood here. It's not my 
 fault, but you know these chaps, and they have a 
 down on you, every one of them — and they say if 
 you follow to the scrub they'll all stay behind. 
 Now, don't get waxy; you know it's not my fault, 
 but there it is." 
 
 French's eyes blazed. 
 
 " Follow you to the scrub! " said he in a loud, 
 ringing voice. " Thank you for the hint, Dick 
 Hennessey. Follow you with that pack of half- 
 mounted rat-catchers! I was going to ride to the 
 scrub to see if there was ever a fox white-hvered 
 enough to turn its tail on them, and, sure, if he 
 did, he couldn't run for laughing. And talking of 
 tails," said Mr French, turning from the master 
 and addressing the market-place, " if the gentle- 
 man who cut off the tails of old Ryan's cows will 
 only step forward I'll accommodate him with my 
 opinion of him here and now. And it's not the 
 whip-end of my hunting-crop I'll do it with 
 either." 
 
 No gentleman present was at all desirous of 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 107 
 
 being accommodated, for French turned the scale 
 at fourteen stone, all muscle, and he was a match 
 for any two men present. 
 
 He waited a moment. Then he took off his hat 
 to Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 " I must apologise to you," he said, " for losing 
 my temper. Let us on to Cloyne, for this is no 
 place for a lady to be at all." 
 
 He touched the fiddle-headed devil he was 
 riding with the spur, making him plunge and 
 scatter the ragamuffins who were hanging on the 
 scene with open mouths, and, cannoning against 
 and nearly unseating one of the " half -mounted 
 rat-catchers," he took the road to Cloyne, followed 
 by the girl. 
 
 It was the first time he had come in clash with 
 his countrymen; the storm had been brewing a 
 long time, but it had burst at last. To think that 
 he, Michael French, in his own county, had been 
 ordered not to follow the hounds, by a herd of 
 dirty-fisted, petty farmers, was a thought to make 
 his blood boil. Petty spite, needle-sharp, that 
 was the weapon the Patriots were using against 
 Michael French by day. In their own disgusting 
 language he was a " First Offender." Even yet, 
 if he chose to give in and eat humble pie out of the 
 grimy hands of the men who would be his masters, 
 he might find forgiveness. If not, would follow 
 boycotting, and who knows what else. 
 
 He knew this, and he knew that he had no hope 
 of help from the law. The police might arrest his 
 
io8 GARRYOWEN 
 
 tormentors if they were caught trying to do him 
 an injury, but the jury, if they were tried, would 
 be pretty sure to let the offenders sHp. And it 
 was a hundred to one they would never be caught, 
 for these people are trained sneaks ; no area sneak 
 is more soft-footed or cunning than the gentleman 
 with the black cloth mask and the knife, who 
 comes like a thief in the night to work brutal 
 mutilation on cattle. 
 
 Garry owen was the only thing he was afraid of ; 
 but in Moriarty he had a rock of strength to depend 
 upon. 
 
 " Did you see Dick Giveen? " said he, as the 
 girl ranged alongside of him. " He's had a finger 
 in this pie. Did you see him at the inn window 
 with his nose to the pane? He knew I'd come to 
 the meet, and he came to see those chaps get the 
 better of me." 
 
 " They didn't get that;' said Violet. " They 
 looked Uke whipped puppies when you were talk- 
 ing to them. Yes, I'm sure that man has been 
 doing you injury. I heard one of the farmers say 
 to Mr Hennessey that Giveen had said you would 
 do your best to spite them. I wish I hadn't gone 
 with him in the boat that day. If I hadn't this 
 would not have occurred." 
 
 " I don't care for those chaps so much as for 
 Dick Giveen," said he. " He's a bad man to vex. 
 These fools always are. He'll be on my tracks 
 now Uke a stoat trying to do me some dirty trick. 
 He'll watch and wait. I know him. But if he 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 109 
 
 comes within five miles of Drumgool I'll put a 
 bullet in him, or my name's not Michael 
 French." 
 
 They rode on through the grey, still day. Now 
 and again a whiff of turf smoke from a cabin by the 
 way made the air delicious; over the black bog 
 patches and wild, broken land a soft wind had 
 risen, blowing from the south and bringing with 
 it the scent of the earth, and far ahead of them a 
 trace of smoke from the chimneys of Cloyne went 
 up against the background of hills. 
 
 They stopped at the station inn at Cloyne and 
 put the horses up. French ordered some bread 
 and cheese. " And now," said he, " whilst they're 
 getting it ready, would you Hke to see a real old 
 Irish cabin? I'll tpvke you to see old Mrs Moriarty 
 down the road, and you can amuse yourself talk- 
 ing to her for a minute whilst I run in and see 
 James, my agent. Mrs Moriarty is a witch, so 
 they say, but she's true to the Frenchs. She 
 was a kitchen-maid at Drumgool in my grand- 
 father's time. She beHeves in fairies and 
 leprachauns, and all that nonsense. Here we 
 are." 
 
 lie stopped at the door of a cabin a hundred 
 yards away from the inn and knocked; then, 
 without waiting for an answer, he lifted the latch 
 and opened the door. 
 
 " Are you there, Kate? " cried he into the dark 
 interior of the place. 
 
 " Sure, and where else would I be? " replied a 
 
no GARRYOWEN 
 
 wheezy voice. " Who are you, lettin' the draught 
 in on me? Oh! glory be to God, it's Mr Michael 
 himself—" 
 
 " Come in," said French, and the girl followed 
 him into the one room where Mrs Moriarty kept 
 herseK and her hens — two of them were roosting on 
 the rafters — and where she was sitting now over a 
 bit of fire, with her bonnet on to keep the " cowld " 
 from her head, and a short black pipe between her 
 teeth. It was an appalhng place, considered as a 
 human dwelling. The floor was of clay, the 
 window had only one practicable pane, the rest 
 were broken and stuffed with rags. A heap of 
 rags in the corner did duty for a bed. By the fire, 
 and beside the old lady, who was sitting on a stool, 
 a bantam hen brooding in the warmth cocked one 
 bloodshot eye up at the visitors. 
 
 " I've brought a young lady to see you, 
 Kate," said Mr French. " Talk to her and tell 
 her of the fairies, for I'm going down the road to 
 see Mr James, and I won't be a minute, and I'll 
 send you a drop of whisky from the inn to warm 
 your gizzard when I get back." 
 
 " Sure, it's welcome she is," said the old woman. 
 " But it isn't a seat I have to ask her to sit on, and 
 I stuck to this ould stool wid the rheumatiz in me 
 legs. Get out wid you, Norah " — making a dive 
 with a bit of stick at the bantam, which, taking 
 the hint, fluttered into a corner — " and make way 
 for the young lady. You'll excuse her, miss; 
 she's the only one of siven I brought up wid me 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS in 
 
 own hand. Sure, it's not from an3rwliere in these 
 parts you've come from? " 
 
 She was peering up from under her bonnet at 
 the girl's face, and Violet, fascinated by that 
 teiTible purblind gaze, thought that she had never 
 seen tragedy written on a human countenance so 
 plainly as on the stone-like mask which the red 
 ghmmer of the turf fire showed up to her beneath 
 the bonnet of the old woman. 
 
 " No," said she; " I come from America." 
 "Ohone!" cried Mrs Moriarty, "Sure, it's 
 there me boy Mike went forty years ago — forty 
 years ago, and niver a word or a letther from him 
 for twenty long years. Maybe you never chanced 
 to hear of him, miss? He was in the bricklayin . 
 Six fut six he stood widout his brogues, and the 
 lovely red hair on the head of him was curly as a 
 rethraver's back. And, sure, what am I talkin' 
 about? It's grey he'd be now — ohone! — afther 
 all thim years." 
 
 " No," said the girl, " I never heard of him, but 
 America is a big place. Cheer up. You may 
 hear of him yet, and here's something that may 
 bring you luck." 
 
 She took a shilling from the pocket of her covert 
 coat and put it in the hand of the old woman, who 
 took it and blessed her, and wrapped it in a scrap 
 of paper. 
 
 " The blessin's of God on you, and may the 
 divil bile his pot wid the man that decaves you. 
 Oh, sure, it's the face of a shiUin' I haven't seen 
 
112 GARRYOWEN 
 
 for more than a twel'month, and I afeared to say 
 a word, for the guardians do be strugghn' to get 
 me into the House. Ha'ff-crown a week and a 
 bandage for me poor leg is all I've had out of the 
 blackguyards, and they sittin' on the poor wid 
 one hand and filHn' their bellies wid the other. 
 Atin' and dhrinkin' and havin' the hoight of fine 
 times they do be wid the money of the parish. May 
 it stick in their Uvers till the divil chokes their black 
 mouths with burnin' turves an' bastes them wid 
 the bihn' tears of the poor they do be defraudin'. 
 And they're all up against Mr Michael. Whisht 
 now, and I'll tell you somethin'. Shusey 
 Gallagher, she's servant beyant over there at 
 Blood the farrier's, she tould me to kape it 
 saycret they was going to play their tricks on Mr 
 Michael's horses if he went on let tin' his land to 
 the graziers ; she said they was going to — " 
 
 At this moment the cabin door was flung open, 
 and a ragged urchin popped his head in, shouted 
 " Boo! " and clapped the door to again. It was 
 a favourite pastime with the Cloyne children to 
 shout through old Mrs Moriarty's door and then 
 watch her raging through the window. 
 
 "Away wid yiz 1 " yelled Mrs Moriarty,forgettin' 
 Violet, Mr French's enemies, and everything else 
 in her excitement, turning to the window, where 
 she knew her tormentor would be, and shaking 
 her fist at the grinning face peeping in at her. 
 " Away wid yiz, or I'll cut your lights out, comin' 
 shoutin' through me dure, you divil's baboon wid 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 113 
 
 your ugly gob stuck at me winda there ! Gr-r-r ! 
 Out wid you, you basthard you, or I'll lay you 
 flat so your mother won't know you wid a sod of 
 turf. Off wid you and ax your father what he 
 meant gettin' such a monkey-faced parrit, and 
 lettin' it loose on the parish widout a chain to it, 
 you cross-eyed, misbegot son of a — " 
 
 All of which was better than pearls to the one at 
 the window. 
 
 Horrified at the language, and fearing a stroke 
 for Mrs Moriarty, the girl ran to the door and 
 opened it, only to see a small gossoon, bare-legged 
 and bare-footed, vanishing round the corner. 
 
 Then she came back, anxious to get out of Mrs 
 Moriarty more information concerning the plans 
 against French, but the source had dried up. The 
 old lady declared herseK to be moidhered and her 
 wits to be all astray. 
 
 " Well, listen to me," said Violet. " If you hear 
 any more of those men going to harm Mr French 
 or his horses let me know, and I'll give you a 
 silver five-shiUing piece for yourself." 
 
 Mrs Moriarty understood that. 
 
 At this moment the door opened and Mr French 
 appeared, and, leaving the old lady to her pipe 
 and the prospect of a glass of whisky, they went 
 back to the inn for luncheon. 
 
 The hideous old-fashioned Irish custom of 
 dinner at fom* o'clock had been put aside on 
 account of Miss Grimshaw. Seven o'clock was the 
 dinner hour at Drumgool now, and after dinner 
 
114 GAURYOWEN 
 
 that night, Effie having departed for bed in charge 
 of Norah, Violet, with a ball of red wool and two 
 long knitting-needles, took her seat at a corner of 
 the fireplace in the sitting-room. The idea of a 
 red knitted petticoat for old Mrs Moriarty had 
 occurred to her on the way home, and she was 
 putting it now into practice. 
 
 French had been rather gloomy on the way home 
 and at dinner. It was evident that the incident 
 at the meet had hit him hard. Money worries 
 could not depress the hght-hearted, easy-going 
 gentleman, who had a soul above money and the 
 small affairs of life. It was the feeling of enmity 
 against himseK that cast him out of spirits for the 
 first time in years. For the first time in life he 
 felt the presence, and the infiuence against him, 
 of the thing we call Fate. His whole soul, heart 
 and mind were centred on Garryowen. In Garry- 
 owen he felt he had the instrument which would 
 bring him name and fame and fortune. It was 
 no fanciful belief. He knew horses profoundly; 
 here was the thing he had been waiting for all his 
 Hfe, and everything was conspiring to prevent 
 him using it. 
 
 First, there was Lewis and his debt — that was 
 bad enough. Secondly was the fact that he would 
 have to complete the training of the horse in a 
 hostile country, and that country the Ireland of 
 to-day, a place where law is not and where petty 
 ruffianism has been cultivated as a fine art. With 
 Giveen for a spy on his movements, with a hundred 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 115 
 
 scoundrels ready to do him an injury, and Avith 
 Lewis only waiting to put out his hand and seize 
 the horse, he was, it must be admitted, in a pretty 
 bad way to the attainment of his desires. 
 
 But he had a friend, and as long as a man has 
 a friend, however humble, he is not altogether in 
 the hands of Fate. The girl sitting by the fire, 
 knitting a red petticoat for old Mrs Moriarty, had 
 been exercising her busy mind for the past few 
 days on the seeming hopelessness of the problem 
 presented to her in French and his affairs. She 
 had inherited a good deal of her father's business 
 sharpness ; she was not the niece of Simon Gretr}^ 
 for nothing, and a way out of the difficulty had 
 presented itseK before her; at least, she fancied 
 it was a way. 
 
 At nine o'clock, after a look round the stables, 
 Mr French came in, and, sitting down in the arm- 
 chair opposite the girl, opened the Irish Times 
 and began to read it, listlessly skimming the 
 columns without finding anything of interest, 
 moving restlessly in his chair, fighting his pipe and 
 letting it go out again. Miss Grimshaw, without 
 pausing in her rapid knitting or dropping a stitch, 
 watched him. 
 
 Then she said, " Do you know, I've been think- 
 ing." 
 
 " What have you been thinking? " 
 
 " That I've found a way out of your difficulty 
 about Garry owen." 
 
 " And what's that? " asked French, who, since 
 
ii6 GARRYOWEN 
 
 the affair of Effie, had conceived a deep respect 
 for Miss Grimshaw's cleverness and perspicacity. 
 
 " Well, it's this way," said she. " That man 
 Lewis is your stumbUng-block." 
 
 " Call him my halter," said the owner of Garry- 
 owen, " for if ever a man had a bhnd horse in a 
 halter it's me and him." 
 
 " No, I will not call him any such thing. He's 
 only a money-lender. You owe him the money. 
 Garryowen will belong to him after the end of 
 March. Well, let him have Garryowen." 
 
 " Faith, there's no letting about it." 
 
 '* Let him have Garryowen, I say, but not until 
 after the race." 
 
 " Why — what do you mean? " 
 
 " I mean this. Would it not be possible to take 
 Garryowen away from here secretly? He does not 
 belong to Mr Lewis yet. Take him away to some 
 lonely place, train him there, and run him for the 
 race. If he wins, you will make money, won't 
 you? And if he loses why, he will belong to Mr 
 Lewis." 
 
 French rose up and paced the floor. 
 
 " That's not a bad idea," said he. " By George, 
 it's good, if we could do it. Only, could we keep 
 it hid? " 
 
 " Does Mr Lewis know you are running him for 
 the race? " 
 
 " No. He doesn't know I've got him, and the 
 debt's not due till a fortnight before the event. 
 And, by Jove, if he does see my name in the 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 117 
 
 racing lists he'll put it down as my cousin Michael 
 French's — the one Mr Dashwood met — for Michael 
 runs horses in England every day in the week, 
 and his name's as well known as the Monument. 
 Faith, and it's a bright idea, for I'd get rid of all 
 this crew here at one sweep." 
 
 Mr French went to the door, opened it, and called : 
 
 "Norah!" 
 
 " Yes, sir? " 
 
 " Bring the whisky. But the only question is, 
 where could I take the horse? Faith, and I have 
 it! Todd Mead — he's a man you've never heard 
 of — has an old shanty down in Sligo. He uses it 
 for breeding polo ponies, and there's a hundred 
 square mile of heath that you could train a 
 dromedary on and not a soul to see. He Hves in 
 Dublin and keeps a manager there, and he'd give 
 me stabhng there, maybe, for nothing, for he has 
 more room than he v/ants. It's a big streeling 
 barn of a place." 
 
 " You say the debt to Mr Lewis only comes due 
 a few weeks before the race? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Will he seize your things immediately the 
 debt is due, or might he give you a few weeks' 
 grace? " 
 
 " Not an hour's. I borrowed the money, giving 
 him the house and Uve stock as security, and the 
 bit of land that's unmortgaged, and he'll clap a 
 man in as soon as ever he can after the money is 
 due." 
 
ii8 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " But if you have borrowed the money on the 
 Hve stock, surely, since Garryowen is part of the 
 hve stock, it would be unlawful to remove him? " 
 
 " Listen to me," said Mr French. " I borrowed 
 the money before I owned Garryowen. Sure, the 
 main reason I borrowed it was to buy him. He's 
 not part of the security." 
 
 " Well, then, Mr Lewis can't touch him." 
 
 " Yes, maybe, by law. But how long does it 
 take to prove a thing by law? Suppose he puts a 
 man in. Well, the man will seize the colt with 
 everything else, then the lawyers will go to work 
 to prove the colt's not part of the security, and 
 they'll prove it, maybe, about next June twelve- 
 month, and by that time two City and Suburbans 
 will have been run and Garryowen will be good for 
 nothing but to make glue of. Besides, these 
 blackguards here may do him an injury. No, the 
 plan is to sHp out by the back door. Major 
 Lawson, an old friend of mine, has a stable at 
 Epsom. We can bring the colt there two days 
 before the race. I'm beginning to see clear before 
 me, and, faith, it's through your eyes I'm seeing." 
 
 " You are sure Mr Lewis can't come down on 
 you before April? " 
 
 " No. I paid him his half-year's interest last 
 month. I paid him close on two hundred pounds." 
 
 '* WeU, if you paid him his interest next April 
 wouldn't he be satisfied? " 
 
 " Of course he'd be satisfied, but how am I to 
 do it? I tell you it will take me every penny I 
 
THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 119 
 
 have for the expenses; there's no margin for 
 paying money-lenders. 
 
 "I've made my calculations. By scraping and 
 screwing, with some money I've hid away, I can 
 just manage to run the colt, pay expenses, and 
 back him for a thousand — and that's all." 
 
 " But, see here. Why not back him for only 
 eight hundred and pay Mr Lewis his two 
 hundred?" 
 
 " Now, there you are," said French. " And 
 that shows you haven't grasped the big thing I'm 
 after. Suppose I pay Lewis his two hundred and 
 only back the colt for eight hundred, do you know 
 what that would make me lose if he starts at, say, 
 fifty to one and wins? I'd lose ten thous- 
 and pounds. It's on the cards that for every 
 hundred pounds I lay on Garry o wen I'll win five 
 thousand." 
 
 " So that if he wins and you have the full 
 thousand on him — ? " 
 
 " I'll win fifty thousand." 
 
 " And if he loses? " 
 Faith, I'll be stripped as naked as Bryan 
 O'Lynn." 
 
 There was a fine sporting flavour in this deal with 
 Fortune that pleased Miss Grimshaw somehow. 
 
 "There is one more thing," said she. "Please ex- 
 cuse me for asking you the question — but — if you 
 lose the thousand it will be all right, I suppose — 
 I mean, you will be able to meet your UabiHties? " 
 
 " Sure, do you take me for a blackleg? Of 
 
120 GARRYOWEN 
 
 course I'll be able to pay. Isn't it a debt of 
 honour? " 
 
 " Good. Then go in and win. Isn't that what 
 the boys say when they are fighting? I'll help 
 as far as my power will allow me. Will you write 
 to Mr Todd— what's his name? " 
 
 "No," said Mr French. "I'll go to Dublin 
 to-morrow and see him." 
 
PART II 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MR MEAD 
 
 " Vi'lits, vi'lits, vi'lits, your arner! " 
 
 "Oh, bother violets!" said Mr French. He 
 had just come down the steps of the Kildare Street 
 Club, he had lost five pounds at cards, the after- 
 noon was drizzling, and he was being pestered to 
 buy violets. 
 
 The violet vendor, a fantastically filthy old 
 woman in a poke bonnet, heedless of the rebuke, 
 pursued her avocation, and Mr French, trotting 
 like a dog behind him, chanting her wares, her 
 misfortunes, his good looks. 
 
 " Sure, they're only a penny the bunch, sure, 
 they're only a penny the bunch. Oh, bless your 
 han'some face! Sure, you wouldn't be walkin' 
 the sthreets widout a flower in yer coat. Let your 
 hand drap into your pocket and find a penny, and 
 it's the blessin's of God will be pourin' on you 
 before the night's out. Sm:e, it's a bunch I'll be 
 givin' you for no thin' at all but just the pleasure 
 of fixin' it in your coat, an' they as big as cabbiges 
 and on'y a penny the bunch." 
 
 H 121 
 
122 GARRYOWEN 
 
 It was a kind of song, a recitative, an invocation. 
 
 " I tell you I have no change," flashed the 
 flowerless one. " I tell you I have no change." 
 
 The priestess of Flora halted and sniffed. 
 
 "Change!" said she; "no, nor nothin' to 
 change." 
 
 Mr French laughed as he opened his umbrella 
 and hailed a passing outside car. " Faith," said 
 he, as he mounted on the side of the car, " she's 
 about hit the bull's eye." 
 
 " Did you spake, sir? " said the jarvey. 
 
 " No, I was only thinking. Drive me to 32 
 Leeson Street. And where on earth did you pick 
 up this old rattletrap of a horse from? " 
 
 " Pick him up! " said the jarvey with a grin. 
 " Faith, the last time I picked him up was when 
 he tumbled down in Dame Street yesterday after- 
 noon, wid a car-load of luggidge dhrivin' to 
 Westland Row." 
 
 " You seem to have a talent for picking up 
 rubbish, then," said Mr French. 
 
 " It's the fault of the p'leece," replied the other, 
 with an extension of the grin that Nature, whisky, 
 and the profession of car-driving had fixed upon 
 his face. " It's the fault of the p'leece, bad 'cess 
 to them." 
 
 " And how's that? " asked Mr French, in- 
 cautiously. 
 
 " Sure, they forbids me to refuse a fare. Jay 
 up, y'divil! what are yiz shyin' at? Did y'never 
 see a barra of greens before? Now thin, now thin, 
 
MR MEAD 123 
 
 what are you takin' yourself to be, or what ails you 
 at all, at all? " 
 
 The car stopped at 32 Leeson Street. Mr 
 French descended, gave the jarvey a shilUng for his 
 fare and sixpence for a drink, and knocked at the 
 hall door. 
 
 Mr Mead was in, and the old butler who opened 
 the door showed the visitor straight into the 
 library, a comfortable, old-fashioned room, where 
 before a bright fire Mr Mead, a small, bright-eyed, 
 apple-cheeked, youthful-looking person of eighty 
 or so, was seated in an arm-chair, reading Jorrocks' 
 Jaunts and Jollities. 
 
 " Why, there you are," cried Mead, jumping up. 
 
 " x4nd there you are," said ]Mr French, clasping 
 the old fellow's hand. " Why, it's younger you're 
 growing every time I see you. Did you get my 
 wire? Oh, you did, did you? Two o'clock! 
 The scoundrels ! I sent it off from the Shelbourne 
 at twelve. No matter. And how's the family? " 
 
 " All right," rephed Mead, putting Jorrocks on 
 the mantelshelf and ringing the bell. " Billy 
 married last winter. You remember I wrote to 
 you? And Kate's engaged. James, a bottle of 
 the blue seal port. And what's the news? " 
 
 " News," said French, with a short laugh. 
 " What news do you expect from the west of 
 Ireland except news of men being plundered and 
 cattle maimed? News! I'm leaving the place, 
 and that's why I wanted to see you. See here. 
 Mead—' 
 
124 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Mead, who was opening a bottle of the blue seal 
 port, an operation which he always conducted 
 with his own hands, listened whilst French poured 
 into his attentive ears the tale of his woes. 
 
 " The blackguards! " said the old man, when 
 French had finished. " And do you mean to say 
 you've gone ofi and left the horse behind you for 
 these chaps to maim, maybe — " 
 
 " Oh, Moriarty is there," repHed French. " He's 
 sleeping in the stable, and Andy is sleeping in the 
 loft. But it's on my mind that some dirty trick 
 will be played before we get the colt to England, 
 and that's why I've called to see you. Look here ; 
 you've got that place for your polo ponies down in 
 SHgo. Will you let me take Garry o wen over there 
 and finish his training — " 
 
 " You mean my stables at Ballyhinton? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I've sold it. Didn't you know? " 
 
 "Sold it!" 
 
 " Eight months ago! " 
 
 " Good Lord! " said French. " That does me. 
 And I've come all the way to Dubhn to see you 
 about it. Was there ever such luck? " 
 
 " You see," said Mead, " I'm not as young as 
 I was. Bryan, the chap I had there, was swindHng 
 me right and left, so I sold off lock, stock and 
 barrel. I'm sorry." 
 
 " Faith, and so am I," said French. 
 
 The big man for the first time in his Hfe felt 
 knocked out. Never for a moment did he dream 
 
MR MEAD 125 
 
 of giving in, but he was winded. Besides all the 
 worries we know of, a number of small things had 
 declared against him, culminating in his loss at 
 cards. He felt that he was in a vein of bad luck, 
 imder a cloud, and that until the cloud lifted and 
 the luck changed it was hopeless for him to make 
 plans or do anything. 
 
 He took leave of Mead and returned to the 
 Shelbourne on foot. The rain had ceased, and as 
 he drew near the hotel the sun broke through the 
 clouds. 
 
 As he entered the hotel he ran almost into the 
 arms of a young man dressed in a fawn-coloured 
 overcoat, who, with his hat on the back of his 
 head, was standing in the hall, a cigarette between 
 his hps and a match-box in his hand. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mr French; then, 
 starting back, " Why, sure to goodness, if it isn't 
 Mr Dash wood!" 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE COMPACT 
 
 *' Come into the smoke-room," said Mr Dashwood 
 when they had shaken hands. "This is luck! I 
 only came over by the morning boat. I'm coming 
 down West. Oh, I'll tell you all about it in a 
 minute. Come on into the smoking-room and 
 have a drink." 
 
 Mr Dashwood seemed in the highest of good 
 spirits. He led the way into the smoking-room, 
 rang the bell, ordered two whiskies and an Apoll- 
 inaris and cigars, chaffed the Hibernian waiter, 
 who was a " character," and then, comfortably 
 seated, began his conversation with French. 
 
 " Here's luck! " said Mr Dashwood. 
 
 " Luck! " responded French, taking a sip of his 
 drink. 
 
 " This is the first drink I've had to-day," said 
 Mr Dashwood. " I've felt as seedy as an owl. 
 It was an awfully rough crossing, but I didn't 
 touch anything. I tell you what, French, since I 
 saw you last I've been going it hard, but I've pulled 
 up. You see," said Mr Dashwood, " I'm not a 
 drinking man, and when a fellow of that sort goes 
 on the jag he makes a worse ja.g of it than one of 
 your old seasoned topers." 
 
 126 
 
 i 
 
THE COMPACT 127 
 
 " That's so," said French. " And if you start 
 to try to match one of those chaps it's Uke match- 
 ing yourself against a rum barrel. What drove 
 you to it? " 
 
 " A woman," said Mr Dash wood. 
 
 Mr French laughed. 
 
 " Two women, I should say. I got tangled up 
 with a woman — " 
 
 " And you tried to cut the knot with a whisky 
 bottle. Well, you're not the first. Fire away, 
 and tell us about it." 
 
 " It's this way,"' said Mr Dashwood. " A year 
 ago I met a Miss Hitchin. She was one of those 
 red-haired girls who wear green gowns, don't you 
 know, and go in for things — Herbert Spencer and 
 all that sort of stuff, don't you know. I met her 
 at a show a Johnny took me to for fun, a kind of 
 Uterary club business. Then, next day, I met her 
 again by accident in the Park, and we walked 
 round the Serpentine. You see, I'd never met a 
 woman like that before. She lived in rooms by 
 herseK, like a man, and she had a latch-key. I 
 wasn't in love with her," said the ingenuous Mr 
 Dashwood, " but, somehow or another, before I'd 
 known her ten days I was engaged to her. Awfully 
 funny business. You see, she had a lot of mind 
 of her own, and I admire intellect in a woman, and 
 she was a right good sort. I told her all about my 
 life, and she wanted me to lead a higher one. Said 
 she never could marry me unless I did. The 
 strange thing about her was, she always made me 
 
128 GARRYOWEN 
 
 feel as if I was in a Sunday School, though she 
 wasn't pious in the least. As a matter of fact, she 
 didn't believe in reUgion — that is to say, church 
 and all that — but she was a SociaHst. Awfully 
 strong on dividing up everyone's money so that 
 everyone would have five pounds a week. I used 
 to fight her over that, for she had three hundred a 
 year of her own and stuck to it ; besides, I didn't 
 see the force of making all the rotters in the world 
 happy, and drunk, with five quid a week out of my 
 pocket ; but she never would give in — always had 
 some card up her sleeve to trump me with. You 
 see, I'm not a political Johnny, and hadn't studied 
 up the question. But we never fought really over 
 that. Men and women don't ever really fight 
 over those sort of things ; and I'd always give in 
 for a quiet life, and we'd go off and have tea at the 
 British Museum, and look at the mummies and the 
 marbles and things, and after six months or so I 
 got quite fond of her in a way, and I began to look 
 forward to marrying her. I used to mug up 
 Herbert Spencer and a chap called Marx, and I 
 never looked at another woman, and scarcely ever 
 made a bet; and it might have gone on to us 
 getting two latch-keys, only — " Mr Dash wood 
 stopped. 
 
 " Only, I met another girl," he went on. " That 
 put me in a beastly position, and the long and the 
 short of it is I went on the razzle-dazzle from the 
 botheration of it all. Miss H. found out, and she 
 cut the knot herself. I'm glad to be free," 
 
THE COMPACT 129 
 
 finished Mr Dashwood, " but I wish it had hap- 
 pened some other way. In fact, I wish I'd never 
 met Miss H. at all." 
 
 " And who is the other girl? " asked Mr 
 French. 
 
 "Oh, you know her." 
 
 "I? " 
 
 " Yes; she's down at your place now." 
 
 " Not Miss Grimshaw? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Grimshaw. And that's the reason 
 I'm going down West. I want to see her and tell 
 her all." 
 
 French whistled; then he laughed. 
 
 " You seem in mighty good spirits over her," 
 said he. " How do you know she'll have any- 
 thing to do with you? Have you asked her? " 
 
 " Asked her! No. How could I, when I was 
 tied up like that? That's what drove me off my 
 balance. But I'm going to ask her, and that's 
 why I've come over to Ireland." 
 
 " Look here," said Mr French. 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 '* You said when I met you in the hall you were 
 going to put up at Mrs Sheelan's. You're not. 
 Come and stay at Drumgool, on one condition." 
 
 " What's that? " 
 
 " That you don't ask her. First of all, you 
 haven't known her long enough, and she hasn't 
 known you long enough, to find out whether you 
 are properly matched. Secondly, I'm not so sure 
 that I'm not going to ask her myself." 
 
I30 GAREYOWEN 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mr Dashwood. 
 
 " Oh, you needn't beg my pardon. I'm just 
 telling you what's in my mind. I'm so moithered 
 with one thing and another I've no heart for any- 
 thing at present but just this horse I told you 
 about, you remember — Garryowen. And I'm not 
 a man to stand between two young people if their 
 minds are set on each other. But the question is, 
 Are they? You care for her, but does she care for 
 you? So take an open field and no favour. Don't 
 go sticking at Mrs Sheelan's, seeing her maybe 
 only once in a week, but come right to Drumgool. 
 No proposing, mind you, or any of that rubbish. 
 I'm giving you your chance fair and square, and 
 I'm telling you fair and square it's in my mind that 
 I may ask her myself. So there you are. Take 
 the offer or leave it." 
 
 Mr Dashwood paused for a moment before this 
 astonishing proposition which upset all his precon- 
 ceived ideas of love-affairs ; then the straightness 
 and strangeness and sense of it went to his heart. 
 Surely never had a man a more generous rival 
 than this ; and the sporting nature and the humour 
 of it completed the business and he held out his 
 hand. 
 
 " Right," said he. " Another man would have 
 acted differently. Yes, I'll come. And I'll play 
 the game ; get to know her better, and then, why, 
 if she cares for me, it's the fortune of war." 
 
 " That's it," said French; " and now I want to 
 tell you about the horse." 
 
THE COMPACT 131 
 
 He gave the full history of his predicament, of 
 the Patriots, and the money worries, and the 
 enemies who seemed bent on destroying his chance 
 of success. " If I could only get the horse out of 
 the country," said French. " But I can't." 
 
 " Can't you? " said Bobby, who had followed 
 the tale with sparkHng eyes and rising colour. 
 " Who says you can't? I say you can, and I'll 
 show you how." 
 
 He rose up and paced the floor. 
 
 " Don't speak to me. This is simply frabjous! 
 Why, my dear chap, I've got just what you want." 
 
 " What's that? " 
 
 " A place where you can train haK-a-dozen 
 horses if you want to." 
 
 " Where? " 
 
 " Where? Why, down at Crowsnest, in Sussex. 
 It's not my place; it belongs, 's'matter of fact, to 
 Emmanuel Ibbetson. He's chucked horses, and 
 he's going to pull the place down and re-build when 
 he comes back from Africa. I can get a loan of it 
 for three or four months." 
 
 '' What would the rent be? " asked Mr French. 
 
 " Nothing. He'll lend me it. He's just now 
 constructing a big game expedition, and they 
 start in a few days. I saw him only the day before 
 yesterday at \^niite's. Lucky, ain't it, that I 
 thought of it? I'll wire to him now, asking for the 
 permit. The place is furnished all right; there's 
 a caretaker in it. It's a bungalow with no end of 
 fine stables. The Martens is the name of it." 
 
132 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Begad! " said Mr French, " this is like Provi- 
 dence." 
 
 " Isn't it? You hold on here and I'll send the 
 wire. I'll send it to his chambers in the Albany, 
 and we'll have the reply back to-night or to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 When the wire was despatched ^Ir French pro- 
 posed an adjournment to the Kildare Street Club, 
 whither, accordingly, the two gentlemen took their 
 way. 
 
 " If," said he, " we can pull this business off I'll 
 never forget it to you. You don't know what this 
 means to me. It's not the money so much, 
 though that's a good deal, but it's the outwitting 
 and getting the better of those scoundrels, Dick 
 Giveen and the rest of them. Even if your friend 
 agrees to lend us this place aU our troubles aren't 
 ended. I want to get the horse away without any- 
 one knowing where I'm taking him to. I'll have 
 to take Moriarty and Andy, and I can't leave Effie 
 behind, for if I did I'd have to write to her, and 
 they'd see the post-marks at the post-office 
 in Cloyne, and my address would be all over the 
 place. I mustn't leave a clue behind me to 
 teU where I'm gone to, and with that beast of a 
 Giveen nosing about like a rat it'll be difficult 
 rather ; but we'll do it." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr Dashwood, " we'll do it." The 
 excitement of the business filled him with pleasure- 
 able anticipations, and he had not reckoned on 
 Emmanuel Ibbetson in vain, for when they got 
 
THE COMPACT 
 
 13. 
 
 back to the Shelbourne in the evening they found 
 a wire from that gentleman. It only contained 
 three words: "Yes, with pleasure." With this 
 telegram there was another. It was from Miss 
 Grimshaw, and it ran: " Come back at once." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE WARNING 
 
 The day Mr French left Drumgool on his visit to 
 DubUn it rained. 
 
 Croagh Mahon had been winding himseK with 
 scarves of mist all the day before, and he had come 
 up so close to Drumgool that you might have hit 
 him with a biscuit, to use Moriarty's expression. 
 
 The weather kept the great mountain forever in 
 fantastic movement, now retreating, now advanc- 
 ing. He grew and shrank in a wizard way with 
 the changes of the atmosphere. To-day he would 
 be immense, slate-coloured, strewn with dim 
 ravines, standing beneath the subdued beauty of 
 the quiet winter dayUght, a sure sign that on the 
 morrow he would be blotted out. Fine v/eather 
 would cast him far away, and he would stand, 
 heather purple in the blue distance, but still call- 
 ing you to come to him. 
 
 When Mr French departed for the station the 
 weather was clear, and Miss Grimshaw, having 
 watched him drive away, strolled down the garden, 
 then through a little wicket she passed into the 
 kitchen-garden, and from there along the uphill 
 path to the cliffs. 
 
 134 
 
THE WARNING 135 
 
 There was little wind on the cKffs, and the sea 
 was coming in unruffled, yet hugely stirring in 
 league-long lapses of swell. 
 
 Boom ! 
 
 The whole coast answered with a deep organ note 
 to the leisurely breaking of the billows. 
 
 Boom! 
 
 You could hear the voice of the Devil's Kitchen, 
 the voices of the Seven Sisters, the voice of the 
 long Black Strand, the voices of the headlands, as 
 billow after billow struck the coast; great waves 
 from the very heart of the ocean, and the snarl of 
 the pebbles to the undertow on the strand beneath 
 could be heard shrill, like the voice of each dying 
 wave, " I have come from afar — afar — afar." 
 
 No other sound. 
 
 Not a whisper from the land stretching away to 
 the distant hills under the dull grey sky; not a 
 whisper from the heaving sea stretching away to 
 the fleckless grey horizon. 
 
 Boom! 
 
 " I have come from afar — afar — afar." Nothing 
 more except the cry of a gull. The girl stood on 
 the cliS edge, looking and hstening. The air was 
 sweet with the recent rain, invigorating as wine, 
 clear as crystal, filled with ozone from the seaweed- 
 strewn shore and the perfume of earth from the 
 rain-soaked land. 
 
 She could see the Seven Sisters seated in their 
 rings of foam; miles of coast lay on either hand, 
 cliff, and headland, and bay singing together, and 
 
136 GARRYOWEN 
 
 being sung to by the waves, tremendous, majestic, 
 desolate, just as they sang and were sung to ten 
 thousand years ago, just as they will sing and be 
 sung to ten thousand years hence. 
 
 The recollection of Mr Giveen, called up in her 
 mind by the sea, brought French and his troubles 
 before her; the League and its pettiness, and old 
 Ryan and his cows' tails. Before the tremendous 
 seascape all these things shrank to their true pro- 
 portions, and the booming of the billows seemed 
 like a voice commenting on it all, yet indifferent to 
 the doings, the hopes and aims of man as Death. 
 
 A spot of rain touched her cheek and she turned 
 from the cliff and began the descent tovv^ards the 
 house. At the gate leading into the kitchen-garden 
 a dirty and dragglc-t?iled girl without boots or 
 shoes, a girl of about fourteen, with a dirty face, 
 was endeavouring to unravel the mystery of the 
 latch — it was a patent latch with a trick bar in 
 the staple — and failing. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw came to her assistance, opened 
 the gate and held it open for the other to pass 
 through, but the damsel did not enter. 
 
 She stood with eyes downcast ; then she looked 
 up, then she looked down, then — 
 
 " If you plaze, miss," said she, " are you the 
 young lady ould Mrs Moriarty tould me to ax 
 for? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," laughed Violet; then, 
 remembering the name, " Do you mean old Mrs 
 Moriarty at Cloyne? " 
 
THE WARNING 137 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 " Well, why did she send you? " 
 
 " If you plaze, miss, I'm Shusey Gallagher." 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " I'm the servant at the blacksmith's, miss, 
 and ould Mrs Moriarty sez to me to keep me ears 
 open to hear if the boys was afther playin' any 
 tricks on Mr Frinch, an' she'd give me a 
 sixpence, miss; so I lays wid me ears open, 
 pritindin' to be aslape, and I heard him say 
 to his wife, ' It's fixed for Thursday night,' says 
 he. ' What's fixed? ' says she. ' Frinch's job,' 
 says he." 
 
 " Yes, yes," cut in Miss Grimshaw. " But 
 who were these people speaking? " 
 
 " Mr Blood, the blacksmith, miss, and his wife, 
 and I lyin' wid me ears open and they thinkin' 
 me aslape. ' What are they goin' to do? ' says 
 she. ' Hamstring the coult,' says he. ' Garry- 
 owen? ' says she. ' The same,' says he. ' And 
 how many of them on the job? ' says she. ' Only 
 one,' says he. ' That'll larn ould Frinch,' says 
 she. ' And who's goin' to do it? ' ' Black Larry,' 
 he says, ' and now shut your head, for it's tired I 
 am and wants to go to slape.' " 
 
 " Good heavens! " said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 " Yes, miss," repUed the tale-teller, evidently 
 pleased with the effect of her information. " And 
 ould Mrs Moriarty whin I tould her, ' Bun, 
 Shusey,' says she, ' hot-fut to Dhrumgool and 
 ax for the young lady, a^nd give her me rispicts. 
 
138 GARRYOWEN 
 
 and tell her what you've tould me, and maybe she 
 won't forget you for your thrubble — ' " 
 
 " That she won't," said Miss Grimshaw, taking 
 her purse from her pocket and half-a-crown from 
 her purse. She also took a sixpence; and giving 
 the child the sixpence, she showed her the half- 
 crown. 
 
 " I wiU give you that," said she, " next Friday 
 if what you have told me is true, and if you say 
 nothing about this to anyone else. Tell old Mrs 
 Moriarty I will call and see her, and thank her 
 very much for sending you. Now, mind, if you 
 say a word of this to anyone else you won't get 
 the half-crown." 
 
 Susie Gallagher, whose mouth had flown open 
 wide at the sight of the half-crown, closed it again. 
 
 " Plaze, miss, is the whole ha'f-crown for me? " 
 
 " Yes, if you don't say a word." 
 
 " Not a word, miss; sure, I'd bite me tongue off 
 before I'd let it be telhn' a word." 
 
 " And go on keeping your ears open," said Miss 
 Grimshaw, " and let me know if you hear any- 
 thing more." 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 " That'll do," said Miss Grimshaw, and Susie 
 Gallagher departed, running, taking a hop, skip 
 and a jump now and then, presumably as an 
 outlet for her emotions. 
 
 When this desirable and faithful servitor had 
 vanished round the corner. Miss Grimshaw passed 
 through the kitchen-garden towards the stables. 
 
 1 
 
THE WARNING 139 
 
 She wanted to find Moriarty. The news had 
 shocked her, but as yet she could scarcely believe 
 in its truth. Susie Gallagher was not a person to 
 bear conviction however easily she might bear 
 tales ; but Moriarty would be able to decide. 
 
 Moriarty was in the stable-yard with Doolan. 
 They were overhauhng the fishing-tackle of the 
 past season, deep-sea lines and conger hooks and 
 what not, whilst Mrs DriscoU stood a,t the back 
 entrance to the kitchen premises, her apron over 
 her arms, assisting them. She popped in when 
 ]\Iiss Grimshaw made her appearance, and Moriarty 
 touched his cap. 
 
 Ever since the baih£f incident he had a great 
 respect for the governess — the respect a sportsman 
 has for a sportsman. 
 
 " Moriarty," said Miss Grimshaw, " I want to 
 speak to you." 
 
 " Yes, miss," said Moriarty, stepping up to her. 
 
 " I have just had some very serious news about 
 the horses. I had better speak to you about it 
 in the hbrary. Come in there." 
 
 She led the way into the house. 
 
 When they were in the hbrary she shut the door 
 and told him aU. 
 
 " Divil mend them," said Moriarty, who seemed 
 much perturbed. 
 
 " Do you think there is any truth in it? " 
 
 "I do, miss, and what's botherin' me is the 
 master bein' away." 
 
 " He's coming back on Thursday." 
 
I40 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Yes, miss. If they'll only hould their hands 
 till Thursday. Not that I mind tacklin' them 
 alone; but if there's any shootin' to be done I'd 
 sooner the master was on the primises." 
 
 " Oh, but — you won't shoot them! " 
 
 *' Shoot them, miss! Faith, if I catch them at 
 their games I'U shoot them first and bile them 
 afther. To-day's Monday — are you sure it was 
 Thursday she said, miss? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Moriarty ruminated. 
 
 " Black Larry you said it was, miss, that was 
 comin'? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then he's sure to come single-handed. He 
 always does his jobs alone, and he's never been 
 cotched yet." 
 
 "Is he a dangerous man? " 
 
 " He's not a man, miss, he's a divil. Six fut two 
 and as black as a flue brush. He was gamekeeper 
 to the masther, and the masther turned him off for 
 bad conduc', and he's swore to be even with 
 him." 
 
 " Of course," said Miss Grimshaw, " I might 
 telegraph to Mr French and bring him back ; but 
 he has gone on important business and it would 
 be a pity." 
 
 " It would, miss." 
 
 " I'm not afraid," said the girl, 'Vand if you 
 think you can manage till Thursday, by yom'self, 
 it would be better to do nothing. I will send him 
 
THE WARNING 14 
 
 a telegram on Wednesday to make sure of him 
 returning on Thursday." 
 
 " Yes, miss," said Moriarty. " That'll be the 
 best way — and if Black Larry comes before the 
 masther is back, God help him! " 
 
 Moriarty took his departure and the girl turned 
 to the window. The rain was falhng now, " the 
 long rain of these old, old lands; eternal, fateful, 
 slow." Verhaeren's verse crossed her mind as she 
 looked out at the lowering sky and at the distant 
 mountains now half -veiled in clouds ; as she looked 
 the naked tree branches all bent one way, as if 
 pressed down by an invisible hand, a sheet of rain 
 obhterated everything beyond the middle distance 
 of the landscape, and every window on the west 
 side of the house shook and rattled to the wind 
 that had suddenly risen. 
 
 She went upstairs to the schoolroom, where 
 Effie, kneeUng on the window-seat, was engaged 
 in the monotonous occupation of tracing the rain- 
 drops on the pane with her finger. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 It rained steadily from Monday afternoon till 
 Thursday morning, and then, as if at the stroke 
 of a great broom, the clouds broke up and were 
 driven in piles over the hills, leaving the sky 
 winter-blue and free; cloud-shadow and sunshine 
 chased one another over the land, and from the 
 cliffs the sea lay foam-capped and in great meadows 
 of different colour. It had blown haK a gale on 
 Tuesday night, and the sea was fretting from it 
 still. Acres of tourmahne-coloured water showed 
 where the " deeps " lay close inshore, and each 
 glass-green roller came running in, capped with 
 foam and shot through with sunUght till — 
 
 Boom! 
 
 A league-long burst of spray told of its death, 
 and from far and near came the sound, the breath- 
 ing of the coast, like the breathing of a leviathan 
 in its sleep. 
 
 It was dark when the train from Dublin drew in 
 at the station of Cloyne, and Mr French and his 
 companion found the outside car waiting for them, 
 in charge of Buck Slane. 
 
 Buck was a helper in the stable, a weedy- 
 
 142 
 
MISS GUIMSHAW'S 5 POINTS 143 
 
 looking individual in leggings, with a high, piping 
 voice, red-rimmed eyes and an apologetic manner. 
 When Buck spoke to you on any subject he seemed 
 to be apologising for it as though it were some- 
 thing indecent that had to be mentioned or 
 spoken about against his will. 
 
 " Where's Moriarty, and why didn't he come 
 with the car? " asked Mr French. 
 
 " Plaze, sorr," said Buck, " Moriarty 's stuck in 
 the stable—" 
 
 " Stuck in the where? " 
 
 " In the stable, sorr — wid the horses. He 
 hasn't :eft them a minit since Monday afternoon, 
 and he tould me to harness the mare and stick her 
 in the car and come to the station — " 
 
 " All right," said French. " Hop up, Dashwood. 
 Here, get the luggage on board. Buck, and I'll hold 
 the mare." 
 
 A couple of minutes later they were on the road 
 to Drumgool under the Hght of a winter moon. It 
 was the road along which Mr Dashwood had 
 driven that morning with Miss Grimshaw when, 
 after breakfast at the Station Inn, he had accom- 
 panied her to Drumgool House. Everything on 
 the road recalled her in that poignant language 
 used by inanimate things when they remind us of 
 the people we love. 
 
 He had spoken no word about her to French 
 since that conversation in the smoking-room of 
 the Shelbourne Hotel, and French had spoken no 
 word to him. French, having declared his haK- 
 
144 GARRYOWEN 
 
 formed intention to " ask " her himself, had 
 apparently dismissed her from his mind. I 
 doubt if ever a lover found himself in a more 
 pecuUar and difficult position than that which 
 was beginning to surround Mr Dashwood. French 
 brought into this affair a mixture of card-room 
 and commercial honesty that was very embarrass- 
 ing to an ordinary rival. He had said in substance, 
 " Here's a girl; you're in love with her. I'm not 
 going to do a mean thing; I'm going to take you 
 to my house and put you together, so that you 
 may know more of each other. If she hkes you 
 better than me, you can have her ; if she likes me 
 better than you, you can't. I give you just the 
 same chance as I have myseK, and I expect you 
 to play the game." There was a splendid self- 
 confidence in the proposition which made it not 
 altogether a compHmentary one; but there was 
 also a fine open-heartedness, an absence of that 
 essential mahce of love, which made it less a pro- 
 position than a law of conduct with all sorts of 
 clauses. 
 
 Generous in a love-affair! Men may be 
 generous in sharing money, in sharing fame, in 
 sharing the chance of death, but in sharing the 
 chance of love — ah! that's a very different thing. 
 The most extreme Sociahst has never dared to 
 propound such a community of interests, and yet 
 here was a simple Irish gentleman not propounding 
 the idea, but putting it in practice, and as fine 
 deeds are the fathers of fine thoughts, here was an 
 
MISS GKIMSHAW'S 5 POINTS 145 
 
 ingenuous lover, in the form of Mr Dashwood, 
 determining to play the game and take no ad- 
 vantage of French. To complete the matter, here 
 was Miss Grimshaw, who had been apprised of 
 the coming of Mr Dashwood as a guest by wire, 
 completing the preparations for the reception of 
 the two gentlemen and with, in her heart, an 
 equally kindly feehng for each. 
 
 Doolan had caught a large lobster the day 
 before, " blown up on the strand," and this, coral- 
 red and curled on a dish, flanked a round of cold 
 spiced beef on the supper-table ; a bright fire was 
 burning in the grate, the hght of the lamps shone, 
 reflected by the ruby of port and claret in the 
 decanters on the sideboard; the potatoes, boiled 
 in their jackets, were being kept hot in the oven, 
 and everything was in readiness for the expected 
 travellers, who were late. 
 
 As Miss Grimshaw sat by the fire she could hear 
 the faint boom of the sea. To know desolation 
 and the blessing of a visit you must live in the 
 extreme west of Ireland, which, I take it, is the 
 extreme outside edge of European civilisation; 
 and after three days of rain, three days of reading 
 the day before yesterday's Freeman's Journal 
 and Mrs Brown's 'Oliday Outings, Miss Grimshaw 
 was in the frame of mind to receive a visitor, more 
 especially when that visitor took the form of Bobby 
 Dashwood. 
 
 Bobby and his irresponsibihties had found a 
 place in her heart. Not the place that women 
 
146 GARRYOWEN 
 
 keep for lovers, but the place they keep for cats, 
 stray dogs and other people's children; a place, 
 all the same, that opens into the real place, an 
 ante-room where, if a man can obtain a footing, 
 he has a chance of being shown into the boudoir. 
 Unfortunately for Bobby, French had a place 
 there too; so had Noreen, the cat, and Effie — 
 quite an extraordinary collection of people and 
 animals, but only two men — ^French and Mr 
 Dashwood. 
 
 " Here they are, miss," cried Nor ah, popping 
 her head in at the door. " The car's comin' up 
 the drive." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw rose from the fire and came out 
 into the hall. 
 
 She saw the car through the open door, and the 
 lamps blazing, and next moment she was shaking 
 hands with Bobby Dashwood. 
 
 " Where's Mr French? " asked the girl. 
 
 " He jumped down at the stable entrance," 
 said Mr Dashwood, wrigghng out of his great-coat, 
 " and went to see the horses. He asked me to 
 come in and tell you." 
 
 She led the way into the dining-room. 
 
 " You've got the same bedroom that you had 
 before," said she. " The one with the glimpse of 
 the sea. Mrs DriscoU has put a fire there, and 
 they've been airing sheets and things all day, so 
 you need not be afraid of catching cold. Hasn't 
 the weather been awful? " 
 
 "Awful! " said Mr Dashwood. 
 
MISS GRIMSHAWS 5 POINTS 147 
 
 " You met Mr French in Dublin, I suppose? " 
 said the girl. 
 
 " Yes, I met him in DubHn. Funny, wasn't 
 it? We were staying at the same hotel, and I was 
 coming down here, and he invited me to stay with 
 him." 
 
 He stood with his back to the fire, warming him- 
 self and glancing about the comfortable room, 
 and there was something in his manner that Miss 
 Grimshaw could not quite make out, an almost 
 imperceptible stiffness, a want of " spring." It 
 was as though he were on his guard. 
 
 " Was it raining in Dubhn? " 
 
 " Yes, most of the time. And I suppose you've 
 been having it pretty bad here? " 
 
 "Awful!" 
 
 She was dying to ask him why he had come over 
 from England at this season of the year — why he 
 had come down here. Who can tell but, in her 
 heart, she knew the reason perfectly, and, knowing 
 it, felt perplexed with his strange manner and 
 stiffness? 
 
 They talked on indifferent matters — Effie and 
 so forth — till French came in. He had inter- 
 viewed Moriarty, and he was full of the business 
 of the horses; and, strange to say, with the 
 entrance of French Mr Dashwood's manner com- 
 pletely changed. His stiffness vanished, and he 
 became his old, irresponsible, joyous seK again. 
 
 "Think of it! The blackguards!" said Mr 
 French, as he carved the round of beef, " coming 
 
148 GARRYOWEN 
 
 to try their tricks on the horses ! Moriarty hasn't 
 let his eye off Garryowen since I left. I'll pension 
 him for life if I win the City and Sub. But think 
 of the blackheartedness of it — " 
 
 He went into the details we know — Susie 
 Gallagher's " information," and the fact that it 
 was almost certain Black Larry would try the 
 business that night. 
 
 Mr Dashwood's eyes sparkled as he Hstened. 
 
 " What are you going to do? "he asked. 
 
 " Catch him if I can," said French. " There 
 mustn't be any shooting. I don't want any police 
 business, for then I'd be held as a witness at the 
 Assizes. But if I catch him I'll give him some- 
 thing to remember to-night by and let him go." 
 
 " You'U let me help? " said Bobby. 
 
 " Of course I'll let you help. And so it was 
 Susie Gallagher brought the news? " 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Grimshaw. " I told old Mrs 
 Moriarty — you remember that day you took me 
 to see her? — ^well, I told her to let me know if she 
 heard of any mischief. I guess she kept her ears 
 open, for I gave her a shilling, and promised her 
 five if she got any information. You'll have to 
 pay that." 
 
 French chuckled. 
 
 " Ever since you've entered the house," said 
 he, " you've been putting things straight and 
 saving us all from ourselves. Look here, now," 
 said Mr French, resting his elbow on the table and 
 checking off the items with the index finger of his 
 
MISS GRIMSHAW'S 5 POINTS 149 
 
 right hand on the fingers of his left. " You've 
 helped to fix the baihfi. That's number 1." 
 
 Mr Dashwood applauded, and IVIr French con- 
 tinued: " You put old Kate Moriarty on the scent 
 of these scoundrels; that's number 2. You put 
 Effie on her legs, and you've freed the house of 
 Dick Giveen; that's number 3. And you put 
 into my head what to do about Garry owen; that's 
 number 4." 
 
 " And now," said Miss Grimshaw, " I'm going 
 to bed, and to leave you two to your pipes; and 
 that's number 5. I suppose you will sit up to 
 catch this person? " 
 
 " We wiU," said French. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 BLACK LARRY 
 
 Her room was situated at the back of the house, 
 overlooking the kitchen-garden. Any sound from 
 the stable-yard would reach it, and she determined 
 to He awake and listen. Moriarty's description 
 of the expected desperado, " over six fut and as 
 black as a flue-brush," seemed to promise develop- 
 ments. Like most women, she had a horror of 
 fighting, and, Hke most women, fighting had a 
 fascination for her. She had no fear of the result. 
 Mr French, Mr Dashwood, Moriarty and the stable 
 helper, not to mention Andy, formed a combina- 
 tion bad to beat, even against a dozen Black 
 Larrys. All the same, there was a certain heart- 
 catching excitement about the business not 
 altogether unpleasurable, and never did the 
 silence of the great old house seem more freighted 
 with the voices of the past ; never did the ticking 
 of the huge old clock on the landing outside seem 
 more pronounced than just now as, lying in bed 
 with a candle burning on the table by her side and 
 Tartarin of Tarascon open in her hand, she listened. 
 The bed she was lying in was the bed that once 
 had supported Dan O'Connell's portly person. 
 
 150 
 
BLACK LARRY 151 
 
 The tent-like curtains had been removed, so that 
 one could breathe in it, but the pillars remained, 
 and the head-piece and the carvings ; it was less a 
 bed than a coign of history, and more conducive 
 to thought than sleep. 
 
 From this bed and its suggestions, from Drum- 
 gool, from Ireland, the delightful Tartarin led Miss 
 Grimshaw to the land of plane trees and blue sky. 
 Mock heroics are the finest antidote for tragic 
 thoughts, and they fitted the situation now, had 
 she known it, to a charm. 
 
 Now she was at Tarascon. Tartarin, leaving 
 his house in the moonlight, armed to the teeth 
 against imaginary foes, led her down the white 
 road, past the little gardens, odorous as bouquets, 
 to the house of Madame Bezuquet, from whence 
 issued the voice of Costecalde, the gun-maker, and 
 the tinkling of the Nimes piano. 
 
 Now she was seated beside him and his guns 
 and implements of the chase in the old dusty 
 African stage coach, bound for Blidah, Ustening to 
 the old coach's complaining voice. 
 
 "Ah! my good Monsieur Tartarin, I did not 
 come out here of my own free will, I assure you. 
 Once the railway to Beaucaire was finished I was 
 of no more use there, and they packed me off to 
 Africa — " 
 
 Miss Grimshaw paused in her reading. Was 
 that a shout from the night outside? The clock 
 on the landing, gathering itself up for the business 
 of striking with a deep humming sound, began to 
 
152 GARRYOWEN 
 
 strike. It struck twelve, and at the last leisurely 
 and sledge-hammer stroke resumed its monoton- 
 ous ticking. The faint boom of the sea filled the 
 night, but all else was silence, and the old stage- 
 coach continued her complaint. " And now I 
 have to sleep in the open air, in the courtyard of a 
 caravanserai, exposed to all the winds of heaven. 
 At night jackals and hyenas come sniffing round 
 my boxes, and tramps, who fear the evening dew, 
 seek refuge in my compartments. Such is the hfe 
 I lead, my worthy friend, and I suppose it will con- 
 tinue till the day when, blistered by the sun and 
 rotted by the damp, I shall fall to pieces, a useless 
 heap, on some bit of road, when the Arabs will 
 make use of the remains of my old carcase to boil 
 their kousskouss. 
 
 " ' Bhdah ! BHdah ! ' shouted the conductor, as 
 he opened the door." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw awoke. The candle had burnt 
 itself out, and a ray of early morning sunlight was 
 peeping in through the bhnds. 
 
 She could still hear the clank of the old stage- 
 coach — or was it imagination? She rubbed her 
 eyes. 
 
 Yes, there it came again. The window was haK 
 open, and the sound came from the kitchen-garden 
 below ; a metalUc sound that had broken through 
 her sleep, filhng her dreams with pictures of the 
 Blidah coach and the illustrious Tartarin with his 
 guns, hunting-knives and powder-horns. 
 
BLACK LARRY 153 
 
 She sprang out of bed, went to the window, 
 pulled aside the curtains and looked out. 
 
 In the kitchen-garden down below she saw an 
 object that had once been a man, more desperate 
 even than the immortal Tartarin. The once-man 
 was on all-fours ; he could not get on his feet, be- 
 cause his ankles were hobbled together with a 
 piece of rope. He could not untie the rope, 
 because on each of his hands was firmly tied a 
 boxing-glove. Try to untie a knot with your 
 hands encased in boxing-gloves if you wish to 
 realise nightmare helplessness in its acutest form. 
 A tin stable bucket was tied down over the head 
 of the figure, and, as a last artistic touch, one of 
 old Ryan's cows' tails was tied to a band round 
 the animal's waist and hung down behind. 
 
 The creature was trying to get out of the 
 kitchen-garden. Miss Grimshaw could not help 
 thinking of the bhnd and hopeless antics of an 
 insect imprisoned under a wine-glass as she 
 watched. The garden, strongly railed in, formed 
 a sort of pound, hopelessly ungetoutable. 
 
 The whole thing seemed so Hke a joke that the 
 girl at the window for a moment did not connect 
 it with the obvious. Opening the window more 
 she leaned fiu-ther out. 
 
 "Hi! " cried Miss Grimshaw. " What are you 
 doing there? " 
 
 The thing rose up on its knees, the boxing- 
 gloves, like great paws, seized the bucket on either 
 side, in a frantic endeavour to wrench it off, failed, 
 
154 GAERYOWEN 
 
 and then from the bucket broke a volume of 
 language that caused the Kstener to draw hastily 
 in and shut the window. 
 
 She guessed. 
 
 At this moment eight o'clock struck from the 
 landing, and Nor ah knocked at the door with hot 
 water. 
 
 For a moment she thought of asking the servant 
 the meaning of it all; then she decided not. 
 
 HaK-an-hour later she entered the dining- 
 room, where breakfast was laid. Mr French and 
 Mr Dashwood were already there, both spick-and- 
 span and looking like people who had enjoyed an 
 undisturbed night's rest. But there was a jubi- 
 lant look in Mr Dashwood's face and a twinkle in 
 Mr French's eye such as seldom appear on the 
 face or in the eye of man before breakfast. 
 
 During the meal the conversation turned upon 
 indifferent matters. Mr Dashwood had several 
 attacks of choking, but IVIr French seemed quite 
 unmoved. 
 
 When the meal was over and cigarettes were 
 Ht, Mr French, who had been scanning through his 
 letters, stretched out his hand to the bell-pull, 
 which was close to him. 
 
 " Norah," said Mr French, when that damsel 
 appeared, " go down to the stable and send up 
 Moriarty." He ht a cigarette, and Miss Grim- 
 shaw, who had been preparing to leave the room, 
 waited. 
 
 A few minutes passed; then came a knock at 
 
BLACK LARRY 155 
 
 the door, and Moriarty, cap in hand, stood before 
 his master. 
 
 " Moriarty," said Mr French, " there's a pig got 
 into the kitchen-garden." 
 
 " A pig, sorr! " 
 
 " Yes; it's escaped down here from Clojnie. At 
 least, I'm going to send it back to Cloyne. Get 
 the cart." 
 
 " Yes, sorr." 
 
 " And a pig-net. Get it into the cart, with the 
 net over it, and take it to Cloyne. I don't know 
 who it belongs to, so just dump it in the market- 
 place. This is market day, so there'll be someone 
 to claim it, or it will find its way home." 
 
 " Yes, sorr." 
 
 " And, see here, bring the cart round to the door 
 before you start." 
 
 " Yes, sorr." 
 
 Moriarty departed. 
 
 " Now," said Mr French, " let's talk business. 
 Miss Grimshaw, we're leaving Ireland to-morrow. 
 You and I and Effie and the servants and all. 
 I've got a place — " 
 
 " To train Garry o wen? " 
 
 " Yes, and here's the man that's got me it. It's 
 in Sussex, down at a place called Crowsnest. 
 There are too many pigs in Ireland, poking their 
 noses into my affairs, to do any good with the 
 business here." 
 
 " Good," said Miss Grimshaw, with a rising 
 colour. To escape from the rain and the awful 
 
156 GARRYOWEN 
 
 loneliness of Drumgool had been the chief desire of 
 her heart for days past. She knew Sussex and 
 loved the country, and a great feeling of gratitude 
 towards Mr Dashwood, the provider of this means 
 of escape, welled up in her heart. 
 
 " So," said Mr French, " we'll find our work cut 
 out to pack, and all before eleven o'clock to- 
 morrow morning. I'm sending Andy and Buck 
 Slane and the horses on by this night's train to 
 Dublin; he'll put up with them at Bourke's 
 Uvery stables. I'm leaving only Doolan behind 
 to look after the house. James, my agent, will 
 pay him his wages. I'm not even telling James 
 where I'm going. I want to make a clean sweep. 
 I'm safe till the debt to Lewis becomes due. If 
 that beast of a Giveen knew my address he'd put 
 Lewis's man on to me the minute he came here 
 claiming the money. I must cut myseK off as 
 completely from the place as if I was dead." 
 
 " Well, there's one thing," said the girl. " If 
 you can get away from here without anyone know- 
 ing where you are going to they'll never dream of 
 looking for you in Sussex. I shouldn't think they 
 know the name of the place here. But can you? " 
 
 " How do you mean? " 
 
 " Well, you must take tickets at the station 
 here. You must take tickets to Dublin first of 
 all. Well, that's a clue to where you are going." 
 
 " I've thought of that," said Mr French, with 
 a chuckle. "I'm going to take our tickets to 
 Tullagh; that's half-way. The express stops at 
 
BLACK LARRY 157 
 
 Tullagh, and I'll hop out of the train there and 
 book on to Dubhn. Mr Dashwood here is going 
 on with the horses to-night, and then on to Crows- 
 nest, to have the house ready. Faith, I never can 
 thank him for what he's done or what he's going 
 to do." 
 
 " God bless my soul," said Dashwood, " I don't 
 want thanks. It's the greatest lark I ever came 
 across. I wouldn't have lose last night for a 
 thousand pounds. I mean, you know, it's tre- 
 mendous fun; beats a comic opera to fits — " 
 
 " Please, sir," came Norah's voice at the door, 
 " the cart's round and waiting." 
 
 Mr French rose to his feet, and led the way from 
 the room, followed by the others. 
 
 At the hall door steps a manure cart was drawn 
 up. In the cart was something covered with a 
 pig-net. Doolan, whip in hand, was standing at 
 the horse's head. 
 
 " Let up," came a voice from the cart. " What 
 are yiz doin' wid me? Where am I at all, at all? 
 Oh, but I'U pay yiz out for this ! I'll have the laa 
 on yiz." 
 
 " Shut your ears," said Mr French to the girl; 
 then he took Doolan's whip, and with the butt of 
 it prodded the thing in the cart. What seemed a 
 great tin snout resented this treatment, then the 
 cart moved off, Doolan at the horse's head, and 
 disappeared down the drive. 
 
 '' Did you see what was in the cart? " asked 
 French when the girl uncovered her ears. 
 
158 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " and I saw it in the garden 
 this morning, and I spoke to it, and asked it what 
 it was doing, and — well, I don't wonder at your 
 wanting to leave Ireland." 
 
 " Not whilst there's things like that in it," said 
 the master of Drumgool, following Doolan and 
 his charge with his eyes till they disappeared from 
 sight. " And now, let's get to work." 
 
 The sunlight of the early morning had vanished, 
 and almost as the cart and its contents turned 
 from the avenue drive into the road the rain be- 
 gan to come down again in great sheets ; thunder- 
 ous pourings, as if to make up for lost time. But 
 it was a merry rain, at least in the ears of the 
 girl. " You're going, you're going ; " the rain beat 
 a tattoo to the words on the zinc roof of outhouse 
 and window-pane. " To-morrow," slobbered the 
 overflowing water-butts, and " Sussex," hissed the 
 schoolroom fire as the raindrops down the chimney 
 hit the burning coals. 
 
 No one but a woman knows the things to be 
 done in a sudden disruption of a household like 
 this. " Everything must be covered up, and 
 everything must be turned over," is a broad axiom 
 that only just covers the situation when a house is 
 to be left uninhabited for a number of months. 
 That is to say, carpets must be taken up, beaten, 
 and folded; pictures and looking-glasses taken 
 down, covered in brown paper and placed on the 
 floor. A sort of spring cleaning, petrified half-way 
 through and left in a state of suspension, is the 
 
BLACK LARRY 159 
 
 ideal aimed at by the careful housewife. Miss 
 Grimshaw never had possessed a house of her own, 
 but she was descended from long generations of 
 careful housewives, and she had an instinct for 
 what ought to be done. But she had also a clear 
 brain that recognised the impossible when it came 
 before her: To put Drumgool in order in twelve 
 working hours, and with a handful of disorganised 
 domestics, was impossible, and she recognised the 
 fact. 
 
 So the carpets were to be left unbeaten; the 
 pictures still hanging. Doolan had orders to hght 
 fires in the rooms every week, and to be sure and 
 take care not to burn the house down. 
 
 At four o'clock, in a burst of sunset which lit up 
 the heaving Atlantic, the rain-stricken land, and 
 the great hills unveiled for a moment of clouds, 
 Mr Dashwood departed for the station. Andy, 
 Buck Slane the horses had left at three. 
 
 " I'll have the bungalow jolly and comfortable 
 for you," said Mr Dashwood. " You'll be there 
 day after to-morrow evening, if you stay in 
 London for a few hours' rest. Send me a wire 
 when you reach Euston. Well, good luck! " 
 
 " Good luck," said Mr French. 
 
 " Good-bye," said the girl. 
 
 They watched the car driving down the avenue, 
 the wheel-spokes flashing in the sunlight. Then 
 they turned back into the house. 
 
 " To-morrow," thought Miss Grimshaw, as she 
 lay in bed that night, Hstening to the rain that had 
 
i6o GARRYOWEN 
 
 resumed business and the ticking of the clock in 
 the corridor making answer to the rain. " Oh, 
 to-morrow! " Then she fell to thinking. What 
 was the matter with the two men? When she 
 and they were gathered together they were as 
 jolly as possible, but the instant she found herself 
 alone with one of them that one v/ilted — at least, 
 became subdued, lost his sprightliness and gaiety. 
 More than that, each, when alone with her, became, 
 if the subject turned that way, the trumpeter of 
 the other's praises. Yet when they were all to- 
 gether they would try as much as they could to 
 outshine each other, Mr French setting up his wit 
 against Mr Dashwood; Mr Dashwood retaliating. 
 Just as two male birds before a hen strut and 
 spread their tails, so these two gentlemen would 
 show off their mental feathers when together. 
 Parted, they drooped. 
 
 A bell-man could not have told her the fact 
 that they had lost their hearts more plainly than 
 intuition stated the fact when all three together 
 at afternoon tea, just before Mr Dashwood's 
 departure for the station, that young gentleman, 
 with a plate of toast in his hand, had dallied 
 attendance upon her, whilst Mr French had urged 
 the dubious charm of crumpets. Yet, behold! 
 on the departure of the younger man, the elder had 
 presumably found his heart again, and at supper 
 had become almost tiresome in his fulsome praise 
 of Dashwood. 
 
 It was horribly perplexing. 
 
BLACK LARRY i6i 
 
 A woman's intuitive knowledge teaches her how 
 to act in every situation love can place her in, 
 from the first glance to the last embrace ; her male 
 and female ancestors whisper to her what to do 
 dow^n the long whispering gallery of the past. 
 They whispered nothing now. Miss Grimshaw 
 had relatives long dead who, fur-covered, tailed, 
 and hving in trees , l> ad dropped cocoa-nuts on the 
 heads of rivals; tlicse gentlemen and ladies could 
 give her no advice. Cave-dweUing ancestors, 
 whose propositions were urged with stone clubs, 
 were equally dumb; even her more near and 
 cultivated forebears had nothing to say. 
 
 It was an entirely new situation in love. Two 
 men " playing the game," and determined to take 
 no mean advantage one of the other — even love 
 himself found the situation strange and had no 
 suggestions to offer. 
 
 The next morning was dull, but fine; the sky 
 had hfted, thinned, and become mackerelled; 
 between the ribs of cloud a faint bluish tinge here 
 and there told of the blue above; the mountains 
 sat calm and grey upon the horizon; they had 
 drawn a great way off, as if to make way for the 
 coming sunshine. Fine weather w^as at hand. 
 
 In the hall of Drumgool the luggage was piled, 
 waiting for the wagonette. The servants and 
 the luggage were to go in the wagonette, and 
 so carefully had Mr French thought out the 
 problem before him that he had hired the horses 
 and the wagonette the day before, not from 
 
i62 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Cloyne but from Inchkillin, a small town twelve 
 miles south of Drumgool. The Dancing Mistress 
 and the outside car were to be sold off by his agent 
 and the money held till his return. 
 
 The train started at eleven. At eight o'clock 
 the wagonette and its contents drove away from 
 the house, and at ten minutes to nine the car, with 
 Mr French, Miss Grimshaw and Effie, followed. 
 Doolan was driving, and just as they were turning 
 out of the avenue the whole east side of Drumgool 
 House lit up to a burst of sunshine from over the 
 hills. 
 
 It seemed a lucky omen. That, and the lovely 
 winter's morning through which they were driving, 
 put the party in good spirits, and Doolan's deafness 
 allowed them to talk as freely as they Hked about 
 their affairs. 
 
 "I hope Dick Giveen hasn't seen the wagonette," 
 said French. " If he has he'U be following to the 
 station to find out what's up. If he sees us it 
 won't so much matter, for he'll think, maybe, we 
 are only going for a drive, but the servants and the 
 luggage would give the whole show away." 
 
 " Has he any sort of trap to follow us in? " 
 asked Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 " He has an old shandrahdan of a basket pony- 
 carriage. Maybe he's not up yet, for he's not an 
 early riser. Anyhow, we'U see when we pass the 
 bungalow." 
 
 They were drawing near Drumboyne now; the 
 bungalow inhabited by Mr Giveen lay at the other 
 
BLACK LARRY 163 
 
 end of the tiny village. It was a green-painted 
 affair, with an outhouse for the pony and trap; 
 a green-painted paHsading, about five feet high, 
 surrounded house and garden, and as the car 
 passed through the village and approached the 
 danger zone Miss Grimshaw felt a not unpleasant 
 constriction about the heart. Effie seemed to feel 
 it too, for she clasped Mrs Brown's ^Oliday Outin's, 
 which she had brought to read in the train, closer 
 under her arm, and clasped Miss Grimshaw's 
 hand. There was no sign of the ogre, however, 
 in the front garden, and the girl heaved a sigh of 
 relief, till French, who had stood half up to get a 
 better view of the premises, suddenly sat down 
 again, with a look of alarm on his face, and cried 
 to Doolan to whip up. 
 
 " What is it? " asked Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 "The blackguard's putting the old pony to," said 
 Mr French. " I caught a glimpse of him in the 
 back yard. He's got wind of our going, and he's 
 after us. Whip up, Doolan." 
 
 "There's not much use whipping up," said Miss 
 Grimshaw, "for the train won't go till eleven. The 
 question now is, can his old pony get him to the 
 station by eleven? " 
 
 " If it does," cried French, now in a towering 
 passion, " I'll — I'll—b'God, I'll shoot him." 
 
 " You haven't anything to shoot him with. 
 Let's think of what's best to be done." 
 
 " Doolan! " shouted French into the hairy ear of 
 the driver, " do you know Mr Giveen's old pony? " 
 
1 64 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Do I know Misther Giveen's ould pony? " 
 creaked Doolan. " Sure, who'd know her better? 
 Do I know Misther Giveen's ould pony? Sure, 
 I knew her mother before she was born. An ould 
 skewbal' she was, till Micky Meehan battered her 
 to death dhrivin' roun' the counthry-side wid that 
 ould cart he got from Buck Sheelan of the inn, 
 before he died of the dhrink, and dhrunk he was 
 when he sould it — " 
 
 " Bother Buck Sheelan! Can the old pony get 
 Mr Giveen to the station by eleven? " 
 
 " D'you mane, can it get him from his house to 
 the station, sorr? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Wei], sorr, it all dipinds. She's a rockit to go 
 if she's in the mind for it, but if she's set aginst 
 goin' you may lather the lights out of her and 
 she'll only land you in the ditch. But if she's 
 aisy in her mind and agrayable, faith, I wouldn't 
 wonder if she could, for that ould clothes-basket of 
 Misther Giveen's doesn't weigh more'n a feather." 
 
 "Curse him and his clothes-basket!" cried 
 French. "Whip up!" 
 
 To be opposed by a villain is not nearly so 
 vexing as to be thwarted by a fool, and the vision 
 of Dick Giveen in his basket carriage, soft, male- 
 volent and pursuing, filled French with such a 
 depth of rage that, had he possessed a gun, his 
 better nature would certainly have made him 
 fling his ammunition away over the nearest hedge 
 so as to be out of the way of temptation. 
 
BLACK LARRY 165 
 
 "Look!" said Miss Grimshaw, "isn't that 
 smoke away over there Cloyne? We'll soon be 
 there now, and there is no use in worrying. If he 
 does follow us we'll manage to give him the slip 
 at Tullagh." 
 
 " That'll mean the whole lot of us, servants and 
 all, will have to get out at Tullagh and lose the 
 train and stay the night ; and then we're not sure 
 of escaping him. He'll stick to us like a burr. 
 You don't know Dick Giveen. Who the devil ever 
 invented relations? " 
 
 Miss Grimshaw could not answer this question, 
 which many a man has, no doubt, asked, and no 
 more was said till the long, dreary street of Cloyne, 
 destitute of life and colour, lay before them. 
 
 It was fifteen minutes to eleven when they 
 reached the station. The train was drawn up at 
 the platform. Mrs Driscoll and Norah had taken 
 their seats in a third-class carriage, and Moriarty 
 was seeing the luggage stowed in the van. 
 
 French took the tickets, chose a first-class com- 
 partment, and the hand-bags and wraps having 
 been stowed in it, they walked up and down the 
 platform, waiting and watching. 
 
 There was one point in their favour. Mr 
 Giveen's meanness amounted with tliis gentleman 
 almost to a monomania. He would do incredible 
 things to save a hahpenny. Would he incur the 
 expense of pursuit? Cannibahsm amongst the 
 passions is a law in the mental world. One vice 
 often devours another vice, if the other vice 
 
1 66 GARRYOWEN 
 
 stands between the devourer and its objective. 
 Were the jaws of Mr Giveen's spite wide enough 
 to engulf his meanness? This was a question that 
 Mr French was debating vaguely in his mind as he 
 paced the platform with Miss Grimshaw and Eflfie. 
 
 A regiment of Christmas turkeys (live) were 
 being entrained, not in silence; the engine was 
 blowing off steam ; the rattle of barrows, the clank 
 of milk-cans, all these noises made it impossible 
 to hear the approach of wheels on the station 
 road. 
 
 " I believe we'll do it," said Mr French, looking 
 at his watch, which pointed to five minutes to the 
 hour. " Anyhow, we'll be off in five minutes, 
 and I'll break the beast's head at TuUagh if he 
 does follow us." He walked down the train to 
 the third-class carriage where the servants were, 
 and at the door of which Moriarty was colloguing 
 with Nor ah. 
 
 He told Moriarty in a few words of the pursuit 
 and then returned to his own compartment. 
 
 " Take your sates, take your sates for TuUagh, 
 Kildare and Dublin! " 
 
 The van door was shut on the turkeys, the last 
 of the luggage was in the train, the last door was 
 banged to, and the train was just beginning to 
 move, when out of the ticket-office entrance 
 rushed Mr Giveen with a ticket in his hand. He 
 had asked the ticket-collector where Mr French 
 had booked to, and, being told TuUagh, had done 
 likewise. 
 
BLACK LARRY 167 
 
 He had just time to reach the nearest carriage 
 and jump in, when Moriarty, who had been 
 observing everything, interposed. 
 
 " IVIr Giveen, sorr," cried Moriarty, protruding 
 his head and shoulders from the window of the 
 third-class carriage which was now in motion, 
 " Mr Giveen, sorr, here's the shilhn' I owe you." 
 
 A shilHng fell on the platform at Mr Giveen's 
 feet. He stooped to grab it as it rolled in a 
 leisurely manner towards the booking-office door, 
 missed it, pursued it, and was lost. 
 
 At least, he lost the train. 
 
 Moriarty's profound of the psychology of the 
 horse often stood him in good stead when deahng 
 with higher animals — or lower. 
 
PART III 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A BIT OF ENGLAND 
 
 Crowsnest lies upon a hill. It consists of a post- 
 office, a tiny butcher's shop, a greengrocer's, an 
 ItaHan warehouse and a church. The London 
 road climbs the hill, passes through the village, 
 descends the hill and vanishes from sight. Trees 
 swallow it up. Century-old elms cavern it over. 
 When the great-grandfathers of these elms were 
 young the Roman road leading over the hill to 
 the sea was old; as it was then, so is it now, and 
 so will it be when these elms are coffin-boards, 
 enclosing the bones of vanished and long-forgotten 
 people. 
 
 At the foot of the hill passes a nameless river 
 which the Roman road crosses by a bridge whose 
 stones are old as the road itself. On a summer's 
 afternoon, leaning one's elbows comfortably on 
 the moss-grown balustrade of this bridge, the 
 river and the road hold one's mind between them ; 
 the river leaping amidst the weed-green stones, 
 here in the cave-like twihght of the foHage, here 
 
 diamond-bright where the sun dazzle strikes 
 L 169 
 
I70 GARRYOWEN 
 
 through the leaves ; the road steadfast and silent, 
 with a silence which the motor horn cannot break, 
 a silence that has been growing and feeding upon 
 life since the time of Tiberius. 
 
 The place is tremulous and vibrating with life; 
 the wagtail by the water, the water itseK, the 
 leaves dancing to the breeze and the birds amidst 
 the leaves, the lost butterfly, the gauze-blue 
 dragonfly, the midges in their interminable 
 dance, all keep up an accompaniment to the flute- 
 like tune of the river. Then, as one muses, the 
 thousand snippets of beauty and life, gay and 
 free and ephemeral, that make up the beauty of a 
 summer's afternoon, suddenly, as if touched by a 
 magic wand, lose their ephemeral nature and be- 
 come their immortal selves. 
 
 " They were old when I was young. The wind 
 blew their songs in the faces of the legionaries; 
 before the phalanx flew the butterfly, and the 
 water wagtails before the gHttering eagles." 
 
 Thus speaks the road in answer to the river, 
 making the charm of this place, a charm felt even 
 by the teamsters of a summer's afternoon as they 
 halt their horses for a rest. 
 
 On either side of the road, down here, stretch 
 woods — mellow-hearted EngHsh woods, nut 
 copses, beech glades, willow brakes — the home of 
 the squirrel and the pheasant and the wood-dove. 
 The corkscrew note of the cock-pheasant answers 
 the poetical lamentation of the dove ; that caress- 
 ing sound, soothing, sleep-drugged and fatuous. 
 
 I 
 
A BIT OF ENGLAND 171 
 
 In spring the children of Crowsnest come here for 
 the wood violets burning blue amidst the brown 
 last autumn leaves ; the glades are purple with the 
 wild hyacinths, and the voice of the cuckoo here 
 is a thing never to be forgotten. In autumn the 
 children come for nuts. No poem of tone or word 
 conceived by man can approach the poetry of 
 these glades, no picture their simple beauty; 
 they are the home of Oberon and Titania, and they 
 are rented by Colonel Bingham. 
 
 The colonel Hves, or lived at the time of this 
 story, at the Hall, which is the chief house of the 
 neighbourhood, a neighbourhood parcelled up into 
 small country seats. Three acres and a house 
 would about constitute one of these seats, and 
 they stretch right round the hill of Crowsnest, 
 invading even the rise of the downs. 
 
 The Bungalow is situated on the downs ; a good 
 road of fairly easy ascent leads up to it, and look- 
 ing from the verandah of the Bungalow you can 
 see, below, the roofs of all the country seats, the 
 walls forming their frontiers, and, with a good 
 glass, the seat-holders promenading in their 
 gardens. 
 
 From here the Roman road looks hke a white 
 cotton ribbon ; the woods and gardens, the tennis- 
 lawns no bigger than biUiard-tables, the red- tiled 
 houses no larger than rabbit-hutches, form a 
 pretty enough picture to smoke a cigarette and 
 ponder over on a warm afternoon. The people 
 down there seem playing at Hfe, and finding the 
 
172 GARRYOWEN 
 
 game pleasant enough, to judge from their sur- 
 roundings. They look very small, even when 
 viewed with the aid of a lens. 
 
 Raising your eyes suddenly from those toy 
 houses, those trim and tiny lawns, those gardens 
 threaded with the scarlet of geraniums, you see 
 Sussex in one great sweep of country, just as by 
 the river you saw the past in the monolithic 
 Roman road. Woods upon woods, domes and 
 vales of foliage, and, to the south, the continuation 
 of the downs on which you are standing. 
 
 Emmanuel Ibbetson had built the Bungalow 
 and stables in a moment of enthusiasm about 
 racing. It was certainly an ideal spot for training. 
 Just here the downs are level as heart of man could 
 wish. A great sweep of turf, a tableland where 
 nothing moves but the grazing sheep and the 
 shadow of the bird and cloud, extends from the 
 stables due south, ending in an out-crop of chalk 
 and a rise leading to the higher downs and the sea. 
 The higher downs are a shelter from the wind. 
 
 There was stabhng for half a dozen horses; 
 everything about the place was of the best, from 
 the tiles to the roof, from the patent manger to 
 the patent latch of the doors. There was a patent 
 arrangement with a prong for conducting the hay 
 from the loft above to the manger below. This 
 nearly stabbed Garryowen in his suddenly up- 
 flung nose, and Moriarty, who had a contempt for 
 everything patent, including medicine, broke it — 
 but this in parenthesis. 
 
A BIT OF ENGLAND 173 
 
 The Bungalow, where the human beings were 
 stabled, was a much less elaborate affair in its way. 
 Built for a bachelor and his friends, it just held the 
 Frenchs, leaving a spare room over for Mr Dash- 
 wood. 
 
 This is a vague sketch of the buildings and 
 premises called The Martens — heaven knows 
 why! — and situated hke a marten-box on the 
 eminence above Crowsnest, that highly respectable 
 residential neighbourhood, whose residents knew 
 nothing yet of the fact that the place had been 
 let — or rather borrowed — and nothing yet of the 
 nature of the borrower. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MONEY MATTERS 
 
 "My dear ," wrote Miss Grimshaw,in another 
 
 letter to that lady friend — "Here we are at last. We 
 arrived the day before yesterday evening, horses 
 and all, including the servants. I once heard an 
 old lady in the States giving good advice to a 
 young woman just married; one sentence clung 
 to me, and will, I think, by its truth cUng to me 
 for ever: 'Never move servants.' 
 
 " We took with us from Ireland Mrs Driscoll, 
 the cook, and Norah, the parlour-maid, besides the 
 men-servants. I am not referring to the men 
 when I repeat that axiom, ' Never move servants,' 
 but to the women-folk. 
 
 " We had not started from Holyhead when Mrs 
 DriscoU broke down. She weighs fourteen stones, 
 and does everything in a large way. She broke 
 down from home-sickness. She had travelled well 
 up to that ; the crossing had been smooth and she 
 had not made a single complaint, fighting bravely, 
 I suppose, all the time, against the growing 
 nostalgia. Then on the platform at Holyhead, 
 before the waiting Irish mail, it all came out at 
 once. It sounds absurd, but really the thing was 
 174 
 
MONEY MATTERS 175 
 
 tragic. Real grief is always tragic, even the grief 
 of a child over a broken toy, and this was real 
 grief, and it taught me more in five minutes about 
 Ireland, and why the Irish in America hate Eng- 
 land, than I learned from all my months spent in 
 the country itself. It did not seem grief for a lost 
 country so much as for a lost father or mother, 
 and, mind you, she was with people she knew, and 
 she was only being ' expatriated ' for a few months. 
 What must they have suffered in the old days, 
 those people driven from their homes and hold- 
 ings to a country three thousand miles away, 
 never to come back? Mr French got her brandy 
 from the refreshment-room, and we took her in the 
 first-class carriage with us ; but all her cry was to 
 go back; and what lent a grim humour to the 
 situation was the fact that none of us can go back 
 to Ireland from this expedition into England till 
 a certain something has been accompHshed. There 
 seems something mysterious and sinister in that 
 statement, but there is really nothing sinister in 
 the situation. Only a horse. However, to return 
 to the servants. Mrs D. has recovered somewhat, 
 but Nor ah, the parlour-maid, has now broken 
 down. She is a pretty girl with black hair, grey 
 eyes and beautiful teeth, and she is sitting at the 
 moment in the kitchen, with her apron over her 
 head, ' eating her heart out,' to use Mrs DriscoU's 
 expression. The curious thing is that both these 
 women have no relations of any account to tie them 
 to Ireland. It's just Ireland itseH they want — 
 
176 GARRYOWEN 
 
 and it seems to me they won't be happy till they 
 get it. The woman from Crowsnest, whom Mr 
 Dashwood got to tidy the place up and Hght the 
 fires and have supper for us the evening we came, 
 has left. She did not get on with the others ; and 
 now this place is all Irish, with the exception of me. 
 A bit of the West coast planted above a most staid 
 and respectable English village. I wonder what 
 the result will be as far as intercommunication goes. 
 " No one has called yet, but, of course, it is too 
 soon. But I hope they will stay away. I have 
 several reasons. — Yours ever, Violet." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw had several very good reasons 
 to make her desire seclusion for herself and the 
 family which she had taken under her wing. I say 
 " taken under her wing " advisedly, for, since the 
 day of her arrival at Drumgool, she had been 
 steadily extending the protection of her practical 
 nature and commonsense to her proteges. In a 
 hundred ways too small for mention in a romance 
 of this description she had interfered in domestic 
 matters. Mrs "Driscoll, for instance, no longer 
 boiled clothes in the soup-kettle, prodding them at 
 intervals with the pastry roller, and Norah no 
 longer swept the carpets under the sofas, Ut the 
 fires with letters left on the mantelpiece, or 
 emptied slops out of the windows ; and these sani- 
 tary reforms had been compassed with no loss of 
 goodwill on the part of the reformed towards the 
 reformer. She had emancipated Effie from her 
 
MONEY MATTERS 177 
 
 bondage to an imaginary disease, and she had 
 pointed out to French the way he should go and 
 the methods he should use in carrying out his 
 assault on what, to a lower order of mind than Miss 
 Grimshaw's, would have seemed the impossible. 
 
 Commonsense of the highest order sometimes 
 alHes itself to what commonsense of a lower order 
 would deem lunacy. When this alHance takes 
 place, sometimes great and world-shaking events 
 occur. 
 
 French had conceived the splendid idea of 
 winning a great English race with an unknown 
 horse, in the face of debts, enemies and training 
 disabihties. Miss Grimshaw had, with misgiv- 
 ings enough, brought him the aid of her practical 
 nature. The first move in the game had been won, 
 the knight's gambit had been played, Garryowen 
 had been hopped over three squares and landed in 
 Sussex ; nothing threatened him for the moment, 
 and Miss Grimshaw's mind, turned from the big 
 pieces, was now occupied with pawns. 
 
 Norah was a pawn. She had a great-aunt 
 Hving in Cloyne, and should she forsake The 
 Martens and return, driven by home-sickness, 
 to the roof of her great-aunt, the game might very 
 easily be lost. Mr Giveen, who had inkhngs of 
 French's debt, would discover, by hook or by 
 crook, the Sussex address, and when Lewis's man 
 arrived to find Drumgool empty the information 
 he would receive from Giveen would be fatal as a 
 loaded gun in the hands of an unerring marksman. 
 
178 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Mrs Driscoll was another pawn in a dangerous 
 position; but the small pieces most engaging the 
 attention of our chess-player at the moment were 
 literally small pieces — half-crowns and shillings. 
 
 She had carefully worked out the money pro- 
 blem with Mr French, and, allowing for everything 
 and fifty pounds over, to take them back to Ire- 
 land in case of disaster, there was barely three 
 pounds a week left to bring them up to the second 
 week of April. 
 
 " Oh, bother the money! " French would say. 
 " It's not the money I'm thinking of." 
 
 " Yes, but it's what Fm thinking of. We must 
 be economical. We should have travelled here 
 third-class, not first. You sent that order to Mr 
 Dashwood's wine-merchant for all that champagne 
 and stuff — " 
 
 " I did, I know; but that won't have to be paid 
 for a year." 
 
 " Well, it will have to be paid some time. How- 
 ever, I don't mind that so much. What is 
 frightening me is the small amount of actual 
 money in hand. We have four months before us 
 and only a Httle over sixty pounds for that four 
 months. Now, I want to propose something." 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " It's this. Why not give me that sixty pounds 
 to keep and pay the expenses out of? If you keep 
 it, it will be gone in a month." 
 
 Mr French scratched his head. Then he 
 laughed. 
 
MONEY MATTERS 179 
 
 " Faith, perhaps you're right," said he. 
 
 " I know I am right. It is only by saving and 
 scraping that we will tide over these four months. 
 Now you have that money in the bank. We 
 calculated that it will just cover your racing ex- 
 penses; the money you will require for bringing 
 the horse to Colonel What's-his-name's stable at 
 Epsom before the race, the money you will require 
 for backing the horse — in fact, for the whole 
 business, leaving fifty pounds over, in case of 
 disaster." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I want you to lock your cheque-book 
 up in a drawer and give me the key, and promise 
 not to touch that money on any accoimt." 
 
 " I won't touch it," said French, with the air of 
 a schoolboy making a resolution about apples. 
 
 " I know that's what you say and feel now, but 
 there are temptations, and it is vital that you 
 should be out of the way of temptation. You re- 
 member Jason, and how he stopped his ears with 
 wax not to hear the songs of the sirens? " 
 
 " Faith," said French in a tender tone, and quite 
 forgetting that it was Jason's crew who were 
 stoppered as to the ears, " if the sirens' voices were 
 as sweet as — " He checked himself. 
 
 " That may be," said Miss Grimshaw, hurriedly, 
 " but, sweet or not sweet, there are always voices 
 calhng for money; even coming through London 
 a five-pound note went on nothing. So you must 
 please put that cheque-book in a drawer and 
 
i8o GARRYOWEN 
 
 lock it, and give me the key. Will you do 
 this?" 
 
 " I will, I will. The thing's all right, but if you 
 want it done I'll do it." 
 
 " Well, let's do it now, then." 
 
 " I will in a minute, when I've seen Moriarty — " 
 
 " No; now. There's nothing like doing things 
 at the moment." 
 
 " Well, all right," said French. " Let's do it 
 now." He produced his cheque-book from his 
 desk, and Miss Grimshaw locked it up in the drawer 
 of an escritoire. 
 
 " And now," said she, " how about that sixty 
 pounds? " 
 
 The badgered one produced a pocket-book and 
 took three twenty-pound notes from it. 
 
 " That leaves me only three pounds ten," said 
 he, taking the coins from his waistcoat pocket and 
 exhibiting them as he handed over the notes. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw cast a hungry eye on the 
 gold. 
 
 " When that's gone," said she, " I will have to 
 allow you pocket-money out of my household 
 expenses. We are in exactly the position of ship- 
 wrecked people on a raft, with only a certain 
 amount of food and water, and when people are 
 in that condition the first thing they have to do is 
 to put themselves on a strict allowance. I want 
 you," said Miss Grimshaw, " to feel that you are on 
 a raft — and it might be much worse. You have a 
 house for which we have to pay no rent ; you have 
 
MONEY MATTERS i8i 
 
 wine and all that which need not be paid for yet. 
 How about cigars and tobacco? " 
 
 " Oh, there's lots of smokes," said French, 
 rather drearily. " And Bewlays know me, and I 
 can get anything I want on credit — only I'm 
 thinking — " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " There may be other expenses. In a place like 
 this people are sm-e to call, and how about if they 
 want to play bridge — or — " 
 
 "Don't let's think of it," said the girl. 
 " Bother! why couldn't it have been summer? " 
 
 " They play bridge in summer as weU as 
 winter." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose they do. But the fools spend 
 their energy on tennis as well, and that makes the 
 disease less acute. Well, if you have to play 
 bridge I'll try and find the money for it somehow, 
 even if I have to keep the household on oatmeal. 
 What other expenses are Hkely to turn up? " 
 
 " There's sure to be subscriptions and things. 
 And see here. If we're invited out we'll have to 
 return any hospitality we receive." 
 
 Visions of Mrs DriscoU's fantastic cookery, 
 crossed by visions of big bills from Benoist, rose 
 before Miss Grimshaw's mind, but she was not a 
 person to be easily cast down. 
 
 " If they do, we'U manage somehow. We have 
 wine, and that's the biggest item. Besides " — 
 a brilhant inspiration seized her — " I'm only the 
 governess. People won't call on me. You are 
 
1 82 GARRYOWEN 
 
 really in the position of a bachelor, so you'll only 
 have to invite men." 
 
 Mr French looked troubled for a moment, then 
 he said, " I was going to have told you some- 
 thing — " He stopped and lit a cigarette. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Dashwood— " 
 
 -Well?" 
 
 *' Well, he said — In fact, he said that these old 
 English folk round here are such a lot of stuck-up 
 old fools that, as a matter of fact, you'd have a 
 bad time here as a governess. So he said he said 
 to a man that lives here I was bringing my niece 
 with me. D'you see? " 
 
 Miss Grimshaw laughed. She knew at once 
 what French meant. Over in clean Ireland no 
 one thought anything of a pretty young governess 
 living in the house of a widower and looking after 
 his daughter; but here it was different. The 
 morals of the rabbit-hutch, which are the morals of 
 Enghsh society, had to be conformed to. She had 
 never thought of the matter before, and lo and 
 behold! Bobby Dash wood had thought of the 
 matter for her. 
 
 " But I'm not your niece." 
 
 " No," said French, " but, sure, you might be. 
 And how are they to know? Lot of old fools, they 
 think the position of a governess beneath them — 
 not that you are a governess. Sure," finished he, 
 apologetic and laughing, " we're all at sixes and 
 sevens, and the easiest way out is to cut the knot 
 
MONEY MATTERS 183 
 
 and claim kinship. / don't know but some of the 
 Frenchs mayn't have married some of your people 
 in the past — " 
 
 " That would scarcely make me your niece. 
 Anyhow, I don't care, only the servants — " 
 
 " Faith, and it's little the servants will say. 
 They're dead-set against the EngHsh folk, and 
 won't have a word with them. Only this morning 
 I heard Mrs DriscoU with a chap that had come 
 round selling vegetables. ' Away with you,' says 
 she, ' or I'll set the dog on you, coming round to 
 my back door with your turnips and your rub- 
 bish! ' The sight of an English face sets her off, 
 going Hke an alarum clock. But little I care about 
 that, so long as she doesn't go off herseK." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll go now and see what Effie's 
 doing and how the servants are getting on. Mr 
 Dashwood is coming down for the week-end, is he 
 not? " 
 
 " Yes; he'll be down on Friday." 
 
 " The great comfort about him," said she, *' is 
 that he takes us just as we are, and there's no 
 trouble or expense with him." 
 
 She left the room. It was the second morning 
 of their stay at The Martens, and before going 
 to look after Effie and the servants she passed 
 out on the verandah and stood there for a moment 
 looking at the winter landscape and then down at 
 the house of the Crowsnesters. 
 
 She felt dimly antagonistic to the people who 
 lived in those comfortable-looking red-tiled houses 
 
1 84 GARRYOWEN 
 
 set about with gardens. She fancied women 
 sitting by those fires whose smoke curled up in 
 thin wreaths through the winter air — women who 
 would cast their noses up at the idea of a governess, 
 and their heads and eyes after their noses at the 
 idea of a supposititious " niece." She imagined 
 gentlemen addicted to bridge who would drain, 
 perhaps, her narrow resources. One thing pleased 
 her: the neighbourhood looked prosperous and 
 the charitable appeals, she thought, could not be 
 very exacting. On this she reckoned without the 
 knowledge that a large amount of EngHsh charity 
 begins and ends abroad. 
 
 Then she turned and, still delaying before 
 going to see after the servants and Effie, she 
 passed round to the stable-yard. 
 
 Andy, who was passing across the yard with a 
 bucket in his hand, touched his cap, put down 
 the bucket, and with a grin on his face, but without 
 a word, opened the upper door of the loose-box 
 that held the treasure and pride of the Frenchs. 
 
 Scarcely had he done so than the sharp sound of 
 horse hoofs on flags was heard, and a lovely picture 
 framed itself in the doorway — the head of 
 Garryowen. 
 
 Leaving aside the beauty of women, surely 
 above all things beautiful and sentient the head 
 of a beautiful horse is supreme. Where else in the 
 animal kingdom will you find such grace, such sen- 
 sitiveness, such delicacy, combined with strength? 
 Where else, even in the faces of men, such soul? 
 
MONEY MATTERS 185 
 
 Even in the faces of men ! The girl thought of 
 the faces of the men she had come across in hfe, 
 and she contrasted those heads, stamped with 
 duhiess, with greed, with business or with pleasure 
 — she contrasted these images of God with the 
 finely chiselled, benign and beautiful head of 
 Garryowen. 
 
 Could it be possible that Mr Giveen would have 
 the impudence to call Garryowen a lower animal? 
 
 Even Andy's " mug " looked hke the mask of a 
 gargoyle by contrast, as she turned from the 
 loose-box and made her way back to the house. 
 
 M 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE KISS 
 
 " What's the matter? " asked Mr Dashwood. 
 
 " Botherations," repUed Miss Grimshaw. " Look 
 at this." 
 
 She handed him a neatly-printed card, folded 
 in the middle. It looked like a ball programme. 
 Nearly four months had passed. The Frenchs 
 had settled down at The Martens. The whole 
 neighbourhood had called; there had been several 
 small dinner-parties at the Bungalow, and Garry- 
 owen was turning out a dream. Training a horse 
 is just like painting a picture; the thing grows in 
 spirit and in form ; it has some of you in it ; the 
 pride of the artist is not unallied to the pride of 
 the trainer. When you see swiftness coming out, 
 and strength, endurance and pluck, you feel just 
 as the artist feels when, of a morning, he uncovers 
 his canvas and says to himself, " Ah, yes, I put 
 some good stuff into that yesterday." 
 
 On the dull, clear winter mornings, in the 
 
 bracing air of the downs, French knew something 
 
 of the joy of Hfe as he watched Garry o wen and The 
 
 Cat taking exercise. Sometimes young ladies 
 
 from Crowsnest would appear on the edge of the 
 
 downs to watch Mr French's " dear horses." 
 
 They little knew how apt that expression was. 
 
 i86 
 
THE KISS 187 
 
 Mr Dashwood examined the card. 
 
 It contained the programme and the rules of a 
 small poetical club presided over by a Miss SKmon. 
 Each member was supposed to invent or create a 
 poem on a given subject each month, and to send 
 the result to Miss SKmon, who would read it. But 
 the matter did not end there. Miss Shmon, by 
 virtue of her seK-constituted office, would send in 
 due course each member's poem to each of the 
 other members for criticism, and the results would 
 be made known and pubhshed in a small pamphlet 
 at the end of the year. The subscription was a 
 guinea, and to this society for the circulation of 
 rubbish Miss Grimshaw had been invited to sub- 
 scribe. Hence the trouble. 
 
 " She asked me did I like poetry, and I said I 
 did, like a fool, and then she asked me to join, 
 and I agreed. I can't back out now. She never 
 told me the subscription was a guinea — " 
 
 " It's beastly bad luck," said IVIr Dashwood, 
 who by this time knew the financial affairs of the 
 Frenchs thoroughly to their innermost con- 
 volutions, and who was at the moment himself in 
 the most horrible condition of penury, a condition 
 that made the purchase of his week-end ticket to 
 Crowsnest (he came down every week-end) a 
 matter of consequence. 
 
 " And that's not all," went on the girl. 
 " Here's a bazaar coming on, and of course we'll 
 have to subscribe to that in some way. They 
 
1 88 GARRYOWEN 
 
 want me to take a stall. You haven't any aunts 
 or anyone who would do embroidery for it, have 
 you? It's to be on the fifth of April." 
 
 " No," said Mr Dashwood, " I don't think I 
 have any female relatives any good in the fancy 
 needlework hne. I've got a charitably-disposed 
 elderly female cousin I might land for a sub- 
 scription, though — " 
 
 " I wouldn't trust myself with the money. No 
 matter. I daresay we will manage somehow. 
 I want to go down to Crowsnest and post these 
 letters. Will you walk with me? " 
 
 " Rather," replied Mr Dashwood, and, taking 
 his hat, he followed her out on the verandah. 
 
 It was a clear March morning without a trace of 
 cloud in the sky, and with just a trace of frost in the 
 air. The country, still haK wrapped in the sleep of 
 winter, had that charm which a perfect Enghsh 
 early spring day can alone disclose, and there was 
 something — something in the air, something in 
 the sky, some indefinable thrill at the heart of 
 things that said, spirit-fashion, to whoever could 
 hear, " All this is drawing to a close. Even now, 
 in the woods, here and there, you will find prim- 
 roses. In a week or two you will find a million. 
 My doors are just about to open, the cuckoo is 
 just preening for flight, the swallows at Luxor 
 and Carnac are dreaming of the pine trees and the 
 north. I am Spring." 
 
 Mr Dashwood was not given to poetical inter- 
 pretations of Nature's moods, but there was that 
 
THE KISS 189 
 
 in the air to-day which raised to an acute stage the 
 chronic disease he had been suffering from for 
 months. He had seen a lot of his companion 
 during the last ten weeks or so, but he had played 
 the game like a man. Not a word had he said of 
 his mortal malady to the author of it. But there 
 are hmits to endurance. This would not go on 
 any longer, yet how was he to end it? French 
 had said nothing since that interview in the Shel- 
 bourne Hotel, and a subject like that, once dropped 
 between two men, is horribly difficult to take up 
 again. What did French propose to do? Was 
 he waiting till Garryowen won or lost the City and 
 Suburban before he " asked " Miss Grimshaw? 
 No time hmit had been imposed. " I'm giving you 
 a fair field and no favour," JVIr French had said. 
 " If she hkes you better than me, well and good. 
 If she Hkes me better than you, all the better for 
 me." That was all very well, but which did she like 
 best? This question was now calHng imperatively 
 for an answer. Miss Grimshaw alone could answer 
 it, but who was to ask her? No third person 
 could put the proposition before her. Only one 
 of the two rivals could do so, and to do so would 
 be to propose, and to propose would be dishonest. 
 
 Of course, a seemingly easy solution of the 
 difficulty would be to go to French and say, 
 " See here, I canS} stand this any longer. I'm 
 so much in love with this girl I must speak. 
 What do you propose to do? " 
 
 Seemingly easy, yet most immensely difficult. 
 
I90 GARRYOWEN 
 
 In the Shelbourne, when the young man had 
 spoken, he had spoken in one of those outbursts of 
 confidence which men rarely give way to. To 
 re-open the question in cold blood was appaUingly 
 hard. Not only had he got to know the girl better 
 in the last few months, but he had also got an 
 entirely different view of French. The good, 
 easy-going French had turned for Mr Dashwood 
 from another man who was a friend into a friend 
 who was a sort of fatherly relation. The difference 
 in years between them showed up stronger and 
 stronger as acquaintanceship strengthened, and 
 French had taken on an avuncular manner; the 
 benevolent and paternal in his nature had un- 
 consciously developed; he was constantly giving 
 Bobby good advice, warning him of the evils of 
 getting into debt, holding himself up as an awful 
 example, etc. French, in the last ten weeks, had 
 shown no symptoms of special feehng with regard 
 to the lady. Was he, too, playing the game, or 
 had he forgotten all about his intentions towards 
 her? or was his mind taken up so completely with 
 the horse and his money troubles that he had no 
 time at the moment to think of anything else? 
 
 " Isn't it dehghtful? " said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 " Which? " asked Bobby, coming back from 
 perplexed meditations to reahty. 
 
 "This — the air, the country. Look! there's 
 a primrose! " 
 
 They were taking the downhill path from The 
 Martens. A pale yellow primrose growing in a 
 
THE KISS 191 
 
 coign of the down side had attracted her attention 
 and she stooped to pick it. 
 
 "Now I wish I hadn't. What beasts we are! 
 We never see a flower but we must pick it, or a bird 
 but we want to shoot it. This might have hved 
 days if I had left it alone, and now it will wither 
 in a few hours. Here." 
 
 She stopped and fixed the primrose in Mr 
 Dashwood's buttonhole. She was so close, touch- 
 ing him, and her felt hat almost brushed his face. 
 There was no one on the path ; it was the psycho- 
 logical moment, yet he had to let it go. 
 
 " Thanks," he said. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw looked at the flower critic aUy for 
 a second, with her pretty head sHghtly on one side. 
 
 " It wiU stick in without a pin," she said. 
 " Come on, or I'U miss the post. No, thanks ; I 
 can carry the letter aU right. I Hke to have some- 
 thing in my hand. Why is it that a person always 
 feels lost without something in their hands? 
 Look, that's Miss SHmon's house. The Ranch. 
 She's immensely rich and awfuUy mean, and fives 
 there alone with three servants. She's always 
 dismissing them. I don't know why, unless they 
 steal the poetry. There's nothing else much to 
 steal, for she's a vegetarian and fives on a shilfing 
 a day, and keeps the servants on board wages. 
 And I have to give her a guinea out of my hard- 
 earned savings for that poetical club. I'm going 
 to make Effie write the poetry. It will give the 
 child something to do. That's Colonel Creep's 
 
192 GARRYOWEN 
 
 house, The Roost. They were the first people to 
 call on us — sort of spies sent out by the others to 
 see how the land lay. Do you know, I've never 
 thanked you for something." 
 
 " No? What's that? " 
 
 " Do you remember your forethought in making 
 me a niece to Mr French? Well, I never felt the 
 benefit of your benevolent intention so much as 
 the day when the Creeps called on us and when 
 they crept into the drawing-room — three girls 
 like white snails, followed by an old gentleman 
 Hke a white cockatoo. It was so pleasant to think 
 they thought I was on a social and mental equality 
 with them, and so pleasant to think they were 
 wrong! " 
 
 "Wrong!" cried Dash wood, flying out. "I 
 should think they were wrong! Not fit to black 
 your boots! " 
 
 " Perhaps that's what I meant, from my point 
 of view," said Miss Grimshaw, modestly, " and 
 perhaps it wasn't. Anyhow, the situation was 
 not without humour. Our relationship with the 
 Crowsnest people has been a long comedy, of a 
 sort. You know all our affairs, but you don't 
 know the ins and outs and how the wild Irish on 
 the hillside—" 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 Miss Grimshaw laughed. " Do you remember 
 that httle dinner-party Mr French — my uncle, I 
 mean — ^gave in January to Colonel Bingham and 
 the Smith- Jacksons? " 
 
THE KISS 193 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You remember how Colonel Bingham praised 
 the pheasants? Well, they were his own 
 pheasants." 
 
 " His own pheasants! " 
 
 " Moriarty poached them." 
 
 Mr Dashwood exploded. 
 
 " I did not know at the time," went on Miss 
 Grimshaw, virtuously. " I entrusted the market- 
 ing to Mrs Driscoll. I explained to her privately 
 that we would have to be very economical. She 
 quite understood. I will say for the Irish that 
 they are quicker in the uptake than any other 
 people I know. She said she could make ends 
 meet on two pounds ten a week, and she has done 
 so; more, she has made them lap over. I am 
 not very good at the price of things, still, pheasants 
 at a shilhng each seemed to me very cheap; of 
 course, I thought most probably she was deahng 
 with some man who got the things in some con- 
 traband way, and I suppose it was very wicked 
 of me, but — the pheasants were very nice. Then 
 there were vegetables — " 
 
 " You can't poach vegetables." 
 
 " I think I said before," went on Miss Grimshaw, 
 " that the Irish were quicker than any other people 
 I know in the uptake, and I'm very much afraid 
 that Moriarty has uptaken not only all the potatoes 
 that have come to our table this winter, but the 
 turnips as well." 
 
 Again ]Mr Dashwood exploded. 
 
194 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Of course you can't poach vegetables," she 
 went on, " but you can poach eggs, and, as a 
 matter of fact, I beheve our fried eggs are poached 
 eggs — could such a statement ever occur out of 
 Ireland andcarrysense with it? It'sawful, isn'tit? " 
 
 " I think it's a jolly lark," said Mr Dashwood. 
 " Gloats! to think of old Bingham gobbhng his 
 own turkeys — " 
 
 " Pheasants, you mean. Don't talk of turkeys, 
 for we've had three since Christmas, and I don't 
 know what's been going on in the kitchen in the 
 way of food, but I know they had jugged hare for 
 supper last night — " 
 
 " When did you find out about it? " 
 
 " Yesterday morning I began to guess. You 
 see, I had been wondering for a long time how Mrs 
 Driscoll had been managing to produce such good 
 food for two pounds ten a week. She pays for the 
 groceries and everything out of it. Well, yester- 
 day morning she brought me six pounds that she 
 had ' saved ' out of the housekeeping money ; she 
 said it might be useful to ' the master.' I must 
 say it was a perfect godsend, but I thought it more 
 than pecuhar, and I tried to cross-question her. 
 But it was useless. She swore she had been saving 
 the money for months — before we left Drumgool, 
 even, so I could say no more. However, things 
 came to a cHmax last night. I was lying in bed; 
 it was long after eleven, and the moon was very 
 bright, and I heard a noise in the stable-yard. My 
 window looks on to the stable-yard. I got up and 
 
THE KISS 195 
 
 peeped through the bhnd, and I saw Moriarty and 
 Andy with a sheep between them. They were 
 trying to put it into one of the loose-boxes, and it 
 didn't seem to want to go. Now, when you are 
 trying to drive a sheep Hke that against its will it 
 bleats, doesn't it? " 
 
 " I should think so." 
 
 " Well, this sheep didn't bleat — it was muzzled." 
 
 They had reached the post-office by this and Miss 
 Grimshaw stopped to put in her letters ; then she re- 
 membered that she required stamps and a packet 
 of hooks and eyes, so she left IVIr Dash wood to his 
 meditations in the street and entered the httle shop. 
 
 It was a very small shop, that competed in a 
 spirited way with the Itahan warehouse. It sold 
 boots, too; hobnailed boots hung in hanks from 
 the ceihng, and a small but sprightly hnen-drapery 
 business went on behind a counter at right angles 
 to the counter that sold tinned salmon and tea. 
 
 Chopping, who owned this emporium, was a 
 pale-faced man, consumptive and sycophantic, 
 with a horrible habit of washing his hands with 
 invisible soap when any of the carriage people of 
 Crowsnest entered his httle shop. This is a 
 desperately bad sign in an Enghshman; as a 
 symptom of mental and moral depravity it has 
 almost died out. In the early and mid- Victorian 
 age, in the era of httle shops and small hotels, 
 it was marked, but it lingers still here and there in 
 England, and when one meets with it it makes one 
 almost a convert to Sociahsm. 
 
196 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Mr Chopping washed his hands before Miss 
 Grimshaw, for though the Frenchs were not 
 carriage people they owned horses, and were part 
 of the social state of Crowsnest; and Miss Grim- 
 shaw wondered if Mr Chopping would have washed 
 his hands so vigorously if he had known all. 
 
 There was a big notice of the forthcoming bazaar 
 hanging behind the drapery counter. 
 
 This bazaar had become a bugbear to the girl. 
 Amidst her other distractions she was working a 
 table-cover for it, and Effie, who was clever with 
 her needle, was embroidering a tea-cosy. If the 
 thing were a failure and the sum necessary for 
 reconstructing the choir stalls in the church were 
 not forthcoming, there was sure to be a subscrip- 
 tion, and money was horribly tight, and growing 
 tighter every day. Things had managed them- 
 selves marvellously well up to this — thanks to 
 French's luck. The unfortunate gentleman, 
 whose pocket-money, under the strict hand of 
 Miss Grimshaw, did not exceed ten shillings a 
 week, had managed to make that sum do. More 
 than that, he wore the cloak of his poverty in such 
 a way that it seemed the garment of affluence. 
 The ready laugh, the bright eye, and the jovial 
 face of Mr French made the few halfpence he 
 jingled in his pocket sound like sovereigns. He 
 played bridge with so much success that he just 
 managed to keep things even, and the rare charm of 
 his genial personahty made him a general favourite. 
 
 " Shall we go back, or go for a little walk down 
 
THE KISS 197 
 
 the road? " asked Miss Grimshaw, as she left the 
 post-office and rejoined her cavaher. 
 
 " A walk, by all means," replied Mr Dashwood. 
 " Let's go this way. WeU, go on, and tell me 
 about the sheep." 
 
 "Oh, the sheep! Yes, there it was, struggling 
 in the moonhght; they were trying to get it into 
 the loose-box next the one The Cat's in ; and they 
 did, Andy jostling it behind and Moriarty puUing 
 it by the head. Then they shut the door — " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " That's all. I saw the light of a lantern gleam- 
 ing through the cracks of the door, and I felt as if 
 I had been accessory before the fact — isn't that 
 what they call it? — to a murder. Of course I 
 saw Mrs Driscoll this morning, and I taxed her 
 right out, and she swore she knew nothing about 
 it. At all events, I told her it mustn't occur again, 
 and I think I frightened her." 
 
 " That chap Moriarty must be an expert 
 poacher," said IMr Dashwood. 
 
 " Expert is no name for it if he's done all I sus- 
 pect him of doing. It's a most strange position, 
 for I beheve they don't see any harm in it. You 
 see, they seem to look upon the people about here 
 as enemies, and Sussex as an enemy's country, 
 and really, you know, they have still a good deal 
 of the original savage cUnging to them. I found 
 a notched stick in the kitchen the other day, and 
 I found it belonged to Norah. Every notch on it 
 stood for a week that she had been here." 
 
198 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " They used to do that at cricket matches long 
 ago to score the runs. I've seen an old rustic 
 Johnny — they said he was a hundred and four — 
 doing it — " 
 
 " Let's stop here for a moment," said the girl. 
 They had reached the little bridge on the Roman 
 road at the foot of the hill. The river, wimpHng 
 and sparkHng in the sunlight, was ahve as in 
 summer, but all else was dead — or asleep. Dead 
 leaves had blown in the river-bed and floated on 
 the water, or were massed in the crevices of the 
 stones here and there. They formed a brown 
 carpet amidst the trees of the wood; you could 
 see far in amidst the trees, whose leafless branches 
 formed a brown network against the blue March 
 sky; from amidst the trees, from here, from there, 
 came occasionally the twitter of a bird; not a 
 breath of wind stirred the branches, and the place 
 had the stillness of a stereoscopic picture. This 
 spot, so haunted by poetry and beauty in summer, 
 was never entirely deserted ; on a day Hke this it 
 had a strange beauty of its own. 
 
 Temptation comes in waves. The all but over- 
 mastering temptation to seize the girl in his arms 
 and kiss her, which had assailed Mr Dashwood on 
 the hillside, was now returning gradually. She 
 was leaning with her elbows on the balustrade of 
 the bridge; her clear-cut profile, deHcately out- 
 hned against the trees, held him, as one is held 
 by the graceful curves of a cameo. 
 
 Down here, to-day, everything was preter- 
 
THE KISS 199 
 
 naturally still. The essential and age-old silence 
 of the Roman road seemed to have flooded over 
 the country as a river floods over its banks; 
 the warbHng and muttering of the water running 
 beneath the bridge served only to accentuate 
 this silence and point out its intensity. 
 
 " What are you thinking of ? " said Mr 
 Dashwood. 
 
 The girl started from her reverie and glanced 
 sideways at her companion, one of those swallow- 
 swift glances whose very momentariness is filled 
 with meaning. IVIr Dashwood had spoken. In 
 those five words he had let his secret escape. 
 In the words themselves there was nothing, but 
 in the tone of them there was much. They were 
 five messengers, each bearing a message; five 
 volumes of prose could not have told her more; 
 I doubt if they could have told her'as much. 
 
 She glanced away again at the river. 
 
 " I don't know. Nothing. That's the charm 
 of this place. I often come here and lean on the 
 bridge and look at the water. It seems to mes- 
 merise one and take away the necessity for thought. 
 Don't you feel that when you look at it? " 
 
 " No," said Mr Dashwood. " I wish to goodness 
 it did." 
 
 She cast another swift side glance at him. 
 The alteration in his tone made her wonder; 
 his voice had become hard and almost irritable; 
 he spoke as a man speaks who is vexed by some 
 petty worry, and the words themselves were not 
 
200 GARRYOWEN 
 
 over-complimentary. She could not in the least 
 understand what was the matter with him. 
 Ever since his return to Drumgool, whilst her 
 mind had been engaged in the intricate problem 
 of Mr French's affairs, her subliminal mind had 
 been engaged in the equally intricate problem 
 presented by the conduct of Mr French and Mr 
 Dashwood. There were times when, alone with 
 her supposititious uncle, the original man in him 
 seemed just about to speak the old language of 
 original man to original woman. There were 
 times when, alone with Mr Dashwood, the same 
 natural phenomenon seemed about to happen. 
 Yet something always intervened; French would 
 seem to remember something, check himself, 
 turn the conversation, and with the bad grace of 
 a bad actor playing a repugnant part change 
 from warmth to indifference. Dashwood, even 
 a worse actor than French, would, as in the present 
 instance, suddenly, and for no apparent reason, 
 become almost rude. 
 
 Not in the least understanding the position of 
 the two gentlemen one towards the other, and 
 the fact that they looked upon each other as 
 rivals in a game whose rules of honour had to be 
 observed, she had passed from amusement to 
 vague amazement when these sudden changes of 
 temperature took place, and from amazement 
 to irritation. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Miss Grimshaw, " you never 
 feel the necessity." 
 
 i 
 
THE KISS 20I 
 
 " For what? " 
 
 " Want of thought." 
 
 Being a person who never thinks, how could 
 you? — ^was what her tone impHed. 
 
 " Oh, I daresay I feel it as mucli as other people," 
 he said. " In a world Hke this it seems to me 
 that the happiest people are the people who don't 
 think." 
 
 " How happy some people must be," murmured 
 she, gazing at the rippHng water, and speaking 
 as though she were taking it into cynicalconfidence. 
 
 " Thanks," said j\Ir Dashwood. 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " 
 
 " I only said, ' Thanks.' " 
 
 " What for? " 
 
 " Your remark." 
 
 "My remark! " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What on earth was there in my remark to 
 thank me for? " 
 
 " If there's one thing I hate more than another," 
 burst out Mr Dashwood, " it's sarcasm mis- 
 appHed." 
 
 " Why do you misapply it then? " 
 
 " I never do; I never use it, so I couldn't 
 misapply it. It's you.' 
 
 " What's— you? " 
 
 " You who are sarcastic." 
 
 " / sarcastic! " said the girl, with the air of a 
 sacristan accused of theft. " When y\^as I ever 
 sarcastic? " 
 
 N 
 
202 GARRYOWEN 
 
 The linnets in the trees must have heard the 
 raised voices; the humans were quarrelHng in 
 good earnest; then, no doubt, seeing the young 
 man seize the young woman, they flew away 
 thinking tragedy had arrived on the old Roman 
 road with all her pomp and circumstance. 
 
 For a moment the astonished girl had a vision of 
 being hauled over the bridge to drown in the 
 six-inch river, and then she lost consciousness 
 to everything but the embrace of the man who 
 had seized her in his arms. Lips, eyes and 
 mouth covered with burning kisses, she leaned 
 against the parapet gasping for breath and — 
 alone. 
 
 Mr Dashwood had gone; vaulting over the 
 low fence of the wood, he had vanished amidst 
 the trees. No criminal ever escaped quicker after 
 the commission of his crime. 
 
 " Mad! Oh, he's mad! " she gasped, haK laugh- 
 ing, gasping, and not far from tears. It was not 
 the outburst of fervent passion that astonished 
 or shocked her. It was the running away. 
 
 The deep throb of a motor-car topping the 
 hill brought her to her senses, and she had com- 
 posed herself and was leaning on the parapet 
 again, looking at the river as it passed by. 
 
 Then she took her way back to The Martens, 
 walking slowly and thinking the situation over 
 as she walked. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 MR DASHWOOD LEAVES 
 
 Mr Dashwood in his delirium had penetrated deep 
 into the wood, beyond sight of road or house, 
 before he recovered his normal senses. 
 
 Then that unpleasant, candid friend who lives 
 in the brain of every man had his say. 
 
 " Oh, what a fool you have made of yourself! 
 Oh, what a fool you have made of yourself! " 
 said the friend, who only speaks after an error 
 has been committed, and then in a gloating voice. 
 
 " What will she think of you? " went on the 
 tormentor. " You have acted hke a hooHgan. 
 But that wouldn't matter, for passionate men are 
 apt to be hoohgans, and women don't mind that 
 — but to run away! To run like a rabbit! She 
 does not know about your absiu'd compact with 
 French. She only knows that you have behaved 
 like a hooligan or an Ass. Yes, my friend, an Ass, 
 with a capital A." 
 
 There were nut groves here, and one required 
 
 the instincts of a bush pig to make one's way in any 
 
 given direction. Mr Dashwood, moving blindly 
 
 and swiftly, spurred on by a mad desire to get 
 
 back to The Martens, pack his bag, escape to 
 
 London and explain everything in a letter, took 
 203 
 
204 GARRYOWEN 
 
 by chance the right road and struck a right-of- 
 way that led through the woods skirting the hill 
 of Crowsnest and bringing him on the road to 
 the downs. 
 
 He ascended the steep path leading to The 
 Martens at full speed, and, out of breath, flushed 
 and perspiring, he was making his way to the 
 bungalow, when he met French, amiable-looking, 
 cool, and smoking a cigar. 
 
 " Hullo! " said French. " What's up? " 
 
 " Everything," said Mr Dashwood. " Don't 
 keep me, Hke a good fellow. I'm off to London." 
 
 " Off to London! Why, I thought you were 
 staying till Monday." 
 
 " I'm not." 
 
 " Where's Miss Grimshaw? " asked French, 
 following the other to the house. " Did you 
 leave her in the village? " 
 
 " No, I left her by the bridge — I mean on the 
 bridge, down there by the river — " 
 
 French followed the young man into his bed- 
 room. Bobby Dashwood, who seemed like a 
 sleeper haK awakened from a horrible nightmare, 
 pulled a kit-bag from the corner of the room and 
 began stuffing it with clothes. 
 
 French took his seat on a chair and puffed his 
 cigar. 
 
 "Botheration! " said French, who saw Love's 
 Despair in the erratic movements of his companion. 
 "Botheration! See here, Dashwood." 
 
 "Yes— oh, what!" 
 
MR DASHWOOD LEAVES 205 
 
 " Don't go getting in a flurry over nothing." 
 
 " Nothing! " said Mr Dashwood, with a hollow- 
 laugh, stuffing socks and hair-brushes into the 
 yawning bag. 
 
 " When you've been through the mill as often 
 as I have," said French, " you'll know what I 
 mean. There never was a girl made but there 
 wasn't as good a one made to match her." 
 
 " I'm not thinking of girls. I'm thinking of 
 myself. I've made — I've made an Ass of myself." 
 
 " Faith, you're not the first man that's done 
 that." 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 " And won't be the last. I've done it so often 
 myself. Ass! — faith, it's a herd of asses I've 
 made of myself, and Jackasses at that, and there 
 you go getting into a flurry over doing what every 
 man does. Did you ask her? " 
 
 " No," said Dashwood, viciously, clasping the 
 bag. ''I didn't." 
 
 " Then how on earth did you make an ass of 
 yourseH? " asked French, without in the least 
 meaning to be uncomphmentary. 
 
 " How? " cried Dashwood, infuriated. " Why, 
 by tTjing to act straight over this business. Now I 
 must go. I'll write from town. I'll explain every- 
 thing in a letter. Only promise me one thing — don't 
 say anything to — her. D071H ask her questions." 
 
 Bag in hand, he made for the door. To reach 
 the station by the road would mean the risk of 
 meeting Miss Grimshaw. By the down-side, 
 
2o6 GARRYOWEN 
 
 skirting the allotments and the EpiscopaHan 
 chapel, ran a path that led indirectly to the station. 
 This Mr Dashwood took, walking hurriedly, bag 
 in hand, and arriving half-an-hour before the 
 one-ten to Victoria was due. 
 
 Crowsnest station is not a happy waiting 
 place. Few railway stations really are. To a 
 man in Mr Dashwood's state of mind, however, 
 it was not intolerable. Rose gardens, blue hills 
 or the music of Chopin would have been torture 
 to him. Pictures illustrating the beauty of 
 Eickman's boot poHsh and the virtues of Monkey 
 Brand soap fitted his mood. 
 
 He arrived at Victoria shortly before three, 
 and drove to his rooms at the Albany. It was a 
 featm'e of Mr Dashwood's peculiar position that, 
 though heir to large sums of money, endowed 
 with a reasonable income, and with plenty of 
 credit at command, he was, at times, as destitute 
 of ready cash as any member of the unemployed. 
 Hatters, hosiers, tailors and bootmakers were 
 all at his command, but an unhmited credit for 
 hats is of no use to you when your bank balance 
 is overdrawn, and boots fail to fill the void 
 created by absence of money. 
 
 When he paid his cab off in Piccadilly he had 
 only a few shillings left in his pocket. It was 
 late on a Saturday afternoon, and the desolate 
 prospect of a penniless Sunday lay before him 
 but left him unmoved. There is one good point 
 about all big troubles — they eat up httle ones. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 effie's business 
 
 This was Mr Dashwood's letter to Miss Grim- 
 shaw, received and read by her on Monday morning : 
 
 " You must have thought me mad, but when 
 you know all you will think differently. I hope 
 to explain things when the business about the 
 horse is over. Till then I will not see you or Mr 
 French. I cannot write more now, for my hands 
 are tied." 
 
 Mr French also received a letter by the same 
 post, which ran: 
 
 My dear French, — When at the Shelbourne 
 Hotel in DubHn I agreed to come down to Drum- 
 gool House as your guest you said to me frankly 
 and plainly that, with regard to a certain young 
 lady, you would give me ' a fair field and no favour.' 
 You intimated that you yourself had ideas in that 
 quarter, but that you would do nothing and say 
 nothing till the lady herself had a full opportunity 
 for deciding in her own mind — or, at least, for seeing 
 
 more of us. I undertook not to rush things and 
 
 207 
 
2o8 GARRYOWEN 
 
 to do nothing underhand. Well, I have carried 
 out my word. / have played the game. By no 
 word or sign have I tried to take advantage of my 
 position till Saturday, when my feelings overcame 
 me and I made a fool of myself. The agony of 
 the thing is, I can't explain to her my position. 
 It's very hard, when a man has tried to act fair and 
 square, to be landed in a beastly boghole hke this. 
 
 " I only can explain when I ask her to be my 
 wife, which, I tell you frankly, I am going to do, 
 but not yet. I know how your plans and affairs 
 are in a muddle till this race is over, and I propose 
 to do nothing till then. Then, and only then, 
 I will write to her, and I will tell you the day and 
 hour I post the letter. I expect you to do to me 
 as I have done to you, and not take advantage 
 of your position. 
 
 " I will not see you till the event comes off, when 
 I hope to see you at Epsom, and not only see you, 
 but your colours first past the winning post." 
 
 A youthful and straightforward letter, and 
 sensible enough considering the extraordinary 
 circumstances of the case. 
 
 French, when he read it, scratched his head. 
 
 When he had made the compact mth Bobby 
 Dashwood in the smoking-room of the Shelbourne 
 Hotel he had done so half in joke, haK in earnest. 
 Violet Grimshaw had appealed to him from the 
 first just as a pleasant picture or a pretty song 
 appeals to a man, but till the day at the Shelbourne 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 209 
 
 Hotel he had no views regarding her. She was 
 in his house, under his protection; he looked on 
 her more as a daughter than a stranger brought 
 under his roof by chance, and had Bobby Dash- 
 wood not intervened he might have continued 
 so to regard her. But the instant Mr Dashwood 
 spoke, Mr French became aware that Miss Grim- 
 shaw had become a necessity to him, or, rather, 
 a necessary luxury. He was not in love with her, 
 but she was a charming person to have in the 
 house; she carried brightness with her; he did 
 not want to lose her, and here was Dashwood pro- 
 posing to carry her away. 
 
 Recognising that Bobby was very much in 
 earnest, and knowing that, when he had passed 
 his irresponsible stage, he would make an excellent 
 suitor for any girl, French, large-hearted and 
 generous, was not the man to put barriers in the 
 way of a good match for the homeless orphan from 
 the States. But he would have no engagement 
 on a half -formed acquaintanceship. If, when they 
 had got to know each other well, Violet preferred 
 Bobby to anyone else, well and good; if she pre- 
 ferred him (French), all the better. 
 
 But since that compact at the Shelbourne, 
 though French had been so occupied by the horse 
 that he had scarcely time to think of anything 
 else, the bonds had been strengthening between 
 him and the girl, and his kindly feehng for Bobby 
 had been increasing. 
 
 He did not recognise the facts fuUy till he put 
 
2IO GARRYOWEN 
 
 down Mr Dashwood's letter and summed up the 
 situation exactly and precisely in the word 
 " Botheration." Everything had been going so 
 well up to this. Garry o wen was in the pink of 
 condition; though the debt to Lewis was due, 
 Lewis might have been dead for all the trouble 
 he gave, or could give, unless by any chance Dick 
 Giveen found out the Sussex address — which was 
 next to an impossibiUty — and now this bother 
 must turn up, driving Dashwood away and so 
 sphtting up their pleasant Uttle party. Dashwood 
 was an invaluable aide-de-camp, but French was 
 mourning him more as a lost friend, when, break- 
 ing in upon his meditation, Effie entered the room. 
 
 Disaster, when she appears before us, often 
 comes at first in a pleasant disguise, and Effie 
 looked pleasant enough this morning, for she never 
 looked pleasanter than when full of mischief. 
 
 " Papa," said Effie, " what's to-day? " 
 
 " Monday," said Mr French. 
 
 " I know it's Monday. I mean the day of the 
 month." 
 
 " The thirtieth of March." 
 
 Effie absorbed this information in silence, and 
 occupied herself making cocked hats out of an old 
 bill for straw that was lying on the floor, whilst 
 her father occupied himseK at the writing-table 
 with some accounts. Miss Grimshaw, the good 
 genius of the family. Fate had decoyed out on the 
 downs to watch Garry o wen, with Andy up, taking 
 his exercise. 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 211 
 
 " Papa," said Effie, after a while. 
 
 " What? " asked Mr French in a bothered voice. 
 
 " How long does it take for a letter to go from 
 here home? " 
 
 " Two days nearly," said French. " Wliy do 
 you want to know? " 
 
 " I was only thinking." 
 
 " Well, think to yourself," repHed her father. 
 "I'm busy, and don't want to be interrupted." 
 
 Efl&e obeyed these instructions, making incredibly 
 small cocked hats out of the bill paper and pursing 
 up her Hps during the process. 
 
 At last French, tearing up some calculations and 
 throwing the pieces in the waste-paper basket, 
 rose to his feet, lit a cigar and strolled out. 
 
 " Won't you come out on the downs? " said he 
 as he left the room. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Effie, " I'm busy." 
 
 She waited till she heard his footsteps on the 
 verandah; then she rose from her cocked-hat 
 making and went to the writing-table. 
 
 She got on the chair just vacated by her father, 
 took a sheet of note-paper and an envelope, dipped 
 a pen in ink, and began to address the envelope 
 in a sprawhng hand. 
 
 Mr Giveen, 
 
 The Bungalow, Drumboyne, 
 
 Nr. Cloyne, Ireland, 
 wrote Effie. 
 
 Then she dried the envelope and hid it in the 
 blotting-pad. 
 
212 GARRYOWEN 
 
 She took the sheet of paper, dipped the pen in 
 ink and wrote on the paper, with care and labour, 
 "April Fool." 
 
 Then, having dried these words of wisdom, she 
 placed the sheet of note-paper in the envelope and 
 gummed it. Then, getting down from the chair, 
 she ran to the window to see that nobody was 
 coming, and, assured of the fact, ran to the writing- 
 table and stole a stamp from the drawer in which 
 they were kept. Having stamped the letter, 
 she placed this torpedo in her pocket, and, running 
 out, called for Nor ah to get her hat and coat as she 
 wanted to go out on the downs. 
 
 Every day at this hour Miss Grimshaw was in 
 the habit of going for a walk and taking Effie with 
 her. To-day, returning from looking at the horses, 
 she found, to her surprise, Effie dressed and waiting. 
 
 "Which way shall we go?" asked Miss Grims- 
 haw. 
 
 " Let's go through the village," said Effie. " I 
 like the village." 
 
 It was a moist day, damp and warm, with just 
 the faintest threat of rain. It was the last day 
 of the season for the West Sussex hounds ; they had 
 met at Kookhurst some seven miles away, and 
 there was a chance of getting a gHmpse of them. 
 
 As they passed the spot where, on Saturday, 
 Miss Grimshaw had plucked the primrose and 
 placed it in Mr Dashwood's coat, she noticed that 
 several more were out. 
 
 " I say," said Effie, as though she were a thought- 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 213 
 
 reader, "why did Mr Dashwood go 'way Satur- 
 day? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," replied the girl, with 
 a start. " "What makes you ask? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied Effie. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw glanced sideways at her com- 
 panion. Effie had lost considerably the elfish 
 look that had been a striking feature in the child 
 during her long imaginary illness, but she had 
 not lost it entirely ; there was still something old- 
 fashioned and vaguely uncanny about her at times, 
 and she had, without doubt, now and then, the 
 trick of saying things so apposite as to hint at a 
 more than natural intelligence. Parrots have this 
 pecuKarity too. 
 
 " If I tell you something," said Effie, suddenly, 
 " you won't tell it to anyone else, will you? " 
 
 *" No." 
 
 " Say ' 'Pon my honoiu-.' " 
 
 " 'Pon my honour." 
 
 " Well, I heard something." 
 
 "What did you hear? " 
 
 " I heard Mr Dashwood saying he was an ass." 
 
 " Effie," said Miss Grimshaw, hurriedly, " you 
 must never repeat things you hear." 
 
 " There you go! " said Effie. " And you told 
 me to." 
 
 " I didn't." 
 
 " You did. You said, ' What did you hear? ' " 
 
 " Yes, but I did not know it was anything that 
 Mr Dashwood said." 
 
214 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Why shouldn't I tell you Tt^hat he said? " 
 
 " Oh, you can tell if you Hke. It doesn't 
 matter to me. Where did you hear him say it? " 
 
 " In his bedroom, when he was packing his bag. 
 Papa was with him; the door was open, and I 
 heard him say it, and I heard papa say there was 
 never a girl made but there wasn't a better girl 
 made to match her, and that Mr Dashwood wasn't 
 to bother himself — " 
 
 " You needn't tell me any more." 
 
 " I can't, for Norah came and I ran away." 
 
 " Where were you? " 
 
 " Listening at the door." 
 
 " Well, you certainly are frank! " 
 
 " What's that mean? " asked Effie. 
 
 " It means that you deserve a whipping. Come 
 on. And see here, Effie, you mustn't say anything 
 about that to anyone. Have you told anyone 
 else? " 
 
 " Only Norah." 
 
 " What did she say? " 
 
 " She only laughed." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw felt as though she were walking 
 through a veil of blushes. Happily there was no 
 one to see. Bobby Dashwood's extraordinary 
 behaviour by the bridge was nothing, absolutely 
 nothing, to the fact that he had told about it to 
 Mr French. To kiss, to run away, to tell! She 
 knew nothing of the position of the two men 
 towards one another ; she only knew just what had 
 occurred on the bridge and what Effie had told her. 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 215 
 
 The uphill path to the village went between a 
 double row of poplar trees and debouched on the 
 Roman road just by the village pump. 
 
 " Are you going to the post-office? " asked 
 Effie, as they drew near the road. 
 
 " No. I haven't anything to do there." 
 
 " I heard papa say he wanted some post-cards." 
 
 '• Well, I've forgotten my purse, so I must get 
 them to-morrow." 
 
 " Couldn't you put them down in the bill? " 
 
 " No; post-offices don't give credit." 
 
 Effie hung lovingly on her companion's arm. 
 They passed into the village street and, just as they 
 made the turning, the thin, insignificant sound of 
 a hunting horn came on the wind. 
 
 " There's the hounds," said Effie, and scarcely 
 had she spoken the words than, topping the crest 
 of the hill, came the scarlet-clad figures of the 
 master and whips, the hounds, and after the hounds 
 the hunt. 
 
 The fox had run to earth in Blankney Woods, 
 and they were going now to drawFairholts spinney. 
 
 " Come on," said Effie. 
 
 The child made a bolt across the road, and ^ 
 swiftly that Miss Grimshaw had no time to follow. 
 Hounds and horses blocked the road, but not so 
 densely as to prevent her from seeing Effie run to 
 the post-office letter-box and pop something in. 
 When the press had gone by and the road was 
 clear Miss Grimshaw crossed. 
 
 *' What was that you put in the letter-box, 
 Effie? " 
 
2i6 GARKYOWEN 
 
 " Nothing," said Effie, with a laugh. 
 
 " Don't say that. I saw you putting something 
 in. Was it a stone? " 
 
 " No," said Effie, " it wasn't a stone." 
 
 " You know what they do to children who put 
 rubbish in letter-boxes? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " They put them in prison." 
 
 " Well, they won't put me in prison." 
 
 " Yes they will; and if you don't tell me what 
 it was I will go in and ask Mr Chopping to open 
 the box and then send for a policeman." 
 
 Effie, who had heard her elders ridiculing and 
 viHfjdng Mr Giveen for the past three months, 
 had thought it a fine thing to play a joke of her 
 very own upon him. She knew nothing of the 
 disastrous nature of her act, but suddenly inter- 
 rupted like this and put off her balance she did 
 not want to confess it. Besides, she had stolen 
 a postage stamp. 
 
 " Don't," said Effie, turning very pale. 
 
 " I will, if you don't tell." 
 
 " Well, it was only a letter." 
 
 " A letter? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who gave it you to post? " 
 
 The suggestion created the He. 
 
 " Papa." 
 
 " Well, if he gave you it, why did you hide it 
 and post it secretly Hke that? " 
 
 " Pa told me not to let you see it," said Effie. 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 217 
 
 She was not a liar by nature, but children have 
 streaky days in their moral Hfe, just as men have, 
 and to-day was a very streaky day with Efie. 
 She had awakened that morning predisposed to 
 frowardness; a slight biHous attack had made 
 her fretful, and fretfulness always made her impish. 
 The devil, taking advantage of this pathological 
 condition, had incited her to make an April fool 
 of Mr Giveen, to steal, and to lie. 
 
 '• Oh! " said Miss Grimshaw. 
 
 They walked away from the post-office, taking 
 the downhill road to the bridge. They walked 
 hurriedly ; at least, the girl did — Effie had almost 
 to trot in order to keep up with her. 
 
 A nice thing, truly. Here, for months, she had 
 been working for the interests of a man who to-day 
 had taken a child into his confidence, given it a 
 letter to post, and instructions to keep the matter 
 hidden from her. Worse than that, she had a dim 
 suspicion that the letter was to ^Ir Dashwood a.nd 
 had to deal with that " affair." She had taken 
 the road to the bridge unconsciously, and when 
 she reached it and found herself at the very place 
 where the affair had occurred she could have wept 
 from sheer mortification, only for the presence 
 of the culprit at her side. 
 
 " Don't tell your father that you told me that, 
 
 Effie," said Miss Grimshaw, after she had leaned 
 
 for a moment on the parapet of the bridge, deep 
 
 in troubled thought. 
 
 "No," said Effie, "I won't." 
 o 
 
2i8 GARRVOWEN 
 
 Miss Grimshaw resumed her meditations, and 
 Effie, very quiet and strangely subdued, hung 
 beside her, looking also at the river. 
 
 Even in the time of the Roman legionaries lovers 
 had haunted tliis place. What a story it could 
 have told of lovers and love-affairs gone to dust! 
 But from all its wealth of stories I doubt if it 
 could have matched in involution and cross- 
 purpose the love-affair in which figured Mr French, 
 Mr Dashwood and the girl in the Homburg hat, 
 who was now gazing at the wimpling water and 
 listening to the moist wind in the branches of the 
 trees. She was of the order of people who forgive 
 a blow struck in anger readily, but not a shght or 
 a fancied shght. French had shghted her, and 
 she would never forgive him. She had helped 
 him, plotted and planned for him, and it had all 
 ended in this! There was nothing for it but to 
 leave The Martens as quickly as might be and 
 return to London; and it was only now that she 
 recognised, fully shown up against the background 
 of her resentment, the pleasant ties and interests 
 that bound her to these people ; ties and interests 
 that would have to be broken and dissolved. So, 
 in a fever of irritation, she told herself as she 
 leaned on the low parapet and looked at the river, 
 whilst Effie broke pieces of mortar from the cracks 
 between the stones. 
 
 What, perhaps, rankled deepest in her heart 
 was the expression used by French and repeated 
 by Eihe: " There is never a girl but you'll find a 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 219 
 
 better one to match her " — or words to that 
 effect. 
 
 Dinner at The Martens was a midday function. 
 At half-past one, when Mr French came home 
 from a walk over the high downs, he foimd dinner 
 waiting for him. Miss Grimshaw, during the meal, 
 seemed to be suffering from a dumbness affecting 
 not only her speech but her manner; her move- 
 ments were stiff and formal and inexpressive, and 
 she never once looked in his direction, but engaged 
 herseff entirely with Effie, who also had a wilted 
 air and appearance. 
 
 At tea it was the same. 
 
 After tea Mr French ht a cigar and went out on 
 the verandah to smoke. 
 
 He could not make it out at all. Something 
 had happened in the space of a few hours to make 
 all this difference in the girl. What could that 
 something be? At eleven o'clock she had been all 
 right, yet at half-past one she was a different 
 person. 
 
 He was not a man to keep up a misunderstand- 
 ing without knowing the reason of it, and, having 
 smoked his cigar haff through, he w^ent back into 
 the house and to the sitting-room, where the girl 
 was curled up on the sofa reading Punch. 
 
 "Look here," said French, "what's the matter? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " said Miss Grimshaw, 
 uncurhng herseff and sitting half erect. 
 
 " What's the matter? Something is wrong. 
 Have I done anything, or what is it? " 
 
2 20 GARRYOWEN 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know. Nothing is the matter 
 that I am aware of specially." 
 
 " Well, now, see here," said Mr French, taking 
 a seat close by, " I thought, maybe, you seemed 
 so silent, that something had gone wrong, or I'd 
 done something that displeased you. If I have, 
 just let me know it." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw had risen erect and now she 
 was making for the door. 
 
 " I don't know what you call wrong. I call 
 subterfuge wrong. Perhaps I am mistaken; 
 it's all a matter of opinion, I suppose — but, 
 anyhow, it is not worth discussing." 
 
 Then she was gone, leaving the astonished Mr 
 French to amuse himseK with the problem of how 
 he had employed subterfuge, and against whom. 
 
 She did not appear at supper, alleging aheadache. 
 
 She went to bed at nine. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 effie's business (continued) 
 
 Towards midnight Miss Grimshaw was awakened 
 from her slumbers by a sound as of some person 
 weeping and waihng. She sat up in bed and 
 Hstened. It was Effie's voice, and she heard her 
 own name called repeatedly. 
 
 " Miss Grimshaw — Miss Grimshaw — Miss Grim- 
 shaw! " 
 
 In a moment she was out of bed and wrapped 
 in a dressing-gown. The next, she was in Effie's 
 room. 
 
 The child was sitting up in bed in the moon- 
 light. Her subliminal mind had constructed a 
 nightmare out of a gallows, a guilty conscience 
 and a stolen postage stamp. 
 
 " I took it out of the dra^wer of the writing-desk. 
 I didn't mean it — I did it for fun," cried Effie, 
 her face buried in the girl's shoulder. " And I 
 dreamt — ow! ow! " 
 
 ^' What on earth's the matter? " 
 
 It was Mr French, in a dressing-gown, with a 
 hghted candle in his hand. 
 
 You cannot weep and wail in a pitch-pine 
 bungalow, resonant as a fiddle, without disturbing 
 
 221 
 
222 GARRYOWEN 
 
 the other occupants, and behind Mr French 
 moved figures dimly suggestive of the chorus of 
 the Greek drama waiting to come on. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Miss Grimshaw, her 
 mind divided between Effie and a feeling of thank- 
 fulness that she had her sHppers on. " She seems 
 to have taken a postage stamp, or some nonsense. 
 It's night terror. Now, Effie, don't stop crying 
 if you feel you want to, but just tell me it all. 
 Once you have told me it all the bad things will 
 go away." 
 
 " I stuck it on the letter," sobbed Effie, who had 
 passed from the howling to the blubbering stage, 
 "an' I stuck the letter in the box — and I dre'mt 
 Mr Chopping and the p'leeceman were going to 
 hang me." 
 
 " Well, they aren't. Mr Chopping and the 
 poHceman are in bed. So it was a letter. And 
 how about the letter your father gave you to post? " 
 
 " I never gave her a letter," put in Mr French. 
 
 " I only made it up," said Effie. " Father 
 never gave me anything. It was only my letter 
 to Cousin Dick." 
 
 " Your what ? " said French, who had taken his 
 seat on the end of the bed and was now holding 
 the flat candlestick so that the candle Hght showed 
 up Effie with Rembrandtesque effect. 
 
 " I wrote to make an April fool of him." 
 
 " What did you say? " asked French, and 
 there was a tension in his voice unperceived by his 
 daughter but very evident to Miss Grimshaw, 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 223 
 
 and even to Norah and Mrs Driscoll, who were 
 listening outside. 
 
 " I only said 'April Fool,' " replied Effie, who 
 had passed now into the sniffing stage, a wan smile 
 lighting up her countenance. 
 
 " Did you put any address on the paper? ' 
 
 " No. You remember, when I wrote to him 
 last year on the first of April, and you said I ought 
 to put 'April x\ss'? — well, I put 'April Fool,' 
 just the same as then." 
 
 " He'll know her writing," groaned French, 
 speaking aloud, yet to himseK. Then, as if 
 fearing to trust himself to speak to the child, 
 he turned and told the servants in the passage 
 to begone to their beds. 
 
 " Come with me," he said to Miss Grimshaw, 
 when Effie had at last lain down, eased of her sin 
 and its terrors. " Come into the sitting-room." 
 
 They went into the sitting-room, and Mr 
 French put his candle on the table. 
 
 " Here's a kettle of fish," said he. 
 
 " She put no address on the paper," said Miss 
 Grimshaw, " but — " 
 
 " The post-mark." 
 
 " Yes, the post-mark. I was thinking of that. 
 There is one comfort, however; the post-mark 
 may be illegible. You know how difficult it is 
 to read a post-mark very often." 
 
 " Listen to me," said French, with dramatic 
 emphasis. "This post-mark won't be illegible; 
 it will be as plain as Nelson's Pillar. I know it, 
 
224 GARRYOWEN 
 
 for it's just these sort of things that happen in 
 Hfe, and happen to me. The letter won't get lost ; 
 if the mail packet was to sink, a shark would rout 
 it out from the mail bags and swallow it, and get 
 caught, and be cut open, and the letter would go 
 on by next mail. We're done." 
 
 " Don't lose heart." 
 
 " We're done. I know it. And to think, 
 after all our plotting and planning, that a child's 
 tomfooling would come, after all, to ruin me! 
 I could skin her aHve when I think of it." He 
 stopped suddenly and turned. A httle white 
 figure stood at the door. It was Effie. Seized 
 with an overwhelming spirit of righteousness, 
 hearing her father's voice colloguing, and touched 
 with desire for adventure and a kiss, she had 
 bundled out of bed and run into the sitting-room. 
 
 " I want a kiss," said Effie. 
 
 The next moment she was in her father's arms, 
 and he was kissing her as though she had brought 
 him a fortune instead of ruin. 
 
 The next moment she was gone, seeking her 
 warm bed rapidly, and as the sound of her pattering 
 feet died away the girl turned to French, her eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 " We aren't done," said she, speaking rapidly 
 and with vehemence. " We'll get the better of 
 them yet. We'll do something, and we have time 
 to prepare our defence against them, for the letter 
 won't reach Cloyne till the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " If they manage to do me in this," said French, 
 
EFFIE'S BUSINESS 225 
 
 " I'll shoot Garry owen with my own hand, and 
 I'U hang for Dick Giveen, by G— d! " 
 
 "Hush ! There is no use in giving way to anger. 
 We must have a council of war and collect all 
 our forces. I say — " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " Mr Dash wood — " The girl paused for a 
 moment, then, as if the desperate nature of the 
 situation made everything else of small account, she 
 went on: "Mr Dashwood behaved very foohshly 
 the other day and ran away off to town. We 
 must send him a wire to-morrow morning to come 
 at once. I'll send it. And look here : you know 
 how grumpy I was after tea. Well, EiHe, in that 
 fit of lying, told me you had given her a letter to 
 post which she was to hide from me. Of course 
 I ought to have known you wouldn't do anything 
 of the sort. I'pologise. Good-night." 
 
 They had been talking to each other attired only 
 in their dressing-gowns and slippers. If Crowsnest 
 Society could have seen them its doors would 
 have been shut against them from that night forth 
 for ever more. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE BUNDLE OF LETTERS 
 
 Mr Dashwood's chambers in the Albany were 
 furnished according to the taste of that gentleman, 
 high art giving place in the decorations to the 
 art of physical culture. Some old Rowlandson 
 prints decorated the walls, together with boxing- 
 gloves, single-sticks and foils; the few books 
 visible were not of the meditative or devotional 
 order of literature — Ruff, Surtees and Pitcher 
 being the authors most affected by Mr Dashwood. 
 He had spent a very miserable Sunday. Having 
 written and posted his letters to Miss Grimshaw 
 and French, he had fallen back on gloomy medi- 
 tation and tobacco. He had spent Monday in 
 trying to imagine in what manner Miss Grimshaw 
 had taken his letter; he had taken refuge from 
 his thoughts at the Bridge Club, and had risen 
 from play with twelve pounds to the good and a 
 feeling that things had taken a turn for the better ; 
 and on Tuesday morning, as he was sitting at 
 breakfast, a telegram was brought to him. 
 
 " Come at once, most important. — Grimshaw, 
 Crowsnest." 
 
 22^ 
 
THE BUNDLE OF LETTERS 227 
 
 " French has dropped dead, or the place has 
 caught fire," said Mr Dash wood, as he sprang 
 from the breakfast-table to the writing-table in 
 the window and opened the pages of the ABC 
 railway guide. " Robert, rush out and get a 
 taxi-cab. I've just time to catch the 11.10 from 
 Victoria. Don't mind packing. I'll pack some 
 things in the kit-bag. Get the cab." 
 
 He stuffed some things into the bag, and ten 
 minutes later the cab, which had been brought 
 up to the Vigo Street entrance of the Albany, 
 was taking him to the station. 
 
 That some disaster had happened he was certain. 
 Never for a moment did he dream of the truth of 
 things; the vision of French lying dead, 
 Garry o wen stricken lame, or The Martens in 
 flames, alternating in his mind with attempts to 
 imagine how the girl would meet him, what she 
 would say, and whether she would speak of the 
 occurrence at the bridge. 
 
 He had sent a wire from Victoria telling the 
 train by which he was coming, and as they drew 
 in at Crowsnest station she was the first person 
 he saw upon the platform. As they shook hands 
 he saw at once that the past was not to be referred 
 to. 
 
 "I'm so glad you've come," said the girl. " You 
 have a bag? Well, they'll send it on. We 
 can walk to the house, and I can tell you every- 
 thing on the way." 
 
 " What has happened? " 
 
228 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Disaster. But it's not so much what has 
 happened as what may happen. Effie — " 
 
 " Has she had an accident? " 
 
 " No, she hasn't had an accident, but the Kttle 
 stupid posted a letter yesterday morning to Mr 
 Giveen." 
 
 " A letter to him ! Who wrote it? " 
 
 " She did. She wanted to make an April fool 
 of him, so she wrote ' April Fool ' on a piece of 
 paper, put it in an envelope, directed it, and 
 posted it." 
 
 " Good heavens ! He'll know your address now, 
 and give Lewis warning, and you'll have the 
 bailiffs in and the horse will be seized! " 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 " But stay a moment," said Dashwood. " Did 
 she put any address on the paper? " 
 
 " No. An April Fool letter Kke that isn't gener- 
 ally addressed from anywhere, is it? But the 
 post-mark — " 
 
 " I was thinking of that," said Mr Dashwood. 
 
 "The only thing is this," said she. "The 
 post-mark mayn't be legible. Some of these 
 country post-offices use die stamps that are nearly 
 worn out. Now, can you remember — I have 
 written you several letters since we came here, 
 asking you to bring down things from London — 
 can you remember whether the post-marks were 
 legible or not? " 
 
 " No," said Mr Dashwood, " I can't." Then, 
 blushing furiously, " But we'll soon see." 
 
 i 
 
THE BUNDLE OF LETTERS 229 
 
 He dived his hand into the breast pocket of 
 his coat and brought out a small bundle of letters. 
 There were only four letters in the bundle, and 
 they were tied together with a narrow piece of 
 silk ribbon. When the girl saw the silk ribbon 
 she bit her Hp. 
 
 " Look! " said he, sHpping the ribbon off and 
 thrusting it into his pocket. He showed her the 
 first of the letters. It bore the Crowsnest post- 
 mark large as a peimy, clear and legible. 
 
 The three others were the same. 
 
 He put the letters back in his pocket and 
 they resumed their way in silence. You would 
 never have imagined that the last time these two 
 people parted the young man had held the girl 
 in his arms, kissing her Avildly. 
 
 It was the girl who broke silence first. 
 
 " Mr French said last night we were ' done,' 
 and I'm afraid he never spoke a truer word." 
 
 " The only thing I can think of," said Mr 
 Dashwood, " is for me to go over to Ireland and 
 try to talk Giveen over." 
 
 " You don't know him. He's a fool, and a 
 vicious fool at that. You can't talk a man hke 
 that over." 
 
 " Well, we might bribe him." 
 
 " Mr French has no money to bribe him with. 
 All his money is on this race." 
 
 "The City and Suburban is run on the fifteenth," 
 said Mr Dashwood, meditatively. " So we have 
 more than twelve days. Bother! so has this 
 
230 GARRYOWEN 
 
 man Lewis. I say, this Giveen must be a beast. 
 What makes him so anxious to have his knife into 
 French? " 
 
 " I beheve I have something to do with that. 
 Didn't Mr French tell you about the boating 
 affair? " 
 
 - No." 
 
 " Well, Mr Giveen took me out in the boat at 
 Drumgool to see the coast." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He rowed into a sea cave, the most awful 
 place you have ever seen, and then — " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " He rocked the boat, pretending he was going 
 to drown me — " 
 
 "Brute!" 
 
 " That's what I said to him. He was laugh- 
 ing all the time, you know. He wanted me to — 
 to—" 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 "Give him a kiss — ugh! And I was so 
 frightened I promised him one if he put me on 
 shore. Well, Mr French was waiting for us when 
 I got back, and I told him what had happened." 
 
 " What did he do? " 
 
 " He kicked Mr Giveen." 
 
 "Good," said Mr Dashwood. "If I'd been 
 there I'd have drowned him." 
 
 " Mr French wanted to. At least, he wanted 
 to duck him." 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said Dashwood, " if this 
 
THE BUNDLE OF LETTERS 231 
 
 beast comes near Crowsnest I won't be answerable 
 for what I'll do to him." 
 
 " That would be the worst poHcy in the world," 
 said Miss Grimshaw. "If he comes here we 
 must meet him with his own weapons if we can — 
 but he won't come here." In this she was wrong. 
 
 " I wouldn't mind so much," she finished, " only 
 for this wretched bazaar on the fifth. I have to 
 help at a stall. You can imagine what it must 
 be to keep a straight face and smile at people 
 one doesn't particularly care for, standing all the 
 time, as it were, on a powder magazine. Besides, 
 just imagine, if a man in possession came down, 
 and if the fact leaks out, how all these Crowsnest 
 Society people will snub us and sneer at us. You 
 don't know them. I do." 
 
 " There are an awful lot of old cats here," 
 conceded Mr Dashwood, not knowing what else 
 to say. 
 
 " Makes one feel one would Hke to put out 
 poisoned milk for them," said the girl. " Well, 
 here we are, and there's Mr French." 
 
 They had reached the top of the path, and 
 French, who was standing in the verandah of the 
 bungalow, like a watchman on the lookout for 
 enemies, hailed them. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE BAZAAR 
 
 That night, at a consultation held between these 
 three conspirators against misfortune, it was 
 decided that nothing could be done but wait. 
 
 There was no use in attempting to remove 
 Garryow^en to another training ground; it would 
 be impossible to do so without being traced; 
 besides, there was no other place available. 
 There was nothing for it but to sit still and wait 
 for the thunderbolt to fall, if it was going to fall. 
 
 The bazaar was to take place on the fifth, and 
 as day followed day without disaster appearing 
 in the form of a baihff. Miss Grimshaw began to 
 recognise that the forthcoming function was a 
 blessing in disguise. It was, at least, a visible 
 and tangible bother, and helped to distract the 
 mind from gloomy speculations. 
 
 It was to take place in the school buildings, 
 
 and on the fourth, much to the delight of the school 
 
 children, a holiday was proclaimed. Benches 
 
 and blackboards were turned out of the big 
 
 schoolroom, the walls stripped of maps and hung 
 
 with ivy and flags, and stalls erected. 
 
 As money-making was the primary object of the 
 232 
 
THE BAZAAR 233 
 
 function, things were done as cheaply as possible. 
 Colonel Bingham lent his gardener; the Smith- 
 Jacksons lent the weedy-looking boy who rolled 
 their tennis lawn and cleaned their shoes; Miss 
 SUmon lent her housemaid, and the village car- 
 penter, fuming at heart, but constrained to please 
 his customers, lent his services — for nothing. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw was to assist Miss Slimon at the 
 needlework stall. Mr Dashwood had already 
 lent his services; toihng all day vahantly in his 
 shirt-sleeves, naihng up green stuff on the walls, 
 tacking baize covers on the tables, even carrying 
 baskets of crockery ware and provisions; and to 
 such good effect that when, at ten o'clock at night, 
 they closed the doors and locked them everything 
 was in place and ready for the next day's orgie. 
 
 " Look here," said IVIr Dashwood as they sat 
 at breakfast next morning. " Giveen got that 
 letter on the first, didn't he? Well, if he had been 
 up to any mischief he would have communicated 
 with Lewis at once. I bet my life he would have 
 telephoned to him. Well, this is the fifth. Three 
 days have gone and nothing has happened." 
 
 " What's three days? " said French. " There 
 are ten days before the race, and I can't move the 
 horse to Epsom till the thirteenth, so that gives 
 them eight days to work in." 
 
 "Does Giveen know Lewis's address in London? " 
 
 " Faith, I don't know, but he can easily get it 
 from Lewis's baiHff, who must have been down 
 at Drumgool kicking his heels a week now." 
 
234 GARRYOWEN 
 
 *' Wliat sort of money-lender is this Lewis? " 
 
 " What sort? Why, there's only one sort of 
 money-lender, and that's a beast. There's nothing 
 to be done with Lewis. If he gets my address here, 
 he'll put in a man to seize Garry owen, and I'll be 
 kiboshed. Sure, it's enough to make one want to 
 tear one's hair. The colt's in the pink of condition. 
 Another week and he'll be perfect. There's 
 nothing that puts hoof to turf will beat him, and 
 to think of him being barred out of the race by a 
 beast of a money-lender and a bum-baihff is 
 enough to drive one crazy." 
 
 " Look here," said Mr Dash wood, " why not go 
 to Lewis, explain all, and offer him haK profits 
 if the horse wins and he doesn't interfere with its 
 running? " 
 
 "Give him haH profits!" shouted French, 
 nearly upsetting his tea-cup. " I'd cut his throat 
 first!" 
 
 " They wouldn't be much use to him after," 
 said Miss Grimshaw, rising from the table. " What 
 time is it now? Ten? Well, shall we go down 
 to the schoolroom, Mr Dashwood, and see if there 
 is anything more to be done? Efiie can come too ; 
 it wiU keep her out of mischief." 
 
 It was a glorious spring morning, the herald 
 of a perfect spring day. The hedges were sprinkled 
 with tiny points of green, and the Crowsnest 
 children, free of school, were gathering wild 
 violets and snowdrops and primroses in the woods 
 for bazaar purposes, 
 
THE BAZAAR 235 
 
 The bazaar had its hand upon the countryside 
 for miles round. The church, calhng for new 
 choir stalls, had sent the Httle children into the 
 woods to pick flowers for sale ; the farmers' wives 
 to their dairies to make butter; the farmers' 
 daughters answered the call with crewel- work and 
 pin-cushions; even the cottagers were not behind 
 with gifts. There was something so pleasant in 
 this response from the fields and the hedgerows, 
 as it were, that it made one almost forget the 
 snobbishness, small-mindedness and pride of the 
 prime movers in the affair. For the Fantodds, 
 who hved at Mill House, were snobbish, and would 
 rout out trade in your family tree, even if the 
 disease were hidden deep and forgotten at its 
 roots ; and not only rout it out, but sniff and snort 
 over it. Colonel Bingham — I think I called him 
 General before, but we will reduce him for punish- 
 ment to the rank of colonel — Colonel Bingham 
 was an army snob ; a well-born, kindly and hand- 
 some old gentleman, but still a snob. The Creeps 
 were puffed up with pride ; a drunken baronet who 
 had married a cousin of Colonel Creeps acted in 
 this family just as a grain of soda acts in a mass 
 of dough, leavening the lump. The Smith- 
 Jacksons, the Dorian-Grays (most unfortunate 
 name, assumed in the seventies), the Prosser- 
 Jones, all suffered from this perfectly superfluous 
 disease. 
 
 The schoohoom, when they reached it, was 
 having a last finishing touch put to the decorations 
 
236 GARRYOWEN 
 
 by Miss Slimon, so, finding nothing to do, they 
 returned to The Martens. 
 
 They were in that condition of mind that, going 
 even for a short walk, dread would be ever present 
 in their minds that on returning to the house they 
 would find Garry owen " seized " and a baiUff 
 sitting in the kitchen. This dread, which had 
 something of pleasant excitement about it, this 
 ever-present fear of danger, had drawn French, 
 Mr Dashwood and the girl together again in a 
 family party, a corporate body. Love, though 
 he hovered over them, could not divide or disunite 
 them till the adventure they were bound together 
 in was completed. They were united against a 
 common enemy, so united that by a process of 
 telepathy gloom affecting one would affect the 
 rest; hilarity Hkewise. To-day at luncheon they 
 were hilarious, as an offset to their gloominess at 
 breakfast. A bottle of Pommery assisted their 
 spirits; they drank confusion to Lewis and 
 benightment to Mr Giveen. They were fey. 
 
 The bazaar was to be declared open at haK-past 
 two by Mrs Bingham, and at half -past two a long 
 Hne of carriages stood in the roadway outside the 
 red brick school-house; the place inside was hot 
 and stuffy, crammed with the elite of Crowsnest 
 and smelHng of glue, raw pine boards and coffee. 
 A huge coffee-urn with steam up at the refreshment 
 stall spoke of the rustics who would invade the 
 place at three o'clock, when the price of admission 
 was to be lowered to sixpence, and answered with 
 
THE BAZAAR 237 
 
 a cynical hissing the announcement of Mrs Bing- 
 ham that the bazaar was now open, and the Uttle 
 speech which that excellent lady had been pre- 
 paring for three days and rehearsing all the 
 morning. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, whose place was at the fancy- 
 work stall, and whose duty it was to assist Miss 
 Slimon in the most nefarious, if undisguised, 
 robbery of customers, found time in the midst of 
 her duties to take in the doings of her neighbours. 
 Bobby Dashwood was much in evidence, buying 
 nothing, but officiating as an unsoUcited and 
 highly successful salesman, flirting with mature 
 spinster stall-holders and seeming to enjoy his 
 position immensely. Miss Grimshaw noted with 
 a touch of regret this flaw in his character, but she 
 had not time to dwell upon it. The sixpenny 
 barrier was now down, and the place that had 
 been full before was now all but packed. Farmers 
 and their wives and daughters, cottagers and 
 humble folk permeated the crowd; every now and 
 then the throb of a motor car coming to rest 
 announced some fresh arrival from a distance. 
 Mr French was not there. He had said that he 
 might look in later in the afternoon, but he had 
 not yet arrived. It was now four o'clock, and the 
 girl, half-dazed by the stuffy air of the place, the 
 buzz of tongues and the endeavour to make correct 
 change, was resting for a moment on a ledge of the 
 stall, when a voice brought her to her senses and 
 made her start to her feet. 
 
238 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " No, thank you, I don't want dolls. Sure, 
 what would I be doing with dolls at my age? No, 
 thank you, I don't smoke, and if I did I wouldn't 
 do it in a smoking-cap. No, thanks ; I just looked 
 in to see what was going on. I'm strange to the 
 place. I've only left Ireland the day before 
 yesterday, and it's half moidhered I am stiU with 
 me journey." 
 
 As a gazelle by the banks of the Zambesi starts 
 from her couch of leaves at the voice of the leopard, 
 so Miss Grimshaw, at the sound of this voice, 
 started from the ledge of the fancy-work stall 
 and looked wildly round her. 
 
 In the crowd, beset by two ardent spinsters, one 
 armed with a smoking-cap and the other with a 
 Teddy bear, she saw a bubble-faced gentleman 
 in grey tweeds. Almost with the same sweep of 
 the eye she caught a ghmpse of Bobby Dashwood 
 at the bran-pie corner. The wretched Bobby, in 
 his glory, was standing on a tub inviting speculators 
 to take a dip. Next moment she had reached 
 him, plucked him by the sleeve and was leading 
 him to the door. She did not speak till they were 
 in the porch, which was deserted. 
 
 " Bobby— Mr Dashwood— he's here! " 
 
 " Who? " 
 
 " Mr Giveen " 
 
 " Good God ! " said Mr Dashwood. " Giveen ! " 
 
 " Yes. They're trying to sell him dolls. 
 Quick! we haven't a moment to waste! He 
 doesn't know you, does he? " 
 
 i 
 
THE BAZAAR 239 
 
 " No; he never came to Drumgool when I was 
 there." 
 
 " Get close to him, get to speak to him; don't 
 lose sight of him. Pump him. Oh, use yom* — 
 yom' intellect now! I don't know what you can 
 do, but try to get hold of his plans." 
 
 " Trust me," said Mr Dashwood. " I'll do my 
 best." 
 
 " Well, go at once. I'll follow you back. If 
 you get to talk with him much, pretend you're 
 an enemy of Mr French's. He's in grey tweeds, 
 with an Irish voice. You can't mistake him." 
 
 " Trust me," said Mr Dashwood. 
 
 Next moment he was in the midst of the swelter- 
 ing mob, boring his way dihgently through it, 
 his eyes and ears on the alert for the sight of the 
 grey tweeds and the sound of the Irish voice. 
 
 It was at the refreshment stall that he found his 
 prey. 
 
 Mr Giveen, with a cup of tea in one hand and a 
 bim in the other, was talking to Miss Smith-Jack- 
 son, who was replying in icy monosyllables. 
 
 " Faith, and the country about here is very 
 different from the country I come from. You 
 don't know where that is, do you? Do you now? 
 Well, I'll tell ye, it's the country of pretty girls 
 and good whisky. Not that I ever drink it — ^what 
 are you smihn' at? I give you me oath a sup of 
 whisky hasn't passed me hps these twenty years." 
 
 " One-and-six, please," replied Miss Smith- 
 Jackson, in still icier monosyllables. 
 
240 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " said Mr Giveen, who had 
 swallowed his bun and was now " saucering " his 
 tea: Anglice, drinking it for coolness out of the 
 saucer. 
 
 " One-and-six, please." 
 
 " And for what, if you please? Do you mane 
 to tell me you're going to charge me one-and-six 
 for a cup of tea and a bun? " 
 
 " Our charge is one-and-sixpence." 
 
 " May I never swallow bite or sup again if this 
 isn't the biggest do I ever came across! And I 
 paying sixpence at the door to get in, and they told 
 me, when I asked them, the refreshments were 
 free. I won't pay it." 
 
 " Then please take it as a gift." 
 
 " A gift ! " cried Mr Giveen. " When did ever a 
 Giveen take food and drink as a gift ! Is it a tramp 
 you're takin' me for? Here's sixpence, and that's 
 tuppence too much, but you can keep the change." 
 
 " Colonel Bingham! " said Miss Smith- Jackson, 
 perfectly unmoved. 
 
 The colonel, who had overheard the end of Mr 
 Giveen's remarks, came to the table. 
 
 " Now, sir," said Colonel Bingham, " what's 
 the trouble? " 
 
 "Trouble! Here's sixpence — a fair price for 
 what I've had. One-and-sixpence she asked me — 
 one-and-sixpence for a cup of tea and a bun! " 
 
 Mr Giveen, who had never been to a bazaar in 
 his Ufe, and who, justly enough, felt outraged, held 
 out his sixpence, this time to Colonel Bingham. 
 
THE BAZAAR 241 
 
 Colonel Bingham looked from the sixpence to 
 Mr Giveen, and from Mr Giveen to the sixpence. 
 
 " I think, sir," said Colonel Bingham, " you 
 have mistaken the place where you are. If you 
 will kindly step outside with me I will point you out 
 the way to the village inn, and your admission 
 fee will be returned to you at the door — " 
 
 It was at this moment that Mr Dashwood struck 
 in. The crowd immediately in their vicinity had 
 stepped back shghtly, making a small arena as 
 people do around a street accident or a dog-fight. 
 In the middle of this arena stood the outraged Mr 
 Giveen, facing the colonel. A moment more, 
 and who knows what might have happened only 
 for the intervention of Bobby. 
 
 " Excuse me," said Bobby, addressing the 
 colonel, " but this gentleman is Irish and im- 
 acquainted with our customs. The whole of this, 
 I beheve, is a mistake, and if he will step outside 
 with me I will explain everything to him. I am 
 sure that, as an Irish gentleman, he wiU agree with 
 me that httle affairs about money are better settled 
 in private." 
 
 " Now, that's commonsense," said the gentle- 
 man from Ireland, " I haven't the pleasure of 
 your acquaintance, sir, but I place me honour in 
 your hands." 
 
 " Come on, then," said Mr Dashwood, and, 
 taking the other by the arm, he led the way 
 through the crowd towards the door. 
 
 " Now we're all right," said he when they found 
 
242 GARRYOWEN 
 
 themselves in the open air. " I say, you're well 
 out of it, and I wouldn't go back if I were you. 
 Do you mean to tell me they wanted to rook you 
 of one-and-six for a cup of tea and a bun? " 
 
 " They did that," replied the other, with a 
 chuckle. " They thought they'd caught an omad- 
 haun asleep; but, faith, they thought wrong! " 
 
 " You were too sharp for them," said Mr Dash- 
 wood. " I saw you come in. I'm down here for 
 the day, and I just dropped into the place. Then 
 I heard you talking to the girl behind the stall, 
 and chaffing her and teUing her you were Irish; 
 then I heard the row and came to your assistance. 
 I hke Irish people. Are you staying here? " 
 
 " No," said Mr Giveen. " I just came down 
 for the day. Do you live here? " 
 
 " No," said Mr Dashwood. " I just came down 
 for the day. I Kve in London. But I'm jolly 
 glad to have met you ; it's a relief to come across 
 a genuine Irishman with some wit in him. I say, 
 I'm j oily glad you put that girl in her place. She's 
 a cheeky beast. Come along into the inn and 
 have a drink." 
 
 They had been walking towards the inn, and Mr 
 Dashwood, taking his companion's arm, guided 
 him, nothing loth, through the entrance and into 
 the bar parlour. 
 
 " Now we're all right," said Bobby, taking his 
 seat and rapping on the counter with a haK- 
 sovereign. "Cock yourself up on that stool. 
 What'll you have? " 
 
THE BAZAAR 243 
 
 " Thanks, I'll have a stone ginger-beer and a 
 biscuit, if it's all the same to you." 
 
 " A whisky-and-soda, a stone ginger-beer and 
 some biscuits, please, Mrs Stonnor." Then, whilst 
 the landlady was serving them, " You are staying 
 in London I think you told me? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr Giveen. " I'm over on a httle 
 hoHday, and I just ran down here to-day to see 
 the country. Do you know the country round 
 about here? " 
 
 "Rather!" 
 
 " And the people? " 
 
 *'Most of them." 
 
 " Now, look here," said Mr Giveen. " Do you 
 happen to know anyone of the name of French 
 that's staying in the neighbourhood? " 
 
 " Michael French, do you mean? " 
 
 " That's him." 
 
 " Oh, good Lord! I should think I did. An 
 awful chap. I had a row with him." 
 
 " Did you now? So you had a row with him? 
 Faith, he's always rowing with people, and it's 
 my behef he'U do it once too often." 
 
 " So you know him? " said Bobby, who in his 
 few minutes' knowledge of IVIr Giveen had taken 
 a hearty and whole-souled dislike to him that 
 amounted almost to a hatred. 
 
 " Know him ! " said Mr Giveen. " None better. 
 I just came down to ask after him; but since I've 
 met you, you can tell me all I want to know." 
 
 " Dehghted, I'm sure." 
 
244 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " He's got some horses down here? " 
 
 " Yes, so I believe." 
 
 " And he's got his Uttle daughter and the gover- 
 ness with him? " 
 
 " Yes, I beheve he has a child, and a young lady 
 is staying with him, a Miss — Grim — something." 
 
 " Grimshaw." 
 
 " That's it— Grimshaw." 
 
 " That's all I want to know," said Mr Giveen, 
 and there was a satisfied maHgnity in his tone 
 which, combined with the soft stupidity of his 
 manner and face, made Mr Dashwood think of 
 reptiles and those jelly-fish that bhster and sting. 
 
 A mad desire to kick Mr Giveen off the high 
 stool he was perched on was overcome by a tre- 
 mendous effort. The young man recognised that 
 the whole of French's fortune and future was in his 
 hands, and that it all depended on how he played 
 his game whether this noxious soft and venomous 
 enemy was to be frustrated in his plans or not. 
 
 Bobby, at the moment, had no plans, but he 
 had this advantage — he knew Giveen's game, and 
 Giveen did not know his. 
 
 " The row I had with French," said the artful 
 Bobby, " showed me what the man was. I was 
 up on the downs one day when he was exercising 
 his beastly horses, and he asked me what I was 
 doing there. What I was doing there! As if 
 the downs belonged to him! And I told him to 
 go hang himself, and, as a matter of fact, he 
 threatened to kick me." 
 
THE BAZAAR 245 
 
 " Yes," said Mr Giveen, " he's great at kicking 
 is Michael. But he'll kick once too often one of 
 these days." He rubbed his hands together softly 
 and chuckled to himseK. 
 
 " He will," said Bobby. " I'd give anything 
 to get even with him and pay him back. I say, 
 what brought you into that bazaar place? " 
 
 " What brought me in? " said Giveen. " Why, 
 what else but a girl." 
 
 " A girl? " 
 
 "Faith, the prettiest girl I ever saw. I was 
 coming along the street here, looking for someone 
 to ask them where French Hved, when a motor 
 car stopped at that red brick place, and out of 
 the motor car steps a girl with a face Hke a tea-rose. 
 The instant her eye ht on me she smiles. Now, 
 when a girl smiles at a fellow like that, what does 
 it mean? " 
 
 " That sh^'s fallen in love with you, of course," 
 rephed Mr Dashwood, looking at the face and 
 figu-re of his companion as one looks at a Toby 
 jug on a Hogarth print, allured yet repelled by its 
 grotesqueness. 
 
 " Well," went on Mr Giveen, " what does a fellow 
 do when a girl looks at him like that but follow her? 
 So in I went, and a chap at the door stops me. 
 ' Sixpence,' says he. ' What for? ' says I. 'To 
 go into the bazaar,' says he. ' What are they doin' 
 there? ' says I. ' Selhng things,' says he. ' I 
 want a cup of tea,' says I, ' but I'm not goin' to 
 pay sixpence to go in and get it.' ^ Oh,' he says. 
 
246 GARRYOWEN 
 
 * they give refreshment away for nothing to such 
 as you.' So in I went — " 
 
 " Just so," cut in Mr Dash wood. " See here — 
 when are you going back to town? " 
 
 " By the haK-past five train." 
 
 " Are you in a hurry to get back? " 
 
 " Faith, and I am. I've done my business 
 here, and I've more business to do in town." 
 
 " Look here," said Bobby, " I've been thinking 
 you're just the man who might help me. I want 
 to play this fellow French a trick." 
 
 " Sure," said the other, " our minds are jumpin'. 
 A trick? Why, that's the game I'm after myself." 
 
 " I was thinking," said Bobby, " of rotting him 
 by sending him a telegram from town to tell him 
 to come up at once as some relation was iU. 
 The only thing is, I don't know if he has any 
 relations in town." 
 
 " That's no use," said Giveen. " You leave 
 me to play him a trick. See here — " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " The chap's rotten with debt." 
 
 " Debt ! Wliy, I thought he was a rich man." 
 
 " Rich! He's as poor as Brian O'Lynn. And, 
 look here — he's down here in hiding." 
 
 " Hiding? " 
 
 " Ay — hiding from the bailiffs." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " cried Bobby. " Why, every- 
 one here thinks he's a great SAveU." 
 
 " He's run away from Ireland, him and his horses, 
 and done it so cleverly that no one knows where 
 
THE BAZAAR 247 
 
 he's gone to; but I've found out. It's the truth 
 I'm telling you. Well now, see here. He owed 
 a chap in London no end of money; the chap's 
 name is Lewis, and Lewis sent a man to French's 
 house over in Ireland to take possession. Ham- 
 mering away at the house door the man was, 
 and it empty. Well, I got an inkling from a letter 
 that Michael French himseK, and his daughter 
 and his governess and his horses, were down here, 
 and here I've come to find out; and here he is, 
 and it's to-morrow morning I'm going to see 
 Lewis, and it's to-morrow night the bailiffs will 
 be in at French's." 
 
 " Gloats ! " cried Bobby. " Oh, this is too much 
 of a good thing all at once! Why, it will crack 
 French up and ruin him ! AU the people here wiU 
 cut him. He'll be done for, utterly done for! " 
 
 " He'll get such a twisting he'U never get over 
 it," said Giveen. " It'll mean pretty nigh the 
 workhouse for him and his brat. Cocking her 
 up with a governess! And, see here — " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " That governess is all me eye." 
 
 Mr Giveen accompanied this cryptic remark 
 with a wink that spoke volumes of hbel and 
 slander, and IVIr Dashwood rose from his seat and 
 executed a double-shuffle on the bar-room floor. 
 
 " WHiat are you doing? " asked Giveen. 
 
 "Doing? I feel as if I was going to burst! 
 To think of getting even with that man! See 
 here, you must come up to town and dine with me." 
 
248 GARRYOWEN 
 
 "Sure, with the greatest pleasure. But I 
 haven't the honour of knowuig your name yet. 
 Me name's Giveen." 
 
 " And mine's Smith. Where are you staying 
 in town? " 
 
 "I'm staying at Swan's Temperance Hotel, 
 in the Strand." 
 
 Mr Dashwood looked at his watch. 
 
 " It wants ten minutes to five. We may as well 
 get to the station. Have another drink? " 
 
 " WeU, I don't mind if I do," said Mr Giveen, 
 who worked on a fixed principle of never refusing 
 anything he could get for nothing. 
 
 Bobby Dashwood called for more ginger-beer, 
 which his companion consumed; then they started 
 for the station. 
 
 The only plan Mr Dashwood had in his mind 
 for the moment was to cfing to his companion. 
 If the worst came to the worst he would, at least, 
 have the satisfaction of kicking the traitor 
 into the street out of Lewis's office, where he 
 determined to accompany him. But he felt dimly 
 there was a chance between this and to-morrow 
 morning of doing something to save French. 
 
 If Giveen had only been a drinker the path 
 would have been clearer. The man who gets 
 jolly has always soft spots one can work on. 
 But Mr Giveen had no soft spots. He was soft 
 all over, with hard spots in him here and there; 
 and the hardest of all these spots was his hatred 
 of French. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 MISS KLTCHEN 
 
 Mr Dashwood, piloting his undesirable com- 
 panion, led the way to the station, where they 
 arrived ten minutes before the train was due. 
 
 He had seven pounds, the remains of the twelve 
 poimds he had won at the Bridge Club, and he 
 thanked fervently the powers above that he had 
 the money about his person. To have left Mr 
 Giveen whilst he rushed back to The Martens for 
 the sinews of war would have been a highly 
 dangerous proceeding. He felt intuitively that 
 Giveen was one of those people who, incapable of 
 trust, have no trust in others, and that once this 
 gentleman's suspicions were aroused the affair 
 would be hopeless. 
 
 Above Bobby's intense desire to save French 
 and thwart his enemy was the desire to shine in 
 the eyes of Violet Grimshaw; to execute some 
 stroke of finesse, to trump the ace that Fate had 
 suddenly laid down on the card-table on which 
 French was playing the greatest game of his life. 
 
 And he had not a trump card to his knowledge. 
 
 The train came steaming in, disgorged a few 
 
 passengers, received some baskets of country 
 Q 249 
 
2 so GARRYOWEN 
 
 produce, and steamed out again, with Mr Dash- 
 wood and his antagonist seated opposite to one 
 another in a third-class smoking carriage. 
 
 Dashwood was by no means an " intellectual," 
 yet before they reached Victoria the unintellec- 
 tuahty of Mr Giveen had reduced him from a 
 condition of mild wonder to pure amazement. 
 An animal of the meanest description would have 
 been a far preferable companion to this gentleman 
 from over the water, childish without the charm 
 of childliood, ignorant and Httle-minded. 
 
 As Mr Dashwood stepped out of the carriage at 
 Victoria he saw, amidst the crowd on the platform, 
 a figure and a face that he knew. 
 
 A tall girl, with red hair and a good-looking 
 but rather mascuhne face, dressed in a tailor- 
 made gown of blue serge, and wearing pince-nez. 
 That was the apparition that brought Mr Dash- 
 wood to a pause and caused him for a moment to 
 forget Mr Giveen. 
 
 It was Miss Hitchen, the high-minded girl with 
 the latch-key, the student of Eugenics and 
 Sociology, the lady who, in a moment of mental 
 aberration, had engaged herself to Mr Dashwood, 
 and who, after recovering her senses, had disen- 
 gaged herself, much to Mr Dashwood's relief. 
 She was evidently looking for some friend expected 
 but not arrived. For a moment Mr Dashwood 
 paused. He had never loved Miss Hitchen, but he 
 had always felt a profound respect for her intellect 
 and grasp of things. In his present quandary, 
 
MISS HITCHEN 251 
 
 with French's fate Kterally in his hands, and with 
 no idea how to preserve it, the clever and capable 
 face of Miss Hitchen came as a Hght to a man in 
 darkness 
 
 They had parted in amity. In fact, the last 
 words Miss Hitchen had said to him were of a 
 natm-e almost prophetic. " Bobby," she said, 
 " if yom' irresponsibihty ever gets you into any 
 scrape, and I can help you, let me know, for you 
 are just the sort of boy that gets into scrapes that 
 only women can help a man out of." 
 
 " Wait for me a moment," said Mr Dashwood 
 to Mr Giveen. Then, pushing through the crowd, 
 he touched Miss Hitchen hghtly on the arm. 
 
 She turned. 
 
 "Bobby!" 
 
 "I'm so awfully glad to see you — ^you can't 
 tell ! I say, I'm in a scrape — not me, but another 
 man. I can't explain everything at once. Don't 
 think there's anything wrong, but a man's whole 
 fortune is hanging in the balance, and I want you 
 to help to save it. Just look round there. Do 
 you see that fellow in grey tweed, with a face Hke 
 an — I don't know what? " 
 
 '' Yes," said Miss Hitchen, gazing at Mr Giveen. 
 " Is he the man in the scrape? " 
 
 "No; he's the scrape. See here — ^will you 
 drive with us to the Albany, and I'll leave him in 
 there, and we can speak about the thing. He's 
 a gentleman and all that, but he's shghtly mad, 
 and the whole thing is most curious." 
 
252 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Hitchen. " I came here to 
 meet a girl, but she hasn't turned up. If I can 
 help you in any way I'm wilhng." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll introduce you to him, and I 
 wish you'd study him on the way to the Albany. 
 I can't tell you the importance of all this till we 
 have a moment together alone." 
 
 Mr Dashwood left his companion and made 
 through the crowd towards Mr Giveen. 
 
 " I say," said Mr Dashwood, " I've just met a 
 lady friend, a most charming girl, and she wants 
 to be introduced to you." 
 
 *' Sure, with pleasure," repHed the lady-killer. 
 
 " Well, come along then." 
 
 He led him by the arm towards where the girl 
 was standing, and effected the introduction. 
 
 " Now," said he, " as you say you are going 
 in my direction, if the presence of myseK and my 
 friend Giveen here will not bore you, may I ask 
 you to take a seat in my cab? " 
 
 *' Oh, you won't bore me," rephed Miss Hitchen, 
 who, with a searching glance, had taken in the 
 face, form and bearing of Giveen, and who felt 
 for this new type of individual something of the 
 interest a naturahst feels on coming across a new 
 species of insect. " You'U amuse me." 
 
 " Faith, we'll try our best," said Mr Giveen, 
 whilst Bobby Dashwood went in search of a taxi- 
 cab. " There's nothing Hke fun, is there? And, 
 faith, it's fun we've been having to-day, Mr 
 Smith and I—" 
 
MISS KITCHEN 253 
 
 "Mr Smith!" said Miss Hitchen, and then, 
 recognising in a flash that the pseudonym was 
 part of some artless plan of Bobby's, " oh, yes, 
 Mr Smith. You mean my friend who has just 
 introduced us. And what have you been doing? 
 I mean, what did your fun consist of? " 
 
 " Faith, it mostly consisted of a girl." 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 Mr Giveen tilted his hat and scratched his head. 
 He did not shine as a conversationahst, and as 
 Miss Hitchen \^atched him something of disfavour 
 for this humorist with the shifty manner of a seK- 
 conscious child stole into her mind. 
 
 " Yes? " said Miss Hitchen. 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " said Mr Giveen. 
 
 " You were saying something about a girl." 
 
 " Oh, ay, it was a girl down at a place in the 
 country, and, faith, by the same token, she was 
 old enough to be my aunt. It was a bazaar." 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " And she was selling tea behind a counter, and 
 up I went, and ' What can I serve you with? ' 
 says she. ' A cup of tea,' says I, ' and a bun.' " 
 
 " How funny ! What did she reply? " 
 
 " Faith, I forget — but the next she says to me, 
 * One and sixpence,' she says." 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " One and sixpence! " suddenly burst out Mr 
 Giveen. " Why, you might have knocked me 
 down with a feather. And I put me hand into 
 me pocket, and ' Here's sixpence for you,' says I, 
 
254 GARRYOWEN 
 
 ' and that's tuppence too much, but you can keep 
 the change.' With that she called an old gentle- 
 man up with a red face, and then Mr Smith came 
 and took me by the arm, and out we went — " 
 
 " And the sixpence? " 
 
 " Faith, I've got it still in me pocket." 
 
 " How awfully amusing! But look, Mr Smith 
 has got us a cab. Thanks, no, I never take 
 gentlemen's arms; it is quite imnecessary." 
 
 They took their seats in the taxi. Miss Hitchen 
 and Mr Dashwood in the back seat, Mr Giveen 
 sitting opposite to Miss Hitchen. 
 
 " The Albany, Piccadilly end," said Mr Dash- 
 wood to the driver, and they started. 
 
 Before they had well cleared the precincts of 
 the station. Miss Hitchen was ahve to the fact 
 that Mr Giveen was " making eyes at her," ogHng 
 her. Mr Dashwood noted the same fact, and 
 with his elbow touched his companion's arm as 
 if to implore her patience. To have stopped 
 the taxi-cab and kicked Mr Giveen out of it would 
 have been apples of gold in pictures of silver to 
 Mr Dashwood, but he controlled himself, contem- 
 plating French's possible salvation as a Buddhist 
 controls himseK by contemplating Nirvana. 
 
 At the Piccadilly end of the Albany the taxi- 
 cab drew up, and Miss Hitchen, who was on the 
 kerb side, aHghted hurriedly. She stood on the 
 pavement waiting, whilst Mr Dashwood paid the 
 driver off, and then the three entered the Albany. 
 Mr Dashwood's rooms were situated haK-way up, 
 
MISS KITCHEN 255 
 
 on the right-hand side, and at the entrance to 
 them he stopped and turned to Mr Giveen. 
 
 " Will you come in and wait for me a few 
 minutes? Miss Hitchen will excuse me if I run 
 in for a moment with you, to show you the way. 
 You can sit and wait for me a few minutes whilst 
 I see Mss Hitchen into a cab. Come, this is the 
 way." Mr Giveen held out his hand to the girl. 
 " It's sorry I am to have seen so Uttle of you," 
 said Mr Giveen, " but, sure, if we have any luck, 
 we may meet again." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," repHed Miss Hitchen, 
 releasing her hand. " Good evening." 
 
 She waited. 
 
 In less than a minute and a half Mr Dashwood 
 reappeared. 
 
 " Bobby," said Miss Hitchen, as she turned 
 with him to the Vigo Street entrance, " I have 
 forgiven you many things, but that Thing is too 
 much to be forgiven without a very complete 
 explanation. Do you know that it put its toe 
 on my foot in the cab? " 
 
 "Beast!" said Mr Dashwood. "Can you 
 imagine my fix, tied to it? I feel as if I were 
 going to burst. Now, look here. Here's my 
 situation in a nutshell. I know a man called 
 French, the nicest fellow in the world. He's 
 almost broken, but he has one thing left — a race- 
 horse. The horse is almost sure to win the City 
 and Suburban, and if he does French will make 
 a fortune. Well, French is training the horse 
 
256 GARRYOWEN 
 
 down at Crowsnest in Sussex. French owes a 
 money-lender named Lewis a lot of money, and 
 Lewis doesn't know where French is. If he knew 
 it he would send down a man to-morrow and 
 collar the horse. Do you see? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Giveen is French's cousin." 
 
 "Poor Mr French!" 
 
 " And he has a mortal hatred to French. He 
 has been hunting for his address for the last long 
 time, and he has found it. He went down to 
 Crowsnest to-day to make sure. He strayed 
 into a bazaar that was going on there, and I met 
 him. He was acting like a cad, refusing to pay 
 for a cup of tea, and I froze on to him. Miss 
 Grimshaw, French's governess, pointed him out 
 to me, and told me who he was, and I froze on to 
 him. I said my name was Smith, and I told him 
 I hated French, and he unbosomed himseK to me. 
 Well, here's the position now. To-morrow 
 morning he's going down to Lewis the money- 
 lender, and is going to put Lewis on to French. 
 Now you see the position I'm in. For heaven's 
 sake, try and think of what's to be done." 
 
 " When is the race? " asked Miss Hitchen. 
 
 '' On the fifteenth." 
 
 " Well, unless you murder him I don't see that 
 anything is to be done. If the race were to- 
 morrow or next day you might chloroform him, 
 or lock him up in your rooms; but you can't 
 lock a man up for fourteen days." 
 
MISS HITCHEN 257 
 
 " He ought to be locked up for life," said Bobby. 
 "Idiot! If I could only make the beast tipsy 
 I might do something with him, but he drinks 
 nothing — only stone ginger-beer." 
 
 "Ah! " suddenly said Miss Hitchen, pausing. 
 
 " What is it? " asked Mr Dashwood. 
 
 " An idea." 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " Why not sequestrate him? " 
 
 " What's that? " 
 
 " Hide him away." 
 
 " Where on earth could I hide him? " 
 
 " Good gracious, Bobby, haven't you any 
 imagination? " 
 
 " Not much," replied the unfortunate Bobby. 
 " I was never any good at working out things, 
 and now I'm so addled I can't think." 
 
 " Well, now, hsten to me. / don't want to be 
 accessory before the act in this business, and I 
 only make suggestions. Tell me, do you not 
 sometimes go duck-shooting? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Where do you go? " 
 
 " Essex." 
 
 " Where in Essex (I know, because you have 
 several times told me, but I want you to answer 
 all my questions) — where in Essex do you go 
 duck-shooting? " 
 
 " Why, you know very well it's Flatmarsh, down 
 near Canvey Island." 
 
 " Where do you stay there? " 
 
258 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Uncle James's hole of a cottage." 
 
 " Is Uncle James' hole of a cottage occupied 
 now? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " No one Hves near it? " 
 
 " Not within six miles." 
 
 " Good. Can you drive a motor car? " 
 
 "Should think so!" 
 
 " And hire one? " 
 
 " Yes, I've got tick at Simpson's. Oh, by Jove ! 
 I see what you mean ! " 
 
 "I'm glad you do; otherwise I would have 
 fancied that your mental sight was defective." 
 
 "I see what you mean! But, look here — if I 
 got him down there, how would I feed the beast 
 and keep him hid? " 
 
 " Biscuits and tinned meat can be bought, and 
 enough for a fortnight wouldn't cost more than, 
 say, three or four pounds." 
 
 " And there's a well there, so we'd have plenty 
 of water," said Mr Dash wood. " I say, you are 
 a ripper! I'd never have thought of all 
 that." 
 
 " Would Simpson, or whoever he is, let you hire 
 a car for a fortnight? " 
 
 " 'Course he would. I always pay up my bills, 
 though he has to wait sometimes ; but I paid him 
 my last bill a month ago." 
 
 " Where is his place? " 
 
 *' Just close here, in Regent Street." 
 
 " Now, another thing — can you imagine what 
 
MISS HITCHEN 259 
 
 it would be to live for a fortnight alone in a cot- 
 tage with a person hke that acting as his gaoler? " 
 
 " Oh, Lord! " said Bobby, " you think of every- 
 thing! No, I can't, but I'll do it to save 
 French." 
 
 " Bobby," said Miss Hitchen. 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 *' Do you know what I've discovered? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "That I'm a fool." 
 
 " You a fool? " 
 
 ' ' Yes. I thought you were only an irresponsible 
 boy, but I find you're a man." 
 
 " Thanks — thanks," said Bobby. " Anyhow, 
 I'll try to be." 
 
 " You needn't thank me. Now, have you any 
 money? " 
 
 " About five pounds." 
 
 " Well, I'll lend you another five pounds. No, 
 I won't, but I'll buy the provisions myseK. If I 
 left that to you you'd forget the essentials. Are 
 there plates and things at the cottage? " 
 
 " Lots." 
 
 " Well, now, like a good boy, go at once to 
 Simpson's and order the car, and get back before 
 that animal takes it into his head to escape." 
 
 " Do you mean I ought to take him to-night? " 
 
 " Of course I mean it." 
 
 " Will I see you again this evening? " 
 
 " No; but you can write and tell me the result. 
 Same address. The provisions for your excursion 
 
26o GARRYOWEN 
 
 will be sent to the Albany by special messenger 
 within the hour. And, oh! Bobby! " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " Do be artful. Say you are taking him out to 
 dinner at a country-house. Once he's in the car — " 
 
 " Once he's in the car," said Bobby, " he'll 
 stick in it, or I'll smash him up. Oh, leave him 
 to me. But I can never thank you enough. 
 What makes you so awfully clever? " 
 
 " He squeezed my foot," said Miss Hitchen. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 DEPORTATION 
 
 Mr Giveen, left alone in IVIr Dashwood's chambers, 
 took a comfortable seat in an arm-chair and gazed 
 around him. 
 
 He felt that he had fallen on his feet. He had 
 extracted two bottles of ginger-beer, some biscuits, 
 and a drive in a taxi-cab from his new-found friend ; 
 he was going to extract a dinner ; he was about to 
 have his revenge on French. All these things 
 combined to cast him into a pleasant and amused 
 state of mind, and he looked with satisfaction at 
 all the evidences of well-being around him. 
 
 Then he got up and began a circuit of the room, 
 looking at the prints on the wall, examining his 
 own face in the looking-glass, touching the boxing- 
 gloves and foils. Then he examined the writing- 
 table. Fortunately there were no letters with Mr 
 Dashwood's name on them, and when he had 
 turned over the books and taken another peep at 
 himself in the glass he resumed his seat and pre- 
 sently fell into a doze which deepened into slumber. 
 
 He had slept like this for some three-quarters 
 
 of an hour, when he was awakened by the entry 
 
 of his new friend. 
 
 261 
 
262 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Well," said Bobby, in a cheerful voice. " How 
 are you getting along? Been asleep, hey? Now, 
 look here, I want you to come out to dinner with 
 me." 
 
 " Right you are," said Mr Giveen, rubbing his 
 eyes. "I'm with you — hay yow! I'm half 
 moidhered with all me travelHng. And what's 
 become of Miss What's-her-name? " 
 
 " She — oh, we're going to meet her at dinner. 
 She's gone on in her motor car." 
 
 " So she keeps a motor car, does she? " said Mr 
 Giveen, rising and pulling down his waistcoat. 
 
 "Rather! She keeps two. Why, she has 
 half-a-milHon of money of her own. And look 
 here," said the artful Bobby, " I'm only taking 
 you to dinner with her on one condition." 
 
 " And what's that? " 
 
 " Well, I'm rather sweet on her myseM, do you 
 see—" 
 
 " Oh! faith, you may trust me," said Mr Giveen, 
 in high good spirits. " I'm not a marrying man, 
 or I'd have been snapped up years ago, musha! 
 But oughtn't I to go back to me hotel for a black 
 coat? " 
 
 " Oh, you won't want any black coats where 
 we're going to," said Bobby, with grim jocularity. 
 " They are most unconventional people. But, 
 maybe, you'd like to wash your hands. This is 
 my bedroom." 
 
 He ushered his guest into the bedroom and left 
 him there. When he returned to the sitting-room 
 
DEPORTATION 263 
 
 he found Robert waiting for him with the announce- 
 ment that some parcels had come. 
 
 " Let's see them," said IVIr Dashwood. 
 
 Four large brown paper parcels were on the floor 
 of the landing; they had just arrived from 
 Thompson's, the big Itahan warehouse in Regent 
 Street. 
 
 "That's right," said Bobby. "I'm taking 
 them down to a place. And see here, Robert, I 
 may be away a few days. I've got a car coming; 
 it wiU be at the Vigo Street entrance in a few 
 minutes. Just keep a lookout for it and let me 
 know when it arrives." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Shall I pack you some things? " 
 
 " Yes; shove a few things into a bag — enough 
 for a week — and stow the bag and these parcels 
 in the back of the car when it comes." 
 
 Twenty minutes later, to Mr Dashwood and his 
 companion appeared Robert with the announce- 
 ment that the car was in readiness. 
 
 Bobby led the way to the Vigo Street entrance, 
 where, drawn up at the kerb, stood a forty-horse 
 powder Daimler car with lamps ht. 
 
 Bobby looked at this formidable locomotive 
 with an appreciative eye, and the chauffeur sent 
 with it by Simpson getting down, he mounted 
 and took the steering pillar. Giveen, innocent 
 of danger as a lamb entering the yard of the 
 butcher, got in and took his seat beside Mr Dash- 
 wood. 
 
 "Right! " said Bobby. 
 
264 GARRYOWEN 
 
 He backed into Cork Street, and then, turning 
 again into Vigo Street, passed into Regent Street. 
 
 *' How far is it, did you say, to Miss Hitchen's? " 
 asked Mr Giveen. 
 
 " I didn't say — but it's not far — at least, with 
 this car. Are you used to motors? " 
 
 " No, faith, I've never driven in one before. And 
 are you used to driving them? " 
 
 " Oh, pretty weU." 
 
 " Do you ever have accidents? " 
 
 "Accidents! Rather. That's half the fun. 
 The last accident I had the car turned turtle and 
 pinned the fellow that was with me under the 
 engine; the petrol spilt on him and a spark set it 
 on fire — " 
 
 " Good God! " said the horrified Giveen. 
 " Was he burnt? " 
 
 " Was who burnt? " 
 
 " The chap with the petrol on him." 
 
 " Burnt! Why, they gathered up his ashes in 
 a bucket. Didn't you read about it in the papers? " 
 
 " No," said Mr Giveen; " I didn't." 
 
 They passed down the Strand; the night was 
 clear and warm for the time of the year — a fortun- 
 ate circumstance for Mr Giveen, as he had no over- 
 coat. They passed up Fleet Street, by St Paul's, 
 and down Bishopsgate Street. 
 
 "Is it anywhere near here? " asked Giveen, as 
 they passed Whitechapel Church and turned into 
 the old coaching road to IKord. 
 
 " Is what near here? " asked Bobby. 
 
DEPORTATION 265 
 
 " The place we're going to." 
 
 " Oh, it's about sixty or eighty miles." 
 
 " Sixty or eighty miles! " 
 
 " Yes — that's nothing to a car like this. You 
 just see how I'm going to make her hum. I 
 haven't had a car like this to drive since I came 
 out of that beastly asylum place." 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " said Giveen, cold shivers 
 going up his back. " Did you say — did I under- 
 stand you to say — which asylum place was it did 
 you say? " 
 
 " Don't bother me with questions," repHed Mr 
 Dashwood, " for when people talk to me when 
 I'm driving I'm sure to do something wrong." 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE LETTER 
 
 When Miss Grimshaw saw Bobby leading Mr 
 Giveen to the bazaar entrance she returned to 
 her duties with so distracted a mind that she sold 
 a seven-and-sixpenny tea-cloth to Mrs Passover, 
 the sanitary inspector's wife, for two-and-six- 
 pence, and was only conscious of the fact when she 
 was reminded of it by Miss SKmon, the presiding 
 genius of the stall. 
 
 On the pretext of a headache she released herself 
 at five o'clock and made directly for The Martens, 
 where she found Mr French smoking a cigar and 
 reading a novel, and utterly oblivious of the fact 
 that he had promised to attend the bazaar. 
 
 " What's up? " said French, putting his book 
 and reading glasses down and staring at the girl, 
 whose face and manner were eloquent of news. 
 
 " He's come." 
 
 " Who? " 
 
 " Mr Giveen." 
 
 The owner of Garry o wen sprang to his feet. 
 
 "He's come, has he! Where is he? He's 
 
 come, has he! — " 
 
 "Stop!" she said, half -frightened with the 
 266 
 
THE LETTER 267 
 
 ferocity of the outraged French. " It mayn't 
 be so bad as you think. Mr Dashwood is with 
 him and is going to do what he can. There's no 
 use in violence. Sit down and Hsten to me and 
 I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 French sat down in the chair from which he had 
 just arisen. The animal fury which the idea of 
 Giveen excited in his mind might have given cause 
 to grave results had the image come within striking 
 distance; and Kttle blame to him, for here was 
 Garryowen trained to a turn. Weeks and months of 
 care and the genius of Moriarty had brought the 
 colt to that point of perfection which leaves 
 nothing to be desired but the racing day. Only a 
 few days separated them from the supreme 
 moment when, if Fate were propitious, the black- 
 and-yellow colours of Drumgool would be carried 
 first past the winning-post; the possibihty of 
 winning a small fortune was almost becoming a 
 certainty, and now, to thwart him of his desire and 
 cripple him for life, here came Dick Giveen. 
 
 " But what took him into the bazaar? " asked 
 he, when the girl had finished her story. 
 
 " Providence, I beheve," rephed Miss Grimshaw. 
 " Just fancy, if he hadn't come in! He has come 
 down here, evidently, to make sm*e that you are 
 here. If he hadn't wandered into the bazaar he 
 might have found out what he wanted and gone 
 back to London without our knowing, and then 
 the next thing would have been a man in pos- 
 
268 GARRYOWEN 
 
 French rose up and paced the floor several 
 times without speaking, then he broke out : 
 
 " I don't see what Dash wood is to do with him; 
 unless he murders him he'll never stop him from 
 going to Lewis and blowing the gaff. What's the 
 good of following him? Might as well leave him 
 alone; better to have it over at once and done 
 with. Well, let them do their worst, but they'll 
 never get the horse, for as sure as Lewis takes 
 possession I'll shoot him." 
 
 " Shoot Mr Lewis? " 
 
 "No; the horse." 
 
 He strode out of the room, and by the back 
 entrance to the bungalow found the stable-yard. 
 
 Moriarty was in the yard, completing a trap of 
 his own invention; a thing simple as sin, fatal as 
 death, and artful as the mind of its maker. Miss 
 Grimshaw had spoken strongly to Mrs DriscoU 
 about the poaching. Catching rabbits and such 
 things might be excusable, said Miss Grimshaw, 
 but poaching sheep and eggs was indefensible. 
 It was robbery, in fact, and should it come to her 
 ears again she would inform Mr French. Stoutly 
 denying all knowedge of the fact, Mrs Driscoll, 
 all the same, listened to the words of the governess 
 and conveyed them to Moriarty. 
 
 " Sheep? " said Moriarty, with a wink at his 
 informer. *' What sheep does she mane? " 
 
 " Faith, I dunno, but she says she saw you and 
 Andy draggin' a sheep into the loose-box be the 
 wan The Cat's in." 
 
THE LETTER 269 
 
 "Oh, that ould bell-wether! Sure, it was to 
 keep him from the cowld we put him there. And 
 was it our fault if he committed suicide and killed 
 himself and skinned himseK and hung himself 
 up in quarthers? " 
 
 All the same, from that day he paid no more 
 attention to the comfort of the sheep of the 
 neighbourhood, confining himseK to smaller game. 
 
 " Moriarty," said Mr French, " Mr Giveen has 
 found out where we are. He's been down here 
 to-day, and it's all up with us." 
 
 " Faith, sorr," said Moriarty, " and I'm not 
 surprised. The only wonder to me is he didn't 
 find us out before." 
 
 " Well, he's found us out now, anyhow, and be 
 hanged to him. There's only one thing. Mr 
 Dashwood has got hold of him and is sticking to 
 him. Not that I expect he'll do much good." 
 
 Moriarty, who had put his trap down on the 
 wdndow-ledge of the kitchen, pursed his Ups and 
 stood with one hand caressing his foxy chin. 
 
 " And where has Mr Dashwood got him, sorr? " 
 asked he, after a moment's silence. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Be any chance, sorr, d'you think he's left the 
 place yet? For if he hasn't, and we could speak 
 him fair and get him up here — " 
 
 " Yes? " 
 
 " Well, sorr, there's a loose-box beside the wan 
 The Cat's in." 
 
 " You mean we might lock him up there? " 
 
2 70 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Yes, sorr.'"' 
 
 " He'd never come, and if he did he'd shout the 
 place down." 
 
 " Faith, he'd be silent enough, sorr, wid a rope 
 gag in him." 
 
 " We couldn't keep him ten days, and he'd have 
 a tearing action against us — not that I'd care 
 about that. See here, Moriarty." 
 
 " Yes, sorr? " 
 
 " Down with you to the village and station, 
 and if by any chance you see him with Mr Dash- 
 wood — well, b'gad, I'll do it. Get him up here; 
 tell him I want to see him. We may as well 
 try." 
 
 " Yes, sorr." 
 
 Moriarty went into the stables and sHpped on 
 his jacket. An hour later he retm^ned from the 
 village with the news that Mr Dashwood and the 
 strange gentleman had departed for London by 
 the five-o'clock train. 
 
 Early next morning with the letters arrived 
 a telegram that Mr Dashwood had despatched 
 the night before: 
 
 *' Giveen safe." 
 
 Mr French, having read it, put on his dressing- 
 gown, and, crossing over to the door of Miss 
 Grimshaw's room, knocked and pushed the 
 envelope under the door. 
 
 " Read that," shouted Mr French. 
 
 " Good! " came the girl's voice, when she had 
 
THE LETTER 271 
 
 read it. "I knew he'd do something. Oh, what 
 arehef!" 
 
 At breakfast, with the open telegram on the 
 table, they discussed it. 
 
 " It was handed in at Regent Street last night 
 at eight o'clock," said JVIiss Grimshaw. " What, 
 I wonder, can he have done to him, or how can 
 he have got round him? " 
 
 " I don't know what he's done to him," said 
 her companion, " but I know one thing, he'll 
 never get round him, and if he thinks he's talked 
 him over he'll find he's made a mistake." 
 
 " Well," said the girl, " whatever has happened 
 has happened. We have done our best, and if 
 we are beaten it won't be our faults. And there 
 is some satisfaction in that." 
 
 The day passed, bringing no news from Mr 
 Dashwood. The next day also passed without 
 news; but by the early post of the third day 
 arrived a letter. 
 
 The envelope was shabby and dirty, and the 
 address was written in pencil. i\Ir French tore 
 the thing open, and read : 
 
 "Dear French, — I've bottled him; I'm 
 scribbhng this with pencil as I have got no ink, 
 and I don't know how I will post it. Anyhow, 
 I'm writing it on the chance of finding some means 
 of doing so. I got Giveen up to my rooms in 
 town, and when I had him there I didn't in the 
 least know what to do with him. The beast hates 
 
272 GARRYOWEN 
 
 you. I got it all out of him by pretending you 
 were an enemy of mine. He told me straight 
 out that he was going to set Lewis on you, and, 
 upon my soul, there were moments on the journey 
 up to town when I could have flung him out of the 
 railway carriage. Anyhow, when I got him to 
 my rooms, a brilHant idea occurred to a friend of 
 mine, whom I consulted. I hired a motorcar, bought 
 some provisions, got Giveen into it, and motored 
 him down here to a cottage which belongs to an 
 uncle of mine, and which he uses for duck-shooting. 
 
 " It's the most God-forsaken place in the world- 
 on the Essex coast, not a soul within miles; only 
 sea-gulls. Of course Giveen bucked coming 
 down, but only mildly. A happy thought 
 occurred to me, and I pretended to be shghtly 
 balmy. I told him I was the King of Siam — that 
 quieted him. He's dead certain he's in the grip 
 of a lunatic, and asks no questions. I make 
 him do the cooking, such as it is, and the washing- 
 up ; I never let him out of my sight for a moment, 
 and I sleep at night with my bed drawn across the 
 door. The whole thing is like what you'd read 
 of in a book; but it's too awful for words. He 
 can talk about nothing, and we are living on 
 tinned meat and biscuits, and now my tobacco 
 is giving out. I'd ask you to send me some, 
 only I daren't, for if the postman came here 
 Giveen would be sure to make a bid for freedom. 
 
 " Be sure I will stick to him like grim death, 
 and give my kind regards to all at The Martens," 
 
 i 
 
THE LETTER 273 
 
 French read this important dispatch to IMlss 
 Grimshaw as they sat at breakfast, and the girl 
 hstened mth sparkling eyes. 
 
 " I always hated motor cars," said she, when 
 he had finished, " but I'll never hear a word 
 against them again. Wasn't it clever of him! 
 And the cleverest thing in the whole business is 
 the King of Siam part, for if there's any bother 
 afterwards he can put the whole affair down to 
 a practical joke. There's only five days now to 
 the thirteenth. You are moving the horse to 
 Major Lawson's stables at Newmarket on the 
 thirteenth, aren't you? " 
 
 " I am," said French. " I had a letter from 
 him only yesterday asking after the colt. By 
 George, but I beHeve we'll pull the thing through 
 after aU!" 
 
 He rose from the table in high excitement; 
 went to the window and stood, jinghng the keys 
 in his pocket and gazing at the view. It seemed 
 to him that at last fortune was beginning to make 
 a way for him. A few days only separated him 
 from his goal. If Bobby Dashwood could only 
 keep Giveen " bottled " till the thirteenth, or even 
 the tweKth all would be well. Could he do this? 
 Time alone could answer that question. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 MARSHLAND AND SEA 
 
 It will be remembered that the night of the fifth 
 of April was the date of the kidnapping of Mr 
 Giveen. Early in the morning of the sixth 
 Mr Dashwood awoke from his slumbers with a 
 start, looked around him, and remembered. 
 
 The cottage contained only two bedrooms 
 and a hving-room. He had taken a bed the night 
 before from one of the bedrooms and dragged 
 it in front of the living-room door, which was 
 also the hall door. Here he had slept, hterally 
 making a barrier of his body to the escape of 
 Giveen. 
 
 His first thought was of his prisoner, but he 
 was reassured as to his safety by loud snores 
 coming from the bedroom where he had deposited 
 him the night before. The morning reflections 
 of Mr Dashwood, as he lay watching the mournful 
 dawn breaking through the diamond-paned 
 window, were not of the most cheerful description. 
 
 In seizing the body of Mr Giveen and forcibly 
 deporting it from London to Essex he had broken 
 the law. The fact that Giveen was an enemy of 
 French's, and about to do him a cruel injury, 
 
 274 
 
MARSHLAND AND SEA 275 
 
 would, Mr Dash wood felt, weigh very little with 
 a jury should the said Giveen take an action 
 against him for wrongful imprisonment; and he 
 felt distinctly that Giveen, despite all his softness, 
 was just the man to take such a course. The 
 craft of Giveen was fully demonstrated by the 
 way in which he had acted the night before. 
 BeUeving himself in the power of a lunatic, he 
 had adapted himseK to the situation, feigning 
 unconcern as a beetle feigns death. Besides 
 gloomy forebodings as to the ultimate issue of 
 his illegal proceedings, Mr Dashwood had to face 
 the immediate prospect of Giveen's close com- 
 panionship for ten days or so. But, as a set-off 
 to these undesirabilities, he had the pleasant 
 vision of French liberated from his difficulties, 
 Garryowen passing the winning-post with a beaten 
 favourite behind him, and last, but not least, 
 Violet Grimshaw^'s face when he told her all. 
 
 Enlivened by the thought of this, he sprang 
 out of bed, pulled the bed away from the door, 
 and opened it. The bleak morning had broken 
 fully now upon the marshlands and the sea; a 
 cold wind was blowing from the south-east, bend- 
 ing the wire grass and bringing with it the chilly 
 sound of small waves breaking on the shore; 
 electric white gulls were circling and crying by 
 the distant sea-edge, and the marble-grey clouds 
 were running rapidly overhead. 
 
 He shut the door on this dismal prospect and 
 turned his attention to the fireplace. 
 
276 GARRYOWEN 
 
 He remembered that the last time he was here 
 there was some coal and firewood in the little 
 out-house at the corner adjoining the shed under 
 whose shelter he had placed the car. He went out 
 now, and, opening the out-house door, found 
 several hundredweight of coal stacked in a corner 
 of the shed, and a dozen or so bundles of firewood 
 by the coal; an old basket stood by the coal, 
 and filling this with fuel and sticks he returned 
 to the cottage. 
 
 Giveen was still snoring, and Mr Dashwood, 
 who had no desire for his company, left him to his 
 slumbers whilst he proceeded to the business of 
 lighting the fire. Then he undid the package of 
 provisions and spread the contents on the dresser. 
 Tinned meat and biscuits formed the store — 
 nothing else, unless we include two small jars 
 of oHves; and as Mr Dashwood looked at the 
 row of biscuit bags and tins he came to the con- 
 clusion that, however learned in Eugenics and 
 Sociology, Miss Hitchen was somehow deficient 
 in her knowledge of household management. 
 When he had untinned a tongue, put some biscuits 
 on a plate, and boiled some water, which, if you 
 drink it hot enough and with your eyes shut, 
 you cannot distinguish from tea, he called his 
 companion, and they sat down to their cheerless 
 meal, Giveen amiable and even cheerful, seeming 
 to find nothing extraordinary in his position 
 but fencing with the subject whenever Bobby 
 brought the conversation in the direction of Siam, 
 
MARSHLAND AND SEA 277 
 
 and, Mr Dasliwood noted, with his eyes ever 
 wandering to the door. 
 
 After breakfast he wrote the letter we have seen 
 to JVIr French and put it in his pocket, with a view 
 to finding some means of sending it later; then 
 he took his charge out for a walk on the salt 
 marshes. After dinner, with an old pack of cards, 
 which he discovered in the dresser drawer, they 
 played beggar-my-neighbour, and dusk closed 
 on that terrible day and found them sitting, 
 without candles or hghts of any sort, by the embers 
 of the fire, Mr Giveen still amiable and even mildly 
 cheerful. 
 
 Had he been obstreperous or quarrelsome, 
 had he even asked questions as to Bobby's inten- 
 tions, had he been irritable, the situation would 
 have been more bearable; but he sat uncannily 
 composed and amiable, and giving no hint of 
 dissatisfaction with his position and no sign of 
 revolt or evasion, with the exception of the tell- 
 tale wandering of his eye every now and then 
 towards the door. 
 
 Bobby's watch had run down, and IVIr Giveen 
 had no timepiece, time being to him of no account, 
 and, at an indeterminable hour, Mr Dashwood, 
 yawning, dragged his bed to the door by the fight 
 of the flickering fire, and his prisoner retired to 
 the bedroom and, judging by the sound of snoring 
 that soon filled the cottage, to sleep. 
 
 It was long past midnight when Mr Dashwood 
 was aroused from sleep by cries from the night 
 
278 GARRYOWEN 
 
 outside. The clouds had broken and a full moon 
 was casting her light through the diamond panes 
 of the windows as, sitting up in bed, he strained 
 his ears to Usten. 
 
 It was Giveen's voice, and Giveen was shouting 
 for help. He dragged the bed from the door, 
 opened the door, and without waiting to dress 
 rushed out into the night. 
 
 The cries were coming from the back of the 
 cottage. Running round, he came upon the object 
 of distress and the cause. 
 
 The front end of Mr Giveen was protruding from 
 the tiny window of the bedroom; this window 
 had possessed a bar across it, which bar the 
 prisoner, by a miracle of patience and dexterity, 
 had removed. He had got his head and one arm 
 and shoulder through, and there he was stuck. 
 
 " Help! " cried Mr Giveen. " I'm stuck." 
 
 "Try back," cried Bobby. "Don't push 
 forward or you'll be stuck worse. What made 
 you try to get out of that window, you sainted 
 fool? It's not big enough for a child. Push 
 hackr 
 
 "Back, is it!" cried the perspiring Giveen. 
 " Back or front is all the same. I tell you, I'm 
 stuck for good. Help! Murder! Thieves! " 
 
 " Come forward, then," cried Bobby, seizing 
 the free arm, " and shut that row. Now then, 
 all together. Push whilst I pull. ' ' 
 
 " Let up, or you'll have the arm off me," cried 
 the afflicted one. "Holy Mary! but you're 
 
MARSHLAND AND SEA 279 
 
 murdering me! Go round to the room and pull 
 at me legs if you want to pull. Maybe you'll 
 get me in, for, be the powers, you may pull till 
 you're black but you'll never get me out." 
 
 " Right," said Bobby. 
 
 He ran round, entered the bedroom, which 
 was in darkness owing to the occlusion of the 
 window, groped for the afflicted one's legs, found 
 them, and pulled. Loud bellows from the night 
 outside was the only result. First he pulled face 
 fronting the window and with one foot against 
 the wall for purchase, then with his back to Giveen 
 and with one leg under each arm, pulling Hke a 
 horse in the shafts, he pulled. 
 
 " Good Lord! " said Mr Dashwood at last, 
 taking his seat on the bed and wiping the perspira- 
 tion from his brow. " / don't know what we're 
 to do with the bounder unless we pull the cottage 
 down." 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE STORY 
 
 On the morning of the tenth of April Mr French 
 awoke from a night of pleasant dreams to find 
 the sun shining broad and strong through the 
 window of his bedroom. 
 
 He had dreamt of the great race ; he had seen in 
 a glorified vision the field sweeping round Tatten- 
 ham corner, Garryowen a length ahead of the 
 favourite ; he had heard the roar of the crowd and 
 had been congratulated by all sorts of dream 
 people. The exhilaration of the vision clung to him 
 as he dressed and accompanied him as he break- 
 fasted. 
 
 Not a word had come from Mr Dashwood since 
 the letter announcing the " bottling " of Giveen, 
 but no news in this case was good news. 
 
 Only three days now lay between him and the 
 
 eventful thirteenth, and if Bashwood could only 
 
 keep his prisoner safe for three days more all 
 
 would be well. The chance that Garryowen 
 
 mightn't win the race never even occurred to 
 
 French. He was certain ; and one of the reasons 
 
 of his certainty was the opposition that Fate had 
 
 put in his way. He felt dimly that Fate would 
 280 
 
THE STORY 281 
 
 never have taken all this trouble to thwart him, 
 would never have put so many obstacles in his 
 path, if she were not sure that when the flag fell 
 the victory of Garry o wen would be a certainty. 
 
 After breakfast he went out on the downs to 
 watch the colt taking his exercise. 
 
 The length of the City and Suburban course had 
 been marked out on the great flat table-land, and 
 here Garryowen and The Cat (the swiftest thing 
 save Garryowen that French had ever possessed) 
 were now exercising, Andy up on Garryowen and 
 Buck Slane on The Cat. Moriarty, a straw in his 
 mouth, was watching them. 
 
 " We'll do it, Moriarty," said French, as he 
 took his stand beside his henchman and flxed his 
 eyes on the distant horses that were being walked 
 back towards him. 
 
 " I'm beginnin' to b'lave we will, sorr," 
 repHed Moriarty. " We'll just hit the cruck in 
 the middle be the fifteenth; there's not a bit of 
 overthrainin' about the colt; I've been keepin' 
 him back for the last few days, for a horse all 
 fiddle-strings is no more use on the course than a 
 barber's cat at a concert; and did yiz ever hear 
 of thim college chaps, sorr, that goes up for their 
 'xaminations wid the stuff stickin' out of their 
 heads, and no thin' in their heads but addlement? 
 Faith, Mr Casey of Thrinity College told me of 
 thim when he was down for the shoo tin'. He 
 said he'd seen thim college boys, some of thim, 
 larnin' up their stuff right till they were forenint 
 
282 GARRYOWEN 
 
 the 'xaminers, wid their book in their hands till 
 the last minit, and thim sort of chaps, says he, 
 always gets stuck, for their 'rithmetic gets jammed 
 in their Latin, and when they open their gobs to 
 spake their g'ography comes out when it's Greek 
 they ought to be answerin'. But you take the 
 boys that aise off before the 'xamination day, 
 says he, and they git through becase they're the 
 wise ones. Well, it's just the same wid a horse, 
 sorr; addle his legs wid over-thrainin' and you 
 do for him." 
 
 " He's a good starter, he's a good goer, and 
 he's got a jockey that knows him," said French, 
 as he watched the horses approaching. "And 
 the jockey's a lot." 
 
 "A lot, sorr! It's everything, be the powers! 
 Same as a wife to a man ; and what is a wife, sorr, 
 to a man, if she's a decent wife, but a jockey 
 that brings him first past the winnin'-post if he's 
 got the go in him? " 
 
 Mr French assented to this sage pronouncement 
 of Moriarty's and returned to the house in high 
 good spirits. He had just reached the verandah 
 when the sight of something coming up the path 
 made him catch his breath. 
 
 This something was a telegraph boy. 
 
 " French? " said the boy, presenting an en- 
 velope. Mr French tore it open. 
 
 " Giveen loose, clean got away, motoring down. 
 — Dashwood," 
 
THE STORY 283 
 
 " Any answer, sir? " 
 
 " No," said Mr French; " there's no answer." 
 
 He stood for a moment with the paper crushed 
 in his hand. He could hear the boy whisthng 
 as he went down hill. Then he passed into the 
 bungalow. 
 
 " Norah! " cried Mr French. 
 
 " Yes, sir," 
 
 " Fetch me the whisky decanter, and ask Miss 
 Grimshaw to come here." 
 
 He went into the sitting-room. " Giveen 
 loose — clean got away." The words danced 
 before him and sang in his ears, turned somersaults 
 and stood on their heads Hke a troop of tormenting 
 gamins. 
 
 In the crises of a complex and fantastic tragedy 
 such as that of French's, the most galling thing 
 is the inabihty to seize the whole situation and 
 meet it philosophically. A bank smash which 
 sweeps away one's fortune is a four-square disaster, 
 sizeable if stunning; but this business of Garry- 
 owen's was ungraspable and unmeasurable, and 
 unfightable as a nightmare. The horse was 
 in apparent safety one moment, and the next 
 in imminent danger. Fortune was quite close now 
 and holding out her hand; now she was at a dis- 
 tance, and her hand, fingers extended, was at her 
 nose. Yesterday the dreaded Giveen was safe 
 in Ireland; to-day he was attending the viUage 
 bazaar. Now Mr Dashwood had him a safe 
 prisoner down in the wilds of Essex, and now he 
 
284 GARRYOWEN 
 
 had escaped. The fight for fortune had been a 
 long one, vast obstacles had been overcome — 
 was it all to end at the last moment in disaster? 
 
 When Miss Grimshaw entered the room she 
 found Mr French seated at the table with the open 
 telegram before him, and at his side a glass of 
 whisky-and-water and a decanter. 
 
 " Read that," said he. 
 
 She took the message and read it with a con- 
 striction at the heart. 
 
 " Well," said he, " what do you think of that? " 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, before answering, took the 
 whisky decanter from the table and put it on the 
 side table. 
 
 " Oh, you needn't be afraid of me," said French. 
 " I'm too much at the end of my tether to care 
 very much what happens. Faith, I wouldn't 
 take the bother to get drunk." 
 
 " All the same," said the girl, " we must meet 
 this with as cool a head as possible. ' Motoring 
 down' " (she was reading the message). *' Who does 
 he mean, I wonder? Of course he must mean 
 himself, because he evidently does not know where 
 Mr Giveen is or what he's doing. It was handed 
 in at Regent Street this morning at 9.15; received 
 here at 10.2. It is now nearly eleven — " 
 
 " Listen! " said French. 
 
 Sounds came very clearly up here from the 
 lower land, and the sound which had attracted 
 French's attention was the throb of a motor car 
 approaching along the station road. 
 
THE STORY 285 
 
 Moved by an identical impulse they approached 
 the window leading on to the verandah. J\Ir 
 French opened it and they passed out. 
 
 They could see the car, a large touring car, 
 approaching slowly ; there was only one individual 
 in it, and — " That's him! " said Miss Grimshaw, 
 forgetful of grammar, leaving the verandah and 
 taking the downhill path to the road. 
 
 French followed her and they reached the road 
 just as the car was coming to a halt. It was Mr 
 Dashwood in very truth, but a more different 
 edition of the joyous and irresponsible Bobby it 
 would be hard to imagine. His hat on the back 
 of his head exposed fully his face, grimy, unwashed 
 and weary. He had, altogether, the disreputable 
 appearance of a person who has been out all night, 
 and as he crawled out of the car, his movements 
 suggested old age or rheumatism. 
 
 " Something to eat! " said Bobby, as he took 
 French's arm with his left hand and held out his 
 right to Miss Grimshaw. " I'm nearly done. 
 Giveen is loose, but I'll tell you it all when I get 
 up to the house. Thanks; may I lean on you? 
 The car will be all right here." 
 
 " Come along up," said French. 
 
 No word was said till Mr Dashwood was seated 
 in the sitting-room with a glass of whisky-and- 
 soda in his hand. 
 
 " Oh, this is good! " said he. " I haven't had 
 a drink since I don't know how long." 
 
 " Don't drink till you have had some food," 
 
286 GARRYOWEN 
 
 said the girl. " I'll get something for you at once. 
 There's a tin of tongue — " 
 
 " Don't ! " said Mr Dashwood. " Don't mention 
 tinned meat or biscuits to me ! I've lived on them. 
 Oh, Lord! don't let me think of it! " 
 
 " An egg? " 
 
 " Yes, an egg — anything but tinned meat. It's 
 almost as bad as Giveen." 
 
 In five minutes the egg was boiled, and haK-an- 
 hour after Mr Dashwood, young again, smoking 
 a pipe of French's, began his recital. 
 
 He told aU we know : how he had " shanghaied " 
 Mr Giveen, how that gentleman had tried to escape 
 and had stuck in the window. " I pulled and 
 hauled," said Bobby, " but it was all no use, and, 
 upon my Sam, I thought it would be a business 
 of puUing the cottage down." 
 
 " How did you get him loose at last? " asked 
 French. " And why the deuce didn't you leave 
 him stuck there till the race was over? You could 
 have fed him from the outside." 
 
 "Upon my soul, I never thought of that!" 
 said Mr Dashwood. " I felt I had to get him 
 free somehow, and then I thought of a patent 
 dodge. I'd heard of a chap lighting a fire of straw 
 under a horse that wouldn't go, and I knew the 
 only way to free the beggar was to make him use 
 ail his exertions and even more; so I got some 
 straw out of the outhouse place and made a big 
 wisp of it and fit it. Made a torch, you know. 
 ' What are you doing? ' he said. ' You wait and 
 
THE STORY 287 
 
 see,' I replied, and jabbed it in his face. You 
 wouldn't believe it, but he went in ' pop ' Hke 
 when you push a cork down into a bottle. Then 
 I ran round and secured him. 
 
 " Well, I pointed out to him next morning the 
 error of his ways, and he promised to make no 
 more attempts to escape. ' Look here,' said I, 
 ' I've been pretending to you I was cracked. 
 I'm not. I just got you down here because I'm 
 a friend of French's and I don't want you to set 
 Lewis on him, and here you'll stay till I choose 
 to let you loose. It's as bad for me as you — 
 worse, for you're a beastly slow companion. 
 Anyhow, here you are and here you'll stick till 
 I give you leave to go.' At that he began saying 
 that he had no enmity to you at all and that if 
 I'd only let him loose he'd go back to Ireland and 
 make no more trouble; but I told him straight 
 out I wouldn't trust him, and there the matter 
 ended. I had written a letter to you, and I had 
 it in my pocket. A half-witted sort of boy came 
 round the place and I gave him the letter and 
 sixpence to post it. Did you get it? " 
 
 " We did." 
 
 " I felt when I gave him it hke old Noah letting 
 the dove out of the ark, and then we settled down 
 to our tinned meat and biscuits — Oh, Lord! I 
 don't want to talk or think of it. We played 
 beggar-my-neighbour with an old pack of cards. 
 Then my tobacco gave out. Giveen didn't mind. 
 He was quite happ}^ on the tinned meat, and he 
 
288 GARRYOWEN 
 
 doesn't smoke or drink ; and I had to go through 
 it all without complaining, and that was the worst 
 of it—" 
 
 " I think it was splendid of you! " said the girl. 
 " Go on." 
 
 " Faith, and splendid is no word," said French. 
 " You're a friend in a million. Go on." 
 
 Fortified by these praises, the weary one con- 
 tinued his narrative. 
 
 " Well, day after day passed till I began, like 
 those chaps that get shipwrecked, to lose count of 
 time. I heard church bells ringing the day before 
 yesterday, for instance, and then I knew it was 
 Sunday somewhere, for it didn't seem Sunday or 
 any other day in that beastly cottage. Time 
 seemed to have stopped. You see, there were no 
 books there, no newspapers, nothing, and my 
 tobacco had given out ; and against all that misery 
 the tinned meat and biscuits began to stand out 
 in such high reUef that meal-time became a horror. 
 Oh, Lord ! don't let me talk about it ! I want to 
 try and forget it. 
 
 " Well, things went on like that till it came to 
 yesterday, and I said to myself, ' This can't go on 
 any longer, for I'm beginning to hear voices, and 
 the next thing will be I'll see things. Southend 
 is only ten or eleven miles away; it's a flat road 
 and there's the car outside. I'll lock Giveen up 
 in his room, make a dash for Southend in the car, 
 get some tobacco and a bottle of whisky and some 
 books and dart back again. I'll do the whole 
 
THE STORY 289 
 
 thing in an hour or so, and it's better to take the 
 risk than lose my reason.' So I just told Giveen 
 I was very sorry but he'd have to accommodate 
 himself to circumstances, and I got a fishing-Une 
 of the uncle's and fastened his wrists behind his 
 back; then I fastened him with a rope and a 
 roUing bend knot to the iron bedstead in the bed- 
 room, told him I wouldn't be more than an hour 
 away, shut the door on him, jumped into the 
 car and drove off. I got to Southend in record 
 time. I only ran over one hen, but I very nearly 
 had an old woman and a dog. I piled up with 
 sixpenny novels and comic papers at the first 
 book shop, got three bottles of Johnnie Walker, 
 half a pound of navy-cut and some matches, and 
 started back. It was half-past three when I left 
 Southend, and I hadn't gone more than two miles 
 when the car came to a dead stop. I don't know 
 the ' innards ' of a car. I only knew that the 
 thing had stopped, that I was nine miles from the 
 cottage, and that the car was right in the fair way 
 blocking the road. A butcher's cart came along 
 and the butcher got down and helped me to push 
 her out of the middle on to the side of the road. 
 He said he didn't know of any repairing shop or 
 blacksmith's nearer than Southend. I asked him 
 to lend me his horse to drag the car back to South- 
 end, but he couldn't. He had his meat to dehver, 
 but he said I'd be sure to find help before long as 
 there was a lot of traffic on the road. So off he 
 went and left me. I thought of leaving the old 
 
290 GARRYOWEN 
 
 car to look after herseK and going back to the 
 cottage on foot ; but I couldn't do that as I'd never 
 have been able to come back for her, and she's 
 worth eight or nine hundred. So I just sat in her 
 and smoked a pipe and waited. I tell you I was 
 in a stew, for I didn't know if I'd made the fishing- 
 line too tight for Giveen's wrists, and if they 
 swelled mortification or goodness knows what 
 might have come on; and I began to think of 
 having to support him for hfe if his hands had to 
 be cut off; and then I began to think that maybe 
 he might die of it and I'd be hanged for murder 
 or gaoled for hfe. 
 
 " Presently a big touring car came along with 
 a young fellow and a chauffeur in it, and I signalled 
 them to stop, and it pulled up, and who should 
 it be but Billy Bones ! He's Lord St Ivel's second 
 son, you know ; they call him BiUy Bones because 
 they say he never eats anything else but grilled 
 bones at three o'clock in the morning. Last time 
 I'd seen him was at the Rag-Tag Club, in Cork 
 Street, at two o'clock of a Sunday morning, play- 
 ing bridge with one eye shut to see the pips on the 
 cards. Billy is one of those men who know every- 
 thing, and he knows all about the inside of a motor 
 car — or thinks he does. 
 
 " ' HeUo,' said BiUy, ' what's up? ' 
 
 " I told him, and he hopped out of his car and 
 
 said he'd have everything right in a minute. He 
 
 got out his repairing tools, whipj)ed off his coat 
 
 and got right under the car with his tools, lying 
 
THE STORY 291 
 
 on his back in the dust of the road — he's one of 
 those fellows who don't care what they do. I 
 could hear him under the car, and he seemed 
 taking the whole thing to pieces; you could hear 
 the nuts coming out and the pipes being unscrewed 
 and the petrol escaping. He was stuck under 
 there for haK-an-hour or so, and then he came out, 
 looking hke a sweep, and he said it was all right 
 and I only had to start her. But she wouldn't 
 start. 
 
 " He got under her again and spent another 
 half -hour tinkering at her, and then he came out 
 and said it was all right this time and told me to 
 start her. I started her, but she wouldn't budge. 
 Then Billy told his chauffeur to see what he could 
 do, and the chauff didn't get under the car, he just 
 examined the petrol supply business and in about 
 sixteen seconds she was all right. ' I thought 
 I'd done it,' said Billy, putting on his coat. 
 
 " There was an hour clean gone and, I tell you, 
 if I came fast to Southend I flew going back. I 
 got her under the shed and went to the cottage. 
 As soon as I went in I saw something was wrong, 
 for the bedroom door was open. I looked into 
 the bedroom and Giveen was gone." 
 
 " Bad cess to him! " said French, who had been 
 following the raconteur with deep interest. 
 
 *' I went to the door and looked around," said 
 Mr Dashwood, " and then I saw, far away on the 
 road, the idiot chap that had taken my letter. 
 He must have come to the cottage looking after 
 
292 GARRYOWEN 
 
 more sixpences and let Giveen loose. It was now 
 getting on for five, and the dusk was closing in. 
 I rushed to the car, got her out of the shed, and 
 started off on the London road. You see, I knew 
 he hadn't taken the Southend road, or I'd have 
 met him, and there was nowhere else for him to go 
 unless he'd taken to the marshes or gone into the sea. 
 
 " I turned the car so sharp from the by road 
 into the London road that I nearly upset her, and 
 then I let her loose. I had a chapter of accidents, 
 for my hat blew off and I had to stop and get it. 
 Three children were making mud pies in the middle 
 of the way right before a cottage, and I as nearty 
 as possible made hash of them; a fellow left the 
 cottage and chivied me half-a-mile, and took a 
 short cut where the road bent like a hairpin, and 
 as nearly as possible nailed me. He wanted to 
 get my number, I suppose — but he didn't. Then 
 I remembered that I ought to have my lamps Ht ; 
 it was getting on for an hour after sundown, and 
 those poHce on the country roads don't mind 
 swearing to ten minutes. I wouldn't have minded 
 if it had been an ordinary affair, but it wasn't by 
 any means, and I didn't want to be summonsed, 
 or else I couldn't swear an alibi if Giveen took an 
 action against me for kidnapping him. So I 
 stopped the car and got down and lit the lamps." 
 
 Mr Dashwood paused. 
 
 " Yes? " said his Hsteners. 
 
 " Only for that piece of confounded foolish 
 carefulness I'd have collared Giveen." 
 
THE STORY 293 
 
 Mr French swallowed hastily, as if he were 
 swallowing down something unpleasant, then — 
 " Go on," he said. 
 
 "Think of it!" said Mr Dashwood. "I've 
 always taken chances and come out all right, and 
 the first time I'm careful, there I go and spoil 
 everything. Isn't it enough to make a fellow 
 cuss? " 
 
 " It is," said French, " and it's just the same 
 way with me. But go on." 
 
 " I got the blessed old lamps alight," said Bobby, 
 " and the blessed old car going, and I'd gone 
 scarcely haK-a-mile when I saw before me, after 
 I'd rounded a bend of the road, a cart going full 
 speed. It was one of those gipsy sort of carts that 
 fellows hawk chickens and things about in, harness 
 half string and an old horse like a scarecrow to 
 look at, but like a steam engine to go. There 
 were two men in the cart and one was Giveen. 
 Though it was pretty dusk I could tell him, for he'd 
 taken his hat off and his bald head shone like a 
 stone. He'd evidently met the cart and paid the 
 man for a Hft. 
 
 " ' Now,' said I to myself, slowing down a bit 
 so that I could think, ' what am I to do? If I 
 try to seize him by force the fellow he's with will 
 help him to resist, maybe, and if he doesn't he's 
 sure to tell about the affair at the next village 
 and I'll have the poKce on to me. I know — a 
 smash-up is the only thing. I'll ram them full 
 speed and damn the damage. I stand as good a 
 
294 GARRYOWEN 
 
 chance to be killed as either of them. If Giveen 
 is killed, or the sweep he's with, well, it's the 
 fortune of war; if none of us are killed I'll sit on 
 Giveen's head and send the other Johnnie for help ; 
 then, whilst he's gone, I'll nobble Giveen and drag 
 him back to the cottage, across country this time, 
 and leave the old motor to look after herself.' " 
 
 " Did you really intend to do that? " asked 
 Violet Grimshaw, looking at Bobby with a mixture 
 of wonder and admiration. 
 
 " Intend to do it? Why, I did it, only the old 
 car didn't. I shoved the lever full speed ahead, 
 and what does she do but stop dead and shoot me 
 on to her bonnet! " 
 
 " Did Giveen see you? " asked French. 
 
 "No; he never looked back once, and he and 
 the old cart he was in vanished in the dusk. It 
 was when I got down to light the lamps that some- 
 thing happened to the machinery. I must have 
 pulled up too sharp, for I heard something go in 
 the fore part of the engine. Anyhow, I was done 
 for. Well, there was nothing for me to do but 
 look for help, and at last I got a farmer chap to 
 hire me two horses to drag the old rattle-trap 
 back to Southend. That was cheerful, wasn't 
 it? At Southend I found a motor repairing shop, 
 the only one in the town, and the mechanic who 
 did the repairing out with a car that wouldn't 
 be back till midnight. So I paid for the horses 
 and sent them off, and got a bed for the night. 
 Well, to cut it short, I was up at six this morning, 
 
 I 
 
THE STORY 295 
 
 got the car mended in less than a quarter of an hour, 
 and back I went to London full speed. But the 
 repairs and the horse hire and the bed had taken 
 all my money, and I had only sixpence in my 
 pocket ; and I hadn't eaten for I don't know how 
 long. I stopped at a village on the way and had 
 a drink of water at a pump. ' Never mind,' I 
 said to myself. ' When I get to the Albany I can 
 borrow something from Robert ' — ^he's my servant, 
 you know. But when I got to the Albany Robert 
 wasn't there and my rooms were locked up. You 
 see, he thought I wasn't coming back for some 
 time, and I always send him a wire the day before 
 I come. It was just nine o'clock and I was as 
 hungry as anything, but I was in such a tearing 
 rage that I never thought of borrowing money 
 from anyone, as I might have done. Sixpence 
 is no use for food in the West End, so I sent you 
 a wire with it, got some more petrol at Simpson's 
 and came down here full speed." 
 
 French got up and took Mr Dashwood's hand 
 and shook it. 
 
 " If I Hve to be five hundred," said the emotional 
 French, "I'll never forget this to you." 
 
 "Rubbish!" said Bobby. "It was nothing. 
 I — I enjoyed it — at least, part of it. Anyhow, 
 I'd do it over again to-morrow for the excitement 
 of the thing." 
 
 " / think," said Miss Grimshaw, speaking as 
 though she were criticising some work of art, 
 " that the finest part of the whole thing was your 
 
296 GARRYOWEN 
 
 determination to run into the cart at full speed 
 and smash it up. I suppose it was wicked, but 
 it was fine." 
 
 *' See here," said Mr Dash wood, anxious to turn 
 away praise from himself, " what we have to think 
 of now is Giveen. What's to-day? The tenth, 
 isn't it? Well, he'll see that man Lewis to-day, 
 as sure as nuts." 
 
 " If he does," said French, " Lewis will have a 
 baiUff here to-morrow and I'll be done for." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that," said Mr Dash wood. 
 
 " How do you mean? " 
 
 "I've been thinking the thing out on the way 
 down. If he puts a baihfP in, let's corrupt the 
 baihff." 
 
 " Sure, I've got nothing to corrupt him with," 
 said French. " Money's the only thing to corrupt 
 a man with, and I haven't any." 
 
 " We might offer him a percentage of the profits 
 if he'll just shut his eyes and let us take the horse 
 to Epsom," said Mr Dashwood. " We don't 
 want to run away with the horse; we only want 
 a loan of him for the race." 
 
 " That's not a bad idea," said Miss Grimshaw. 
 " If the man has any sporting instincts," said 
 Mr Dashwood, "it ought to be easy enough. 
 Give him a few glasses of whisky and get him 
 jolly, and the thing's done." 
 
 "Faith, and it's not a bad idea after all," 
 said French. " I was thinking myself of getting 
 hold of the chap and making a prisoner of him 
 
THE STORY 297 
 
 in one of the loose-boxes, same as Moriarty 
 suggested for me to do with Giveen; but I've 
 thought it over, and there's no use in it. It would 
 only mean that they'd stick me in prison and Lord 
 knows what. It would ruin me entirely. But if 
 we can get the chap to consent, that's a different 
 matter." 
 
 "Oh, yes, it would never do to make him a 
 prisoner," said the girl. " That would be a 
 common, brutal sort of thing to do. But if you 
 can persuade him just to let the horse run the race 
 it won't hurt the horse and it may make your 
 fortune — even that, I'm afraid, is scarcely right; 
 it's tampering with his conscience." 
 
 " But none of these chaps have consciences," 
 said Bobby. " At least, none to speak of." 
 
 " Then of course," said Miss Grimshaw, " you 
 can't tamper with thern." 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A CONVERT TO SOCIALISM 
 
 When Bobby had sufficiently rested himself 
 
 he took the car to the inn at Crowsnest and put 
 
 it up, and then came back to The Martens, where 
 
 a bed was made up for him, and where he slept 
 
 the sleep of the just for ten hours, reappearing 
 
 at haK-past nine that night for some supper and 
 
 a pipe. Then he retired to rest and put another 
 
 ten hours of slumber behind him, awakening in 
 
 the morning a new man. 
 
 Nothing important came by the post, only a 
 
 few circulars and a post-card effusively thanking 
 
 Miss Grimshaw for some flowers which she had 
 
 sent to a female friend. As the day wore on, and 
 
 as nothing appeared in the form of a bailiff, the 
 
 hopes of the party rose steadily. Mr Dash wood 
 
 had suggested that the horse should be taken 
 
 right away to Epsom, but French was too old 
 
 a practitioner to make such a false move as that. 
 
 For if a baihff arrived and found the horse gone it 
 
 would be the easiest thing in the world to track 
 
 him. You cannot entrain a race-horse without 
 
 the fact being known. Even if he were ridden 
 
 up to London a telegram would have to be sent 
 
 on to get a horse-box for the journey to Epsom. 
 298 
 
A CONVERT TO SOCIALISM 299 
 
 There was nothing to be done but wait and trust 
 in luck. 
 
 The morning of the twelfth broke fair and 
 unclouded, with no threat — at all events in the 
 weather — of baihffs. French had made all his 
 arrangements for moving the horse on the morrow. 
 A horse-box was to be attached to the 10.15 train 
 from Crowsnest, also to the London train for 
 Epsom, that started at 1.55. In less than twenty- 
 four hours now the horse would be out of Crowsnest 
 and the day-after-the-day-after-to-morrow was 
 the race. 
 
 Garryowen was not even mentioned in the bet- 
 ting Hsts. White Moth was favourite, Vodki was 
 second favourite; after Vodki you might have 
 read such names as — your fancy wills, but not 
 the name of Garryowen. Only in the Hsts of the 
 big EngHsh and Continental betting agents did 
 this name obscurely appear. French had been 
 getting his money steadily on the horse. He 
 reckoned that when the flag fell he would 
 stand to win sixty thousand pounds, and the 
 thought of this, when it came on him now and 
 then, put him into such a fever that he could 
 not sit still. 
 
 They were all sitting at luncheon to-day, and 
 merry enough for the moment, when a knock 
 came to the door and Nor ah entered. 
 
 " Plaze, sir," said Norah, " there's a man wants 
 to see you." 
 
 French half rose from the table. 
 
300 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " A man? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. He came round be the kitchen 
 way, and ' What are yiz doin' in me yard ? ' says 
 Mrs DriscoU. ' Is yom* masther in? ' says he. 
 * If he is, tell him a person wants to see him.' " 
 
 French, without a word, rose and left the room. 
 
 "He's come! " said Bobby, putting down his 
 knife and fork. 
 
 " It sounds like it," said the girl. *' But it 
 may be only a tradesman." 
 
 " Shall I go out and listen at the kitchen door? " 
 asked Effie, haH sHpping from her chair. 
 
 " No," said Miss Grimshaw, " sit still. You are 
 too fond of hstening at doors; and only for you, 
 you naughty child — " She checked herself. Only 
 for Efiie and her mischievous letter they might have 
 been in security now and not threatened like this. 
 
 " Only for me, what? " asked Effie. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw had no time to reply, for at that 
 moment Mr French re-entered the room. His 
 face was flushed; he shut the door, and then, 
 "May the divil fly away with Dick Giveen! " 
 he said. " He's got me at last, confound and 
 d him! It's the baihff." 
 
 "Oh, Lord! "said Bobby. 
 
 " What's he like? " asked Miss Grimshaw the 
 practical. 
 
 " Like! " cried French. " He's Hke a chap you 
 see in a nightmare — white as tallow and no legs 
 to him, and he's going out now to inspect the 
 horses. Mark you, that chap's no use to us; he's 
 
A CONVERT TO SOCIALISM 301 
 
 one of the whey-faced type, and he's not got the 
 heart in him to help us." 
 
 " Whsit is his name? " asked the girl. 
 
 " Piper," rephed French, pouring himself out 
 some whisky. 
 
 " Well," she said, " wait here, both of you; one 
 never knows what one can do till one tries." 
 
 She left the room hurriedly and sought the 
 stable-yard, where she found Moriarty. 
 
 " Moriarty," she said, " the baih£f has come, 
 and he's just going to look at the horses. Be 
 sure and whatever you do be civil to him." 
 
 " Yes, miss," rephed Moriarty. 
 
 " Tell Andy the same." 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 " I'm going round to the kitchen now to bring 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 She left the stable-yard and sought the kitchen. 
 Seated in the kitchen, hat in hand, was an in- 
 dividual of uncertain age. French's description 
 hit him off to a T. Pale-faced, scanty-haired, 
 with a trace of side whiskers, he had about him 
 a suggestion of aggressiveness and a suggestion 
 of weakness very disheartening to his new beholder, 
 who, however, smiled upon him as she entered. 
 
 " ^Ir Piper, I beheve? " said Violet, speaking 
 in a hurried and offhand and friendly manner. 
 " I have come round to take you to see the horses. 
 But have you had any luncheon? " 
 
 "Yes, thank you," said Mr Piper, risingto his feet. 
 
302 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " May I not get you a glass of wine or something 
 after your journey? " 
 
 " No, thank you. I never touch Uquor," said 
 Mr Piper. 
 
 " Oh!— weU, then, will you follow me? " 
 
 She led the way to the stables round by the 
 kitchen entrance. All this was French's duty 
 if anyone's, but the girl would not trust him; 
 she determined to show Mr Piper that the horses 
 were safe, treat him as civilly as possible, and try 
 to gauge his corruptibiHty in the process. 
 
 " You know, I suppose, that this is a hired 
 house," said she, as she led the way, "and that there 
 is nothing here belonging to Mr French but the 
 horses? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr Piper. '"I asked at the station 
 about that, although my instructions mainly 
 concerned the horses. House and furniture 
 belong to Mr Emmanuel Ibbetson. Still," 
 concluded he, " I must attend to it that nothing 
 is moved from here — neither stick nor stone — 
 till further orders." 
 
 "If Mr Ibbetson wanted to take his furniture 
 away," said MissGrimshaw, almost losing command 
 of her temper, " I don't think you could stop him." 
 
 " That's not the question at isha," repUed 
 Mr Piper. " I'm thinking of French." 
 
 " You mean, I presume, Mr French." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Moriarty," said Miss Grimshaw, " show this — 
 man the horses." 
 
A CONVERT TO SOCIALISM 303 
 
 Moriarty opened the upper door of a loose-box 
 and The Cat thrust her evil head out. The Cat, 
 by Isonomy II. out of Express, would have won 
 her owner much money only for her temper; 
 she had a fleering eye. The Cat's under-lip and 
 the cock of her ears were the two points you 
 noticed at close quarters, till she nobbled you 
 and took a piece out of your arm, or let fly and, to 
 use the language of Moriarty, " kicked you to 
 flinders." 
 
 "Look out!" yelled Moriarty. He wasn't a 
 moment too soon, for in another second The Cat 
 would have had the bailiff. 
 
 Piper stepped back and wiped his forehead with 
 his sleeve. To be snapped at by a horse is not 
 a pleasant experience. 
 
 " It's only her play," said Moriarty, " but don't 
 you ever open the door of the box be yourself, 
 for, begad, if she once got a hoult of you it's into 
 the box she'd have you, over the dure top, and 
 after that, begorra, it id be all over but the funeral. 
 Here's the other horse." 
 
 He opened Garry owen's box. 
 
 Garry o wen projected his lovely head and 
 expanded his nostrils at the stranger. Miss 
 Grimshaw looked from the horse to the baihff, 
 and from the baiHff to the horse, contrasting the 
 two animals in her mind. 
 
 " Are these carriage horses? " asked Mr Piper 
 as Miss Grimshaw retired to the house leaving 
 him in charge of Moriarty. 
 
304 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Carriage what? " 
 " Horses." 
 
 " Sure, where were you born that you never 
 saw a race-horse? " 
 
 " If you arsk me where I was born, I was born 
 in Peckham," said Mr Piper, " and if you arsk 
 me have I ever seen a race-horse, I am proud to 
 say I have not, nor a race meeting; and if you 
 arsk me what I'd do with jockeys and publicans 
 and all those who corrupt the people and take 
 honest men's wages out of their pocket — I say, 
 if you arsk me what I'd do with them, I'd answer 
 you that I'd put them in a sack, and the sack in 
 the Thames." 
 
 " Faith," said Moriarty, contemplating his 
 vis-a-vis, "if I hadn't fallen into conversation 
 wid you I'd never have guessed there was so 
 much ' arsk ' about you; but, faith, you're 
 right. It's the whisky and the horses that plays 
 the devil and all wid men. Now, I'd lay, from 
 your face, you'd never been dhrunk in your hfe." 
 
 " I've never even tasted alcohol," said Piper. 
 " Neither alcohol nor tobacco has ever sullied 
 my mouth, nor shall it ever sully a child of mine." 
 
 " Have you any children? " 
 
 " No, I have not." 
 
 " That's a pity," said Moriarty, " for with such 
 a father they couldn't help turnin' out fine men. 
 May I ax are you a Liberal or a Conservative? " 
 
 " I'm a Socialist." 
 
 " The masther has tould me about thim," said 
 
A CONVERT TO SOCIALISM 305 
 
 Moriarty, closing the door of Garryowen's box 
 and taking his seat on a bucket. " You're wan of 
 thim that b 'laves every man is born equal and we 
 should all share alike. D'you mane to tell me 
 that now? " 
 
 Mr Piper, led on to his favourite topic, expanded, 
 taking his seat on the edge of an old bin by the 
 stable door. 
 
 " So," said Moriarty, " thim's your opinions? 
 A big puddin', and every man wid a plate and 
 spoon. And who, may I ax, is to make the 
 puddin', and who's to wash the plates? " 
 
 Mr Piper explained that every man would help 
 to make the pudding, and every man would wash 
 his own plate. 
 
 " And s'pose," said Moriarty, " one chap takes 
 a double helpin' before his turn, or cracks his 
 plate over another chap's head? " 
 
 Mr Piper explained that every man would be 
 equally ungreedy and equally well disposed to 
 his neighbour. 
 
 " And where are you going to get thim men? " 
 asked the tireless Moriarty. " And, see here, 
 they're not going to be all men, unless you smother 
 the women. And, droppin' the puddin', for the 
 sake of argument, and comin' to the question of 
 bunnets, d'you think one woman is going to be 
 content wid as good a bunnet as her next-door 
 neighbour and the same price? D'you think 
 Mrs Moriarty won't be sayin' to her husband, 
 * Mick, you blackguard, why don't you stir your 
 
3o6 GARRYOWEN 
 
 stumps and make more money to buy me a hat 
 and feather that'll squash Mrs Mooney's? ' And 
 Mick he'll say, ' Sure, Norah, how'm I to make 
 more money when these Social chaps won't let 
 me earn more'n five pound a week? ' And 
 
 what'U she say but ' Be d d to SociaHsm, I 
 
 want a blazin' big hat wid a feather twice as big as 
 Mrs Mooney's, and I'm goin' to get it — ' " 
 
 " That's not the point at isha — " 
 
 " Isha or not, you see here. You may plot and 
 plan and collar your masther's money and pay 
 it out all round to the hkes of yourseK, but it's 
 the wimmen'll quare your pitch, for, begob, a 
 man may get rid of a master but he'll never get 
 rid of a mistress as long as the world rowls and 
 wather runs. Tell me," said Moriarty, with his 
 eyes examining Mr Piper's legs critically and not 
 compHmentarily, " tell me now — are you wan 
 of them chaps the masther spakes of who're 
 always boo-hooin' about the soldiers and ba- 
 haain' about the sailors, and wishin' to Hve in 
 pace and contintment, sittin' on your starns under 
 fig trees wid the figs droppin' into your open gobs?" 
 
 Mr Piper explained that he was a peace party man. 
 
 " I thought you was," said Moriarty, still with 
 his eyes fixed on his examinee's legs, " and, faith, 
 I'm almost converted meself to the cause whin 
 I look at you. We had a man wanst, and he might 
 ha' been your twin brother, and he came down 
 to Cloyne, lecturin' on all thim things, and settin' 
 up to contist the seat in ParU'mint wid ould Mr 
 
A CONVERT TO SOCIALISM 307 
 
 Barrin'ton of Inchkiilin Haal. Ould Mr Barrin'ton 
 stud six f ut four ; he'd never missed a meet of the 
 houn's for sixty years, 'cept whin he was laid up 
 wid broken Umbs or sittin' in Parh'mint. This chap 
 called ould Mr Barrin'ton his 'ponent, said he was 
 wastin' the money of the people keepin' houn's and 
 horses, and went on till wan day the boys got hold 
 of him — and d'ye know what they did to him? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Faith, they headed him up in a barr'l and 
 rowled him into the river." 
 
 Moriarty, without another word, got up, left 
 Mr Piper to his meditations, and strode towards 
 the kitchen. 
 
 "Where's the masther? " asked Moriarty of Norah. 
 
 " In the sittin'-room," rephed Norah. 
 
 He passed through the kitchen, crossed the Httle 
 hall and knocked at the sitting-room door. 
 
 " Come in," said French's voice, and he entered. 
 
 French, Miss Grimshaw and Bobby Dashwood 
 were seated about the room ; the men were smoking 
 and in arm-chairs ; Miss Grimshaw was at the table, 
 sitting erect, with her elbows upon it. Her Ups 
 were pursed, for they had been discussing Mr Piper. 
 
 " If you plaze, sorr," said Moriarty, when 
 French bade him speak, " I've been takin' the 
 size of that chap in the yard." 
 
 " And what do you think of him, Moriarty? " 
 
 " Faith, sorr, I'm thinkin' he was one of the 
 left overs whin they was makin' parr'ts, and the 
 divil thried to make a monkey of him, and spiled 
 
3o8 GARRYOWEN 
 
 it in the bakin'. He's no use at all, sorr, to be 
 talked over or talked under." 
 
 " We couldn't bribe him, do you think? 
 
 " No, sorr; he's not the man to take a bribe to 
 do a decent turn. He's wan of those chaps that 
 hates his betters — soci — what d'you call 'em, sorr? " 
 
 " SociaHsts? " 
 
 " That's thim." 
 
 "Oh, Lord! "said Bobby. 
 
 " I thought he looked like it," said Miss 
 Grimshaw. 
 
 " Damn him! " said French. " I thought there 
 was something wrong with the beast besides 
 white liver and Board School — " 
 
 " If you plaze, sorr," said Moriarty, with a grin. 
 "I've had a long talk wid him and he's convarted 
 me." 
 
 " Hullo ! " said French, staring at his henchman, 
 " what's this you're saying? " 
 
 " I've come to b'lave, sorr, in sharin' and sharin' 
 alike. If you plaze, sorr, have you every thin' ready 
 for gettin' the horse away in the mornin' ? " 
 
 " Getting the horse away! " burst out French, 
 forgetting Moriarty's conversion and everything 
 else in an outburst of rage. " How the dickens 
 do you think I'm to get him away with that beast 
 stuck here — " 
 
 " All the same, sorr," rephed Moriarty, " if 
 you'll lavVe things to me you won't find any 
 thrubble in the mornin', and not for some days 
 afther, I'm thinkin'." 
 
A CONVERT TO SOCIALISM 309 
 
 " What do you propose to do? " 
 
 " If you plaze, sorr, I'd rather just keep me 
 tongue shut in me head. It's not that I aren't 
 wishful to tell you, sorr, but it's the divil to spake 
 whin you're fishin'. Do you rimember, sorr, 
 young Mr James and his wife, whin they came to 
 Drumgool and went out fishin' the black water? 
 Him and she wid a luncheon basket and tame 
 minnows presarved in bottles of glycerin' and 
 the hoightof fine rods and patent bucks and landin'- 
 nets, and groun' bate and the Lord knows all; 
 and you could hear thim chatterin' to wan another 
 half-a-mile away, and the wather thick wid fish. 
 And the divil a thing they caught in three days but 
 a crawbeen." 
 
 " Moriarty is right," said Miss Grimshaw, 
 who had a profound belief in the capacity of 
 Moriarty for doing the right thing just in the 
 right way, when the thing was a matter of 
 diplomacy. 
 
 " Look here, Moriarty," said French, " are you 
 thinking of making a prisoner of this chap? For 
 that won't do." 
 
 *' No, sorr," said Moriarty, " I'm not." 
 
 " He doesn't drink." 
 
 " No, sorr." 
 
 *' You're not going to bribe him? " 
 
 " No, sorr." 
 
 " Well, all I can say is, if you can find some other 
 means of putting him out of action you're a 
 cleverer man than I am." 
 
3IO GARRYOWEN 
 
 " If you'll just lave it to me, sorr, you may rest 
 contint." 
 
 French poured out a glass of whisky, which 
 Moriarty swallowed neat. Then, wiping his 
 mouth with the back of his hand, and saluting the 
 company assembled, he left the room. 
 
 " He'll do it," burst out Mr Dashwood, who 
 seemed suddenly, and for the first time, to fully 
 comprehend the possibilities and impossibilities 
 of Moriarty. 
 
 " Faith," said French, " I believe he will. I've 
 never known Moriarty fail yet. Upon my word, 
 I haven't. Looking back now, I never remember 
 him not getting the better of any man he crossed 
 the foils with. Do you remember that blackguard 
 who came to hamstring Garry o wen? And the 
 best of the matter is, he always does things in 
 such a way that the laugh is on his side, and the 
 law, begad! Do you remember that bailiff he 
 drove to the old castle? Well, the law couldn't 
 have touched him for that. The man wanted to be 
 driven to my house, and that was my house, 
 though I didn't live there." 
 
 *' It's a man like Moriarty that comes over to 
 the States with a bundle under his arm," said 
 Miss Grimshaw. " One moment a poor exile 
 from Erin, standing on a shore that is lonely and 
 chill, and the next day, to quote one of our poets, 
 he's ' Alderman Mike introdjucin' a bill.' I wonder 
 why the Moriartys are so much nicer in their own 
 country." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 BON GR]^ — MAL GR]^ 
 
 MoRiARTY, when he left his master, betook him 
 to the stables and his duties. Mr Piper had 
 vacated the stable-yard and was making a tour 
 of the premises, admiring the view from all points, 
 and quite on the alert for strategical moves. 
 
 He was by no manner of means a fool in his 
 profession; watchful as a stoat, unobtrusive, 
 when his mouth was closed, fitting into corners, 
 and unremarkable, he made an excellent bailiff. 
 
 He had always been a careful and saving man, 
 and his character had never been developed by 
 vice. What lay in the subliminal depths of Mr 
 Piper, Mr Piper himself could not say; that unrest 
 lay there was evidenced by his socialistic tendencies. 
 
 He inhabited rooms at Balham or Brixton, I 
 forget which ; he never swore, he never drank, he 
 never smoked or looked at the female population 
 of the British Islands with a view to matrimony 
 or the reverse. His only visible vice was careful- 
 ness, saving. The man was without a visible vice 
 and he had several visible virtues. It was this 
 fact that made the problem of him so interesting 
 and made the attentive student of him pause to 
 ask: " }Vhatjo[idike& him so beastly? " 
 3n 
 
312 GARRYOWEN 
 
 You know the man. 
 
 Moriarty, having watered the horses and seen 
 to them with the scrupulous attention of a nurse, 
 called Andy to him. 
 
 " Andy," said Moriarty, " did you see the chap 
 that's come to collar the horses? " 
 
 " Seen him? " said Andy, for once loquacious. 
 '* Faith, I was near pitchforkin' him to h — 1 as 
 he was standin' there afther you'd left him. Sure, 
 wasn't I listenin' to him — " 
 
 " Shut your head," said Moriarty, " and listen 
 to your betthers. Go fetch me a big truss of 
 straw." 
 
 Andy, obedient as a dog, went off for the straw 
 and returned with it on his back. 
 
 Moriarty opened the door of the loose- box next 
 to The Cat's. 
 
 " Stick it here in the corner," said Moriarty, 
 indicating the corner in question. 
 
 Andy flung the truss of straw in the corner. 
 
 " That's right," said Moriarty. 
 
 He took a five-shilhng piece from his pocket 
 and, leading Andy to the side of the bungalow, 
 gave him the coin, gave him some instructions and 
 pointed in the direction of the village. 
 Andy, with a grin on his face, started. 
 At half -past eight that evening Mr Piper, 
 seated in the kitchen, finishing his supper, heard 
 Andy's voice. He was colloguing in the scullery 
 with Mrs Driscoll, and what he said was distinctly 
 audible in the kitchen. 
 
BON GRE— MAL GRE 313 
 
 Said Andy: "Is the bailiff chap still at his 
 supper? " 
 
 " Faith and he is," repHed Mrs Driscoll. 
 
 " Then kape him there for another ha'ff-hour, 
 for Moriarty's goin' to play him a trick and get 
 the horses away unbeknownst to him." 
 
 ]VIr Piper fell into the trap. 
 
 He rose from the table, used the back of his 
 hand as a serviette, strolled to the kitchen door 
 and contemplated the evening. The sky was 
 cloudless and a full moon was rising over the hills. 
 From the stables came occasionally the stamping 
 of horse-hoofs. He strolled round to the yard, 
 where he met Moriarty, who was Hghting a stable 
 lantern. 
 
 " Fine evening," said Mr Piper. 
 
 " Fine which? " 
 
 " Evening." 
 
 " Oh, faith, it's fine enough. Andy, where 
 were your blitherin' skyhghts when you stuck 
 this wick in the stable lanthern? " 
 
 He got it ahght and closed it; then he swung 
 off with it, followed by Andy, and the pair dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 " Done 'em that time," said the bailiff to him- 
 seK. " I doubt but it will be a question of me 
 sitting -up all night and sleeping in the day." 
 
 He made a tour of the premises; he left them 
 and took a walk on the road dov/n below, enjoying 
 the beauty of the evening. An hour and a half 
 later found him again in the stable-yard. 
 
314 GARRYOWEN 
 
 It had just gone ten and Mr Piper had scarcely 
 entered the yard than Moriarty, with the lantern 
 in his hand, appeared. 
 
 " Why, I thought you were a-bed," said Moriarty. 
 " Are you frightened the horses will fly away wid 
 thimselves, or what is it that ails you? " 
 
 " My duty is my duty and yours is yours," 
 repUed the baihff. " We'll keep 'em apart, if you 
 please, and so be better friends." 
 
 *' Friends! " said Moriarty, with a horrible leer 
 on his face. " Sure, that's what I'm wishin' to 
 be, only you're so cowld. Come here wid me now," 
 said Moriarty, taking the other's arm and leading 
 him towards the loose-box next The Cat's, " and 
 I'll show you me intintions. Maybe it's the likin' 
 I've taken for you, or maybe it's just the stringth 
 of your arguments, but you've converted me to 
 the sociality bizness and I'm goin' to share and 
 share alike wid you." 
 
 He opened the loose-box door, and there in the 
 darkness stood Andy, like a horrible gnome. 
 
 " W^hy, what are you doin' here, Andy? " asked 
 Moriarty, with an undercurrent of jocularity in 
 his tone that struck Mr Piper as being out of place 
 and allied to the sinister. 
 
 " I? " said Andy. " Nothin'." 
 
 " I've brought a friend wid me," said Moriarty, 
 speaking as though Piper were an absolute stranger 
 to Andy. " He's comin' into the loose-box wid 
 us to help me drink his health." 
 
 " Thank you," said Piper, " I never drink." 
 
BON GRE— MAL GRE 315 
 
 He took a step backwards, but Moriarty's 
 hand fell on his arm. 
 
 " Just for wanst, now," said Moriarty, in the 
 tone of sweet persuasion that a boon companion 
 uses to a boon companion. " Just for wanst.' ^ 
 
 " Thank you, I never drink," said Piper, with 
 a rising inflexion that did not improve his voice. 
 " And I'd thank you to release my arm." 
 
 " Come on, Andy," said Moriarty, " and help 
 me to persuade IVIisther Piper to jine us. Now, 
 then, come quiet. That's it. Sure, I knew you'd 
 Usten to raison." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, who had retired early, was just 
 in the act of undressing when voices from the stable- 
 yard outside her window made her raise the slats 
 of her bhnd and peep out. 
 
 By the full moonlight she saw Moriarty and 
 Andy at the loose-box door. Piper was between 
 them. Moriarty was gently persuading him from 
 behind, applying the vis a tergo; the vis a fronte 
 was supphed by Andy, who had fast hold of the 
 baiUff 's left arm. She could not help remembering 
 the sheep which she had seen one night, not so 
 very long ago, haled into the same loose-box, 
 Moriarty pushing it behind, Andy assisting its 
 movements from in front. 
 
 The loose-box door closed on Moriarty and his 
 victim, just as it had closed on the sheep. Miss 
 Grimshaw, half-horrified, hah-amused, filled half 
 with curiosity, hah with alarm, waited for sounds 
 to tell of what w?vS going forward; but no sound 
 
3i6 GARRYOWEN 
 
 came and nothing spoke of tragedy save the gleam 
 from the lantern, a topaz pencil of light that 
 shone through the latch hole of the door and 
 dissolved in the moonlight of the ya^rd. 
 
 " Put your fut agin the door, Andy," said 
 Moriarty, when Piper, knowing himself in a trap, 
 and knowing the uselessness of calHng out or 
 resisting, was safely inside the loose-box. 
 
 He hung the lantern on a hook, and then, point- 
 ing to three buckets that stood upside down close 
 to the heap of straw in the corner : 
 
 " Take a sate," said Moriarty. 
 
 Piper took a seat on the end bucket near the 
 door. 
 
 " Not that wan," said Moriarty. " The middle 
 wan; then Andy and I'll be able to sit on either 
 side of you, and the bottle'll pass more convanient.' 
 
 He produced a bottle, a jug and a glass. It 
 was a bottle of Copper's " Old Highland Mountain 
 Dew." Andy had fetched it from the inn at 
 Crowsnest. This old Highland Mountain Dew 
 was a fine old-fashioned, fusel-oil-tinctured fighting 
 spirit. In any properly-constituted community 
 the man who distilled and sold it would be exe- 
 cuted, instead of raised to the peerage as Copper 
 was the other day. It is this stuff that makes 
 murders down at the docks, wrecks little homes 
 in Hackney, casts men on the streets and ships 
 on the rocks, and souls on Perdition. 
 
 " Look here," said Mr Piper, when he saw these 
 preparations for conviviaHty, " I don't know 
 
BON GRE— MAL GRE 317 
 
 what game you're up to, but I give you 
 warning — " 
 
 " Sit down wid you," said Moriarty, pressing 
 him down on the middle bucket and taking his 
 seat on the bucket to the right, whilst Andy took 
 his seat on the bucket to the left. " Sit down 
 wid you and Hsten to raison. Here's a glass of 
 good whisky-and-wather, and here's a toast I'm 
 goin' to give you, and that's ' Good luck to 
 Garryowen! '" He swallowed the contents of 
 the glass, wiped his mouth, re-filled the glass and 
 passed it to Andy. 
 
 " Good luck to Garryowen! " said Andy, drink- 
 ing it off and handing the empty glass back to 
 Moriarty, who re-filled it and held it towards Piper. 
 
 "No, thank you," said that gentleman. 
 
 " Dhrink it off," commanded Moriarty, " and 
 wish good luck to Garryowen. Sure, it's a glass 
 of good whisky never did man or woman harm yet. 
 Off wid it," continued Moriarty, in the tone of 
 a person inciting a child to take a dose of medicine. 
 " And it's a different man it will make of you." 
 
 "I tell you I don't drink," replied the uncon- 
 vivial one. " If you choose to make beasts of 
 yourselves, do so. / don't." 
 
 " Listen to him, Andy," cried Moriarty, digging 
 Pij)er in the ribs till he knocked against the jockey. 
 
 " Whose you joggHn' aginst? " cried Andy, 
 returning the dig till Piper was nearly in the arms 
 of I^floriarty. 
 
 Mr Piper tried to rise, but his legs were twitched 
 
3i8 GARRYOWEN 
 
 from under him by Moriarty and down he sat on 
 the bucket again with a bang. 
 
 " You'll be breakin' the buckets next," said 
 Moriarty. " Why can't you sit aisy? " 
 
 " I see your gime," cried the baihfp. 
 
 " Faith, then, you can feel it too," cried 
 Moriarty, and next moment Mr Piper was on his 
 back on the truss of already prepared straw, with 
 Moriarty kneeling on his arms. 
 
 '' Now thin, Andy," said the master of the 
 ceremonies. " Fetch me the funnel, and the bottle 
 and the glass, and I'll drinch him." 
 
 Andy fetched a small funnel which he had pro- 
 cured from Mrs Driscoll, and Piper, who had tried 
 to shout, kept silent by reason of fear of Moriarty's 
 thumb, which was applied to his thjrroid cartilage. 
 
 " Mix a glass of grog and not too strong," com- 
 manded Moriarty. " That's right. Now, thin, 
 open your teeth, you omadhaun, and if you let 
 a sound out of you I'll scrag you. It's not for me 
 own pleasure I'm wastin' good drink on you, but 
 to save the masther. Stand betune him and his 
 fortune, would you? You owl of the divil, wid 
 your sociahty and your jaw about aiquil rights! 
 It's aiquil rights I'm givin' you in me bottle of 
 whisky. Down wid it, and if you let a sound out 
 of you, I'll throttle you." 
 
 Whilst Moriarty held the funnel between the 
 patient's teeth and induced him to swallow, Andy 
 gently poured. 
 
 With the skill of an expert chloroformist 
 
BON GRE— MAL GRE 319 
 
 Moriarty held his hand. He knew his patient's 
 constitution and he knew the strength of the 
 medicine. Helpless intoxication was not his 
 object; his game was deeper than that. 
 
 In the middle of the third glass the victim began 
 to show signs of merriment. Real merriment. 
 All his anger had vanished. Strange to say, he 
 still resisted, tossing his head from side to side as 
 much as he was able, but all the time he was laugh- 
 ing as though he were being tickled. 
 
 " He's comin' up to scratch," said Moriarty. 
 " Aisy does it. Let him be for a minit, for we 
 have to reckon on the cowld night air, and I want 
 him to keep his pins. Well, Mr Piper, and how 
 are you feelin' now? " 
 
 " Whatsh your name? " cried Piper, sudden 
 anger seizing him. "I'll give you shome thing. 
 Come on! " He struck out with his foot and sent 
 Andy flying, bottle, glass and all. Next second, 
 his legs now released, he landed Moriarty a kick 
 in the face that would have stunned an ordinary 
 man. 
 
 " Come on! " cried Piper, wildly laughing, still 
 on his back and striking out with his feet. " Come 
 on! One down, t'other on." 
 
 " He's proper and fit now," said Moriarty, 
 his face streaming with gore, but seemingly utterly 
 obhvious of the fact. " Come on and we'll run 
 him down to the p'leece-office before the fight's 
 out of him." 
 
 lie rushed in on the resisting one, got another 
 
320 GARRYOWEN 
 
 kick — this time in the stomach — and, seizing the 
 maniac by the collar of his coat, got him on his 
 legs, using him as gently as though he were dealing 
 with a refractory child. Another man, had he 
 received the kicks that Moriarty had received, 
 would have paid them back in ill-treatment; but 
 Moriarty never lost his temper, and it was a rule 
 of honour with him that a drunken man should 
 be treated with all possible tenderness and con- 
 sideration. He would just as soon have struck 
 a priest, a woman or a child as a man in Hquor. 
 
 Once on his legs all fight seemed to die out of 
 Mr Piper. Wild hilarity and attempts at song 
 took the place of belHcosity. Bad language also 
 came to the surface and found expression. 
 
 " He'll do," said Moriarty. " He'll do. Andy, 
 clip hold of his other arm. Now then, open the 
 door and down to the village with him. The thing 
 that's thrubbhn' me is he's gone under so quick 
 that maybe he's only shamming." 
 
 " Faith," said Andy, " I know why he's gone 
 undher so quick. It's be raison of me givin' him 
 the second glass nate. I forgot to put the wather 
 in it." 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, who had been unable to tear 
 herseK av/ay from the window, had increased her 
 powers of observation by opening the sash. She 
 heard Moriarty's voice, and the voices of the 
 others. What they could be doing to the bailiff 
 was quite beyond her power of imagination to 
 discover. 
 
BON GRE-MAL GRE 321 
 
 Then, as time passed on, she heard laughter. 
 Piper was laughing. She knew the voices of the 
 two others too w^ell to make a mistake. Such 
 long-continued laughter she had never heard 
 before. Then the laughter ceased and she heard 
 the baihff's voice crying to the others to come on. 
 After this came more laughter and snatches of song. 
 
 Greatly wondering, she waited and watched till, 
 the door of the loose-box bursting open, Andy and 
 Moriarty emerged, supporting a drunken man 
 between them. 
 
 Then she understood, in part. 
 
 Fortunately for her ciuriosity she had not 
 undressed and, catching up a shawl, she wrapped 
 her head in it, left the room and crossed the hall 
 to the sitting-room, where Mr French and Mr 
 Dashwood, who had not yet gone to bed, were 
 sitting smoking. 
 
 " I've found out Moriarty's plan," said Miss 
 Grimshaw. " Come out on the verandah and I'll 
 show you something. But don't make a noise." 
 
 She opened the window on to the verandah and 
 the others followed her. 
 
 The baiHff and his supporters were now on the 
 downhill path to the road, they and their shadows 
 very visible in the moonUght. 
 
 "Look!" said the girl. "He's the middle 
 one." 
 
 " Why, he's drunk! " said Mr Dashwood. 
 
 "Mad drunk," said French. "This is 
 Moriarty's work. Will you look at him, and 
 
322 GARRYOWEN 
 
 they pulling him along! And he a teetotaller! 
 How on earth did Moriarty do it? " 
 
 " I heard them in the yard," said the girl. 
 " They dragged him into the loose- box next to 
 the one The Cat's in and shut the door. After 
 a while I heard him laughing and singing — and 
 now look at him! " 
 
 " After them," said Mr Dashwood, " and let's 
 see what they'll do with him." 
 
 He led the way down hill. When they reached 
 the road the others were a couple of hundred 
 yards ahead. The wind blowing from them 
 brought the songs and shouting of the convivial 
 one, on whom, now, the extra stimulus of the cold 
 night air was acting. 
 
 "I've seen a good many drunken men," said 
 French, " but, begad! this fellow takes the cake. 
 Look, he's trying to fight now ! Now they've got 
 him between them again. Come on and let's 
 see what Moriarty is going to do with him." 
 
 They followed up hill to the village street. 
 Here in the moonlight, before the highly-respectable 
 cottage bearing the tin sign inscribed, " County 
 Police," the trio stopped, Moriarty chnging to 
 his charge whilst Andy rang the bell. 
 
 Mr Boiler, the Crowsnest constable, had not yet 
 started on his night rounds. He was drinking 
 a cup of coffee in the bedroom upstairs when the 
 summons came. Opening the window, he put 
 his head out. 
 
 " Wbo's there? " asked the constable. 
 
BON GRE— MAL GRE 323 
 
 " Dhrunken man," said Moriarty from the road. 
 " I've got him here. He called at The Martens 
 dead dhrunk and 'saulted me. Look at me face. 
 Come down wid you and gaol him, or he'll tear the 
 village to pieces, bad luck to him! " 
 
 " One minute," said Mr Boiler, " and I'll attend 
 to his business for him." 
 
 Next moment he was in the street, where 
 Moriarty, with a deft touch on the adductor 
 tendons, had deposited ^Ir Piper on his back. 
 
 "Now then, now then! what's all this?" 
 asked the constable, approaching the disciple of 
 La Savate. 
 
 The kick on the knee-cap which he received as 
 a reply made him assume the attitude of a medi- 
 tative stork for some seconds. Then he closed 
 with his prey. 
 
 " If you ax me what's best to be done, sir," 
 said Moriarty, later in the night, as he stood in 
 the sitting-room after being compHmented on his 
 work, "I'd have Mr Dashwood go over to Holl- 
 borough in the morning, when this chap will be 
 had before the magistrate, and pay the fine — 
 it'll be a matter of two pounds sure. Boiler tould 
 me — and fetch Piper back here, and tell him to 
 sit aisy and the horse wiU be back afther the race. 
 You see, sorr, we've got the weather gauge on the 
 chap now. If the men that employ him knew 
 he'd been drunk and gaoled he'd lose his job. 
 We'll keep it dark for him if he'll keep it dark 
 
324 GARRYOWEN 
 
 about the horse. It's not a pHsint job for Mr 
 Dashwood to go payin' the fines for dhrunken men, 
 but, sure, it's all in the game. And if you plaze, 
 sorr, I'm thinkin' it wouldn't be a bad thing if you 
 was to sit down and write a letther to Mr Lewis, 
 telKn' him the baihff was here in possession and 
 that the money would be paid in a day or two. 
 That would keep him aisy, and it would make it 
 more natural like if you was to let a Uttle abuse 
 into it and say you'd been very hardly thrated. 
 
 " No, sorr, I won't go to bed to-night. I'll 
 just sit up wid the horse. Everything's ready 
 now for getting him in the thrain to-morrow 
 mornin'. Thank you, sorr; just half a glass. 
 And here's good luck to Garry owen! " 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 MR WELSH 
 
 Mr Giveen, on his enlargement, had returned 
 hot-foot to London. The chicken-higgler's cart 
 that had given him a lift on the road had deposited 
 him at Blankmoor station, where he had managed 
 to get the last train up to town. 
 
 Too confused and shaken up with his adventures 
 to do anything that night he had repaired to 
 Swan's Temperance Hotel in the Strand, 
 where his luggage was, told his tale to the land- 
 lady, received her commiserations, and gone to 
 bed. 
 
 Next morning at ten o'clock he appeared at 
 the office of Mr Lewis in Craven Street. 
 
 " Is Mr Lewis in? " asked Giveen. 
 
 " What name, please? " asked the clerk. 
 
 " Just tell him a gentleman from Ireland wants 
 to see him," repHed Giveen. " Tell him it's on 
 important business about Mr French. He'll 
 know." 
 
 A moment later he found himself in the inner 
 office, before a desk table, at which an elderly 
 gentleman with grey whiskers was opening his 
 morning letters. 
 
 " Mr Lewis? " said Mr Giveen. 
 325 
 
326 GARRYOWEN 
 
 Lewis bowed. 
 
 " I've come to you about a matter of importance," 
 said Giveen. " You sent a man over to Ireland 
 to seize the goods of a relation of mine — Michael 
 French of Drumgool House." 
 
 " I did not," said Lewis. " My agent in Dublin 
 moved in the matter." 
 
 " Well, sure it's all one and the same thing. 
 French had skedaddled. He's taken his horses 
 away, and you don't know his address. Come, 
 now, isn't that the truth? " 
 
 " Yes, it is. By any chance, do you know his 
 address? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Then," said Mr Lewis, " I must ask you for 
 it." 
 
 " Oh, must you, faith? And how are you to 
 make me teU you? See here, now — a bargain is 
 a bargain, and I'll sell you it for a fiver." 
 
 Half-an-hour later he left the office of Mr Lewis 
 with the promise of a five-pound note should his 
 information prove correct, and the satisfaction 
 of having revenged himself on his kinsman. 
 
 He turned into O'Shee's in the Strand. Though 
 he only drank ginger-beer and soda-water he 
 frequented O'Shee's, finding there compatriots 
 whom he could bore with his conversation. 
 
 He had arranged to return to Ireland on the 
 sixteenth, and on the fourteenth, the night before 
 the City and Suburban, wandering into O'Shee's, 
 he fell into conversation with an affable gentleman 
 
MR WELSH 327 
 
 adorned with rings, whose name, given in the 
 first few moments of conversation, was Paddy 
 Welsh. 
 
 " So you're off to the ould country on Thursday? " 
 said Mr Welsh. " And what are you doin' 
 to-morrow? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Mr Giveen. 
 
 " WeU, then," said Mr Welsh, " you're just the 
 boy afther me own heart, and I'll give you a thrate 
 you'll remember to your dyin' day." 
 
 " And what's that? " asked the other. 
 
 " I'll take you down to the City and Suburban 
 wid me, and give you a dinner and do you fine. 
 Whisht now, and don't be telHn' anyone! Do 
 you know what me thrade is? Well, I'm a book- 
 maker. You'll see me ma-ke maybe two hundred 
 pounds to-morrow. I'm not wan of the big 
 bookies; I just dale wid the ordinary men; 
 ha'ff-crowns and five-shillin's is what I mostly 
 take. Whisht now! and listen to me, and I'll 
 tell you what you can do. Faith, it's an idea that 
 has just struck me. Would you like to earn a 
 ten-pound note? " 
 
 " Faith, wouldn't I? " 
 
 " Well, you can come down and act as me 
 friend. Now, Hsten to me. We'll take our stand, 
 meseK on a tub and you beside me. I'll take the 
 bets, and you'll see the five-shiUin's and ha'ff- 
 crowns pourin' in; then, when the race is begun, 
 I'll lave you to mind the tub whilst I run round to 
 see the clerk of the coui'se." 
 
328 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " And what will you want to see him 
 for? " 
 
 " Whisht now," said Mr Welsh, " and I'll tell 
 you. But you must swear never to spHt." 
 
 " Oh, you may be easy on that." 
 
 " Well, him and me is hand-in-glove. He 
 lets me into all the saycrits, and I give him ha'ff 
 profits on the winnin's. I'll tell him how me 
 bets he, d'you see? And afther the race, when 
 the jockeys come to be weighed in, he'll kibosh 
 the weights so that the horse that wins will be 
 disquahfied, if it suits me book. You tould me 
 you knew nothin' of racin's, so I can't 'xplain the 
 inthricacies of the thing to you, bub that's how 
 it Hes. Then I'll come back to the tub to find you, 
 and you and me will go and have a good dinner, 
 and there'll be a ten-pound note for you." 
 
 " There's nothing iigainst the law in all that, 
 is there? " asked the cautious Mr Giveen. 
 
 " Law! Of course there's not, for you and me. 
 If the clerk of the course chooses to earn an honest 
 penny by doin' what he chooses, it's his lookout; 
 no one can touch him, either, but the Jockey Club, 
 and they daren't sa}^ a word, for they^re all in it. 
 Why, man alive, what's the Jockey Club for but 
 to jockey the public out of their money? Afther 
 every big race they hold a meetin' and divide the 
 profits; as much as a hundred thousand some- 
 times is spHt up between them, the blackguyards ! 
 Where did you say you was stayin'? Swan's 
 Temp'rance Hotel? Well, I'll tell you what I'll 
 
MR WELSH 329 
 
 do. I'll call for you in the morrdn' and take you 
 with me. I'll pay the thrain, for you needn't 
 bother a bit about money when you are along 
 with me." 
 
 " Eight," said m Giveen. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 
 
 The City and Suburban morning broke fine; one 
 of those April mornings fresh and sweet as Spring 
 herseK. Mr French, staying with Major Lawson 
 at Badminton House, just outside Epsom, had 
 awakened from a night of dreams, feeling pretty 
 much as a man may be supposed to feel who 
 expects the hangman as an after-breakfast visitor. 
 
 He awoke from sleep with the dead certainty of 
 failure upon him. Months and months of anxiety 
 had passed, obstacle after obstacle had been 
 overcome ; the last obstacle was now before him — 
 The Race. That, he felt, was insurmountable, 
 and for no special reason. Garryowen had arrived 
 safe at Lawson's stables; the horse was in the 
 pink of condition; Andy was fit and well; the 
 favourite had been scratched two days before; 
 several good horses had been scratched; the 
 betting-Hst had altered considerably since we 
 referred to it last, and Wheel of Fortune was now 
 favourite. White Moth second. These new con- 
 ditions were not unfavourable to the Irish horse; 
 all the same, the sense of coming disaster weighed 
 on French. 
 
 Before breakfast he visited the stables with 
 330 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 331 
 
 Lawson, who had nothing running in the race and 
 who was therefore free to admire with an un- 
 jaundiced eye the excellences of Garry o wen. 
 Andy had been taken over the course the day 
 before and had studied its peculiarities, receiving 
 sage advice from Lawson and his master, all of 
 which he hstened to with an appearance of respect, 
 but which was scarcely of much profit to him, as 
 his keen eye and judgment could give him, unaided, 
 the ins and outs of any racing track almost as 
 well as the oldest user and frequenter of it. 
 
 After breakfast Mr French went out to smoke 
 a cigar and think things over; Lawson, seeing 
 the nervousness and agitation of his friend, had 
 promised to look after everything and act as 
 second in this duel with Fortune. 
 
 The downs even now showed an animated 
 appearance. A few hours more and the great 
 race trains would pour their thousands upon 
 thousands to swell the throng. Gipsies and 
 tramps, pick-pockets, all sorts of undesirables, had 
 camped on the downs or tramped from London ; 
 cocoanut shies were going up, costers' barrows 
 arriving, and ginger-beer stalls materiaUsing 
 themselves. Just outside the house Mr French 
 met Moriarty. 
 
 " The horse is all right, Moriarty? " asked 
 French. 
 
 "Yes, sorr; right as rain and fresh as paint. 
 You needn't be unaisy, sorr ; barrin' the visitation 
 of God, he'U win:' 
 
332 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " If he does," said French, " I'll win sixty-five 
 thousand pounds, and if he doesn't, begad, I'm 
 beggared." 
 
 " He's nothing to fear, sorr, but Wheel of Fortune. 
 I've been lookin' and Hstenin' and talkin' ever 
 since I came down, and it's my opinion there's 
 nuthin' here to give its heels to Garryowen; and 
 if you'll let me give you a bit of advice, sorr, 
 it's this: go for a walk, and don't bother your 
 head about the matter. Major Lawson is lookin' 
 afther every thin', and me and Andy will pull 
 everj^hin' through." 
 
 "I know, I know," said French. "You'll 
 do everything you can. Well, there's no use 
 worrying. I'll do what you say." 
 
 He took Moriarty's horny hand and shook it. 
 Then, turning, he walked off over the downs. 
 
 It was twenty minutes or so before the race. 
 A hundred thousand people lined the course and 
 filled the air with the hum of a British crowd on 
 a race day, which is different from the sound 
 emitted by any other crowd on earth. 
 
 Mr French, whose nervous agitation had 
 utterly vanished, was entering the paddock when 
 someone touched his arm. It was Bobby Dash- 
 wood. 
 
 "Hullo," said French, "Good. When did 
 you arrive? " 
 
 " Last train," said Mr Dashwood. " I say, it's 
 aU right. I paid that chap's fine and lugged him 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN S2,3 
 
 back to The Martens, and he's there now, as peace- 
 able as pie, waiting for the horse to come back." 
 
 " My God, Dashwood," said French, " inside 
 this hour I'll be either a rich man or broke to the 
 world, and I feel just as cool as if I hadn't a penny 
 on the race. Funny that, isn't it? " 
 
 " Not a bit," said Bobby. " I always feel that 
 way myself when it comes to the scratch. By 
 Jove ! there's Garryowen, and isn't he looking fit ! " 
 
 " Don't let us go near him," said French. 
 " We've got him here, but I feel if I go near him my 
 bad luck may stick on him. Come into the ring." 
 
 He led the way to the ring, followed by Dash- 
 wood. Lawson was just leaving the ring. " It's 
 twenty-five to one on Garryowen now," said he. 
 " They've sniffed him, and, begad, I wouldn't 
 wonder if he started ten to one. You can't 
 grumble, French; you're having a run for your 
 money. Sixty-five to one you told me you got 
 on at. I've just put seven hundred on at twenty- 
 five, so that's my opinion of Garryowen. Now 
 stick here and don't bother. I'm going to have a 
 word with your trainer. Leave everything to 
 me and him, and stick here — but don't put any 
 more on; you mustn't pull down your average." 
 
 " Right," said French, and Lawson left him. 
 
 '* I haven't any average to pull down," said Mr 
 Dashwood. ' ' Haven' fc a penny on ; but I captured 
 twenty pounds yesterday, and here goes." He 
 approached Sam Collins, a book-maker beknownst 
 to him, and, lo and behold! Garryowen's price 
 
334 GARRYOWEN 
 
 was now fifteen to one, and at that he put his 
 twenty pounds on. 
 
 " Three hundred will be useful," said Mr 
 Dashwood. *' Gad, I wish I'd been here sooner 
 and I might have got on at twenty-five to one. 
 However, there's no use in grumbhng. Look! 
 there's the numbers going up ! " 
 
 French watched the numbers going up. 
 
 " Sixteen runners," said Dashwood. 
 
 " Ay, ay," repHed French. *' Sixteen it is." 
 
 " Garry owen is number seven," said Dashwood. 
 
 "Look! "said French. 
 
 The horses were leaving the paddock. Wheel 
 of Fortune was first out — a bad omen, according 
 to racing men; after Wheel of Fortune came 
 WHiite Moth, Royal George, Satiety and 
 Garryowen. They were a beautiful picture in 
 the bright April sunlight. 
 
 " It's Wheel of Fortune or Garryowen," said 
 Dashwood, who was half-mad with excitement. 
 " French, I'd put my last penny on Garryowen, 
 but the Wheel's a wonder. AinH they beauties, 
 the pair of them! Make the rest look like 
 dowagers." 
 
 French contemplated his horse as it galloped 
 up the course following Wheel of Fortune. He 
 could not but admire the favourite, but at the 
 moment Garryowen dominated his every thought, 
 and the extraordinary thing was, he had almost 
 forgotten money in connection with the race; a 
 mad longing to win for the sake of winning 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 335 
 
 possessed his whole soul. It pleased him 
 Garryowen was so well matched. To beat Wheel 
 of Fortune would be a triumph. 
 
 And now that adjustment of prices which 
 always takes place just before starting was 
 evidenced in the price of Garryowen. " Listen! " 
 cried Dashwood. " The price has gone to ten to 
 one. Listen! " The roar of the ring flared up, 
 the horses were now at the starting-post, cara- 
 coHng and curveting. French saw Andy's black- 
 and-yeUow jacket and the purple-and- white 
 of Lofts on Wheel of Fortune. Would the flag 
 never fall! A false start — another false start — 
 and they were off. The purple jacket of White 
 Moth was to the fore; three full lengths after 
 White Moth came Satiety and Garryowen. 
 Garryowen was going as a cloud shadow goes, 
 sweepingly and without effort; with him, and 
 drawing shghtly ahead, went Wheel of Fortune. 
 
 They were racing along the rise now. Satiety 
 had drawn well to the fore, and now, of a sudden, 
 with kaleidoscopic swiftness and effect, the field 
 had changed, and Satiety was no longer to the 
 fore. White Moth had fallen away, the field was 
 fanning out, AVheel of Fortune and Garryowen 
 were lea.ding. Dr agon-Fly, a rank outsider, had 
 drawn up to Garryowen, and the whole moving 
 cloud of horses were making for Tattenham 
 Corner, the Cape Horn of luck, where so many a 
 fortune has been wrecked. Wheel of Fortune 
 was going superbly, and as they drew on the 
 
336 GARRYOWEN 
 
 corner a roar like the roar of a sea surged up and 
 down the course; as they swept round the bend 
 Garryowen was close on the rails, Dragon-Fly 
 had drawn wide and was losing ground, Satiety 
 was moving up as though pushed by some unseen 
 finger, and as they swept down the hill only some 
 six horses were left with a chance. 
 
 Down the hill the pace v/as tremendous, heart- 
 catching, subHme, if speed can have sublimity. 
 Wheel of Fortune, haK-way down, shot forward, 
 and again the roar like the roar of a tormented 
 sea burst out and rushed up the course, a wave of 
 sound, and died away and rose again. 
 
 "Look! Look!" cried Dashwood, with his 
 eyes glued to his glasses. The horses had reached 
 the bottom of the hill. Satiety had fallen back; 
 the struggle was now between Garryowen and 
 Wheel of Fortune. Wheel of Fortune was a length 
 ahead and the distance was shortening. 
 
 Shortening, shortening. 
 
 " They're running neck-and-neck," yelled Dash- 
 wood. "Look! they're nearly on the judges' 
 box. Look! He'll win! Garryowen for ever! " 
 
 " You can't tell," cried French. " You can't 
 tell from here. It's a deceiving course. But I 
 beheve he will. Garryowen for ever! " 
 
 On the hill, away down the course, from Tatter- 
 sail's ring — itself a little hell of sound — now rose 
 an outburst; one long, never-ceasing roar. A 
 snow of waving handkerchiefs made the stands 
 look as if beset by a milUon white butterflies. 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 337 
 
 "Wheel of Fortune wins! Wheel of Fortune 
 wins! " 
 
 Flash ! — ^they are past the winning-post and the 
 race is ended. 
 
 " Look! Look! " cried Dash wood. 
 
 Impossible to tell the winner from the ring. 
 Till the number went up the two men stood, eyes 
 fixed on the man at the board. 
 
 "Seven!" cried French as the number went 
 up, and in the voice of a person who sees what he 
 cannot believe. 
 
 Mr Giveen and his new-found friend, Mr 
 Welsh, arrived at Epsom by an early train and 
 took up a position near the ring. Giveen was 
 quite unconscious that his kiasman French 
 had entered Garryowen for the City and Sub- 
 urban. He knew that the horse had been 
 destined to run in some race, but he knew as 
 little about race meetings as bazaars, and he 
 never even glanced at the race-card which !Mr 
 Welsh gave him. He was entirely taken up by 
 the crowd and haK addled by the noise around 
 him. 
 
 Mr Welsh had been joined at the station by a 
 very evil and flashy-looking individual who frankly 
 called himseK Lazarus, perhaps because it would 
 have been a waste of time and energy to have 
 called himself anything else; and Mr Welsh, 
 having introduced Mr Lazarus to Mr Giveen, the 
 trio proceeded to the course. 
 
338 GAKRYOWEN 
 
 Here Mr Welsh, who was dressed for the occasion 
 in the most amazing check suit that ever left 
 Petticoat Lane, took his stand on a tub provided 
 by Mr Lazarus and proceeded to address the 
 crowd in a language that was Greek to Mr Giveen. 
 But the effect of Mr Welsh's words was quite 
 understandable to him. Individuals came for- 
 ward, one after another, talked more Greek to 
 Paddy Welsh, received coloured tickets from Mr 
 Lazarus, and handed him money which he de- 
 posited in a bag by his side. 
 
 As time wore on and the moment of starting 
 drew near Mr Welsh, on the tub, became less a man 
 than a volcano emitting sound instead of lava, and 
 the more Mr Welsh shouted the more individuals 
 were sucked towards him and the more money 
 poured into the bag of the perspiring Lazarus. 
 
 All at once the crowd surged away. A shout 
 filled the air, " They're off! " and Mr Welsh jumped 
 from his perch. 
 
 " Now," said Mr Welsh, " I'm off wid me friend 
 Lazarus to see the clerk of the course. Here's 
 the bagful of money for you to keep, and mind, we 
 thrust you. We'll be back in two minits. You 
 just stick here and wait for us." 
 
 Next moment he and the Israelite had vanished, 
 leaving the luckless Giveen, bag in hand, standing 
 by the tub. 
 
 " They're off ! " These words often include in 
 their meaning bipeds as well as quadrupeds on 
 City and Suburban day. 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 339 
 
 Giveen, with the bag in his hand, was torn by 
 conflicting emotions. Suppose Paddy Welsh and 
 Mr Lazarus could not find him again because of the 
 crowd? Then what would he do with the money 
 in the bag? Faith, what else but take it back to 
 London; and as he was off to Ireland next day, 
 what else could he do but take the bag with him? 
 
 His mind played with Cupidity and Theft as a 
 puppy plays with its mates. He would not steal 
 the money, but he would stick to it if the others, 
 by any chance, missed him. And he determined 
 to give them every chance of so doing. He would 
 wait a decent time, say two or three minutes, after 
 the race was over, and then wander back to the 
 station. Besides, there was ten pounds due to him . 
 Paddy had promised him ten pounds anyway. 
 
 Engaged in these thoughts, he scarcely heard 
 the shouting around him as the horses were sweep- 
 ing round Tattenham Corner. 
 
 The desire to look at the money in the bag now 
 came on him irresistibly, and opening the clasp 
 he peeped in. 
 
 Pebbles and pieces of brick met his gaze and 
 confounded him. 
 
 What on earth did it mean? Then he guessed. 
 He had been done ! 
 
 Paddy and Mr Lazarus had levanted with the 
 money. They must have had two bags and sub- 
 stituted this one. Withered leaves and desola- 
 tion! He would never get his ten pounds now. 
 That was why they had bolted. Instead of flinging 
 
340 GARRYOWEN 
 
 the accursed bag away and bolting himself, the 
 unfortunate man, who knew nothing of welshers 
 and his own abominable position, slung the bag 
 over his shoulder by its long strap and, to complete 
 the business, mounted on the tub. From this 
 position he scanned the crowd eagerly, looking for 
 the defaulters. 
 
 He did not see them. He saw a wide expanse 
 of ape-hke and fatuous faces; every face was 
 unadorned by a wide-open mouth, and every 
 mouth was yelling; 
 
 " Wheel of Fortune ! Wheel of Fortune! " 
 
 Ten thousand voices made the sky ring with the 
 shout. Garryowen, leading by a neck, was passing 
 the winning-post, but the crowd, deceived by the 
 course and their own desire, fancied still the 
 favourite was the winner. 
 
 At the result the shouts were not so triumphant. 
 " Garryowen 1. 
 Wheel of Fortune 2. 
 Satiety 3." 
 
 " Here you are. Ten shiUings. I backed The 
 Wheel for a place two to one." 
 
 " What are you saying? " said Mr Giveen, tear- 
 ing his eyes from the course and looking down 
 at a youth with a weak mouth, a bowler hat and a 
 screaming check suit, who was holding a pink card 
 in his hand and addressing him. 
 
 " I want my money." 
 
 " I haven't got your money. I'm lookin' for 
 a big man with a red face and 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 341 
 
 " Here you are. Fifteen bob. Satiety for a 
 place." 
 
 " Here you are. Forty-five half-crowns for 
 Garry owen — " 
 
 "Go to blazes with you! " shouted Mr Giveen 
 to the ring of individuals surrounding his tub and 
 demanding their money. " Who are you taking 
 me for? " 
 
 " He's got the bag," shouted one voice. 
 
 "He was with the other chaps," shouted 
 another. 
 
 " Welsher! " cried a third, and at the last cry 
 Mr Giveen was off his tub and being hustled. The 
 bag was plucked from him and opened. 
 
 Then the real business began, and where the 
 poHce came from it would be impossible to say, 
 but they were only in time to save Mr Giveen's 
 shirt and trousers. His coat and waistcoat and 
 hat had vanished utterly and Hke smoke when four 
 stalwart constables surrounded him and began 
 a fight for his life. Several other welshers in the 
 neighbourhood had done their business and got 
 clean away ; the crowd was in a nasty temper, for 
 they had lost over the favourite, and the gods, 
 with a certain poetic justice, had offered up 
 Giveen as a dripping roast to the fury of the 
 people. 
 
 " Pull him in pieces! " 
 
 " Duck him! " (There was not a pond within 
 miles.) 
 
 " Jump on him! " 
 
342 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " Down with the poHce! " 
 
 "Welsher!" 
 
 *' Look! " cried Dashwood. 
 
 French, half dehrious with delight, French, the 
 winner of a big fortune, to say nothing of the stakes 
 and the glory, was being led from the ring by Mr 
 Dashwood, when they came across a maelstrom 
 of howHng humanity, amidst which, like rocks, 
 stood forth the helmets of the constables. 
 
 " It's a welsher, poor devil," cried French. 
 " The poHce have him. Hi! I say — by G — d! 
 it's Giveen! " He had caught a ghmpse for a 
 moment of the face of his cousin. The next, he 
 was in amidst the throng, helping the poHce. 
 
 " Michael! " yelled the half -naked one. " Lend 
 us a hand or I'll be torn in bits. Musha! Ksten 
 to the devils— Help! " 
 
 Next moment French was knocked aside. 
 Fourteen constables had charged the crowd like 
 a wedge, and Giveen was surrounded and safe, and 
 being marched off to the lock-up. 
 
 " Did ever a man see a thing hke that! " cried 
 French. " After winning the race and all, to have 
 a disgrace like this fall on me! " 
 
 " Come on," said Dashwood. " You can go 
 to the poHce station after you have seen the horse. 
 The bounder is all right now. And serve him 
 jolly well right! It's some mistake. He'd never 
 have the brains to try to welsh people. Come 
 on." 
 
 Two hours later, Mr French, Major Lawson and 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 343 
 
 Mr Dashwood, having celebrated the victory in 
 champagne cup, drove up to the Epsom pohce 
 station. The Major made himseK known, and 
 obtained permission for Mr French to interview 
 his relative. 
 
 Mr Giveen was seated in a poHce cell with a 
 poHce blanket over his shoulders. 
 
 " Well, there you are! " said French. " And a 
 nice disgrace to me and the family ! What brought 
 you down here at all? Do you know what you'll 
 get for this? Six months, if you get an hour." 
 
 " Oh, glory be to God! " said Giveen. " Sure 
 I don't know what's been happening to me at all, 
 at all. What have I done that you should all be 
 going on at me like this? " 
 
 " What have you done? " cried French. " You've 
 betrayed me to Lewis, you scoundrel! That's 
 what you've done, sorrow mend you! You came 
 sneaking down to Crowsnest to get my address. 
 You're a bad, black-hearted beast, that's what 
 you are, and it's glad I am to think you'll spend 
 the next six months, or maybe the next year, 
 picking oakum or dancing on the tread-mill. 
 Come now and tell the whole truth. What have 
 you been doing? " 
 
 Urged to the tale, Mr Giveen told all about 
 Paddy Welsh and Mr Lazarus, French Hstening 
 and scarcely able to contain his merriment. 
 
 " Paddy Welsh! " said he. " Oh, faith! that 
 makes it worse and worse ! Oh, faith ! you've done 
 for yourself now, and it's maybe two years you'll 
 
344 GARRYOWEN 
 
 get. Now, listen to me and I'll give you a chance. 
 If you'll promise me to go back to Ireland by the 
 next train I'll talk to the magistrates to-morrow 
 morning, and I'll tell them you're my relation and 
 that you're a fool. You can tell them what you've 
 told me, and maybe, backed by my word, they'll 
 beUeve you. Do you understand me? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Will you go back to Ireland? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " And never interfere in my affairs again? " 
 
 " I'll take me oath to that." 
 
 " WeU, you'll have to stay here all night, for 
 they won't let you out till you've been before the 
 magistrates. There's no use in going on Hke that; 
 here you'U have to stay — and when you come 
 before the magistrates in the morning — " 
 
 " Sure, I'll pretend to be soft," said Mr Giveen. 
 
 " You needn't pretend at all," said Mr French. 
 
 He left the cell and heard with a deep satisfaction 
 the cell door close upon the prisoner ; then he drove 
 back to Badminton House with his companions. 
 
 Half-an-hour later Mr Dashwood drew him into 
 the smoking-room, which was deserted. 
 
 " I sent that wire to Miss Grimshaw," said Mr 
 Dashwood, " telhng her that Garryowen has won." 
 
 " That's right," said French. 
 
 *' Look here," said Mr Dashwood, " I'm just 
 going to write to her. We won't be able to get 
 back to The Martens till the day after to-morrow, 
 with this Giveen business on hand, so I'm going 
 
THE CITY AND SUBURBAN 345 
 
 to write to her and tell her straight out that— 
 that, well, as a matter of fact, that I want her to 
 marry me. I'm going to tell her that she knows 
 me now as well as ever she'll know me, and that 
 if she doesn't hke the business I'm game and 
 can take her answer and still be friends. We'll 
 all be friends, whatever happens, she and I and 
 you; but I think it's best to make the position 
 clear as soon as possible, for we can't go on like 
 this. And a letter is the best way to do it." 
 
 " You're right," said French. " Faith, the horse 
 has nearly driven everything else out of my mind. 
 It's a queer business the way that girl came to 
 my house and saved my fortune. I tell you 
 straight, she put the come'ither on me so that I'd 
 foUow her through the black bog itseK, if she 
 beckoned me, with both eyes shut. She's a jewel, 
 begad! she's a jewel. Look, now, at what she's 
 done for me: saved and scraped, put me on an 
 allowance of pocket-money — she did that — kept 
 the house together ; and it was she put the idea of 
 taking the horse away from Drumgool into my head. 
 Then again, only for her you would never have 
 come about the place, and what have you done? 
 Why, you've saved me twice and three times over. 
 My dear boy," burst out French, seizing IVIr 
 Dashwood's hand, " it's you that's been the 
 making of me, for if you hadn't nobbled that black 
 beast of a Giveen I'd have been done for entirely, 
 and I hope to God she'll have you and make you 
 happy—-" 
 
346 GARRYOWEN 
 
 " It's all a toss-up," said Mr Dashwood as he 
 wrung French's hand. " You never know what 
 a woman will do; and I tell you this, if she chucks 
 me, and if you — if you — well, as a matter of fact, 
 if you marry her I'll forget I ever cared for her, 
 and we'll all be friends just as we've always been." 
 
 " You say you are going to write to her? " 
 
 " Yes. I'm going to write now." 
 
 " Well, then,'* said French, " I'll do the same, 
 and write to her myself." 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 A LAST GLANCE AT FRENCH 
 
 On the morning of the thu'teenth, when the men 
 had departed, Mr French for Epsom with the horse, 
 and Mr Dashwood to HoUborough to bail out the 
 bailiff, Miss Grimshaw found herself alone and, 
 for the first time in many months, lonely. The 
 society of women can never make up to a woman 
 for the society of men, and the society of men can 
 never make up to a man for the society of women. 
 French and Dashwood had taken away a genial 
 something with them; the place seemed deserted. 
 She had grown fond of them both, extremely 
 fond of them, and if she had cross-questioned 
 herseK on the subject she could not have dis- 
 covered, I think, which man she cared for most 
 as a companion. Bobby Dashwood had youth 
 on his side, and youth appeals to youth ; but then 
 French had experience — though it had never done 
 him much good — and personaUty. There was 
 a lot of sunhght about Michael French; one felt 
 better for his presence, and though he would 
 knock a man down for two pins, though he made 
 sport out of debt and debts over sport, and 
 
 347 
 
348 GARRYOWEN 
 
 drank whisky enough to shock the modem tea- 
 and-toast and barley-water man, he was a Christian 
 when it came to practice, and a friend whom no 
 disaster could ahenate. 
 
 I cannot help lingering over him, for he belongs 
 to a race of men who are growing fewer in an age 
 when coldness and correctness of character veil, 
 without in the least diminishing, the essential 
 brutality and savagery of man. 
 
 Miss Grimshaw, left to herself, made a tour of 
 the rooms, set Effie some sums to keep her quiet, 
 and then retired into the sitting-room and shut 
 the door. 
 
 It was now that the really desperate condition 
 of things that underlay the comedy of Garryowen 
 appeared before her unveiled. 
 
 " If the horse does not win? " 
 
 The ruin that those six words have so often 
 postulated, rank raw, cold and brutal, rose before 
 her. Horses, cards, dice, wine — one's disHke of 
 the Pipers who cry these down is accentuated by 
 the truth that underHes their piping. 
 
 They are the prophets of the awful telegram 
 which heralds the misery, the pinching and the 
 poverty that will grip you and your wife and your 
 children till you are in your coffins. They are 
 the prophets of the white dawn that shines into 
 your rooms at Oxford when the men are gone, 
 shines on the card-strewn floor where, like a 
 fallen house of cards, hes the once fair future of a 
 man. They are the physicians who prognose 
 
A LAST GLANCE AT FRENCH 349 
 
 inefficiency, failure, old age at forty — mental 
 death. 
 
 Effie would have two hundred a year. Nothing 
 could touch that. But what of the jovial French? 
 She knew enough of his financial affairs to know 
 that he would be absolutely and utterly ruined. 
 
 Tears welled to her eyes for a moment; then 
 she brushed them away and her colour heightened. 
 Enthusiasm suddenly filled her; the desperate 
 nature of the adventure appealed to her adven- 
 turous soul. Never did a doubter do any great 
 work or carry any high adventure to a successful 
 close. Garryowen would win! She felt that to 
 doubt it would be the act of a traitor, and to beHeve 
 it would help the event. 
 
 Shortly after three the dog-cart hired at the inn 
 for the purpose of baiUng out Mr Piper arrived 
 with Mr Dashwood and his charge. 
 
 Mr Piper looked Hterally as though he had been 
 bailed out. The unfortunate man, besides receiv- 
 ing a severe rebuke from the magistrates, had been 
 fined two pounds, which Mr Dashwood had paid. 
 
 In Mr Piper's morning reflections, conducted 
 in the poHce cell at Crowsnest, he had recognised 
 his false position and the uselessness of kicking 
 agatQst the pricks. 
 
 He knew full well the ridicule that attends the 
 unfortunate who tries to explain away the reason 
 of his drunkenness ; to say that he had been made 
 tipsy by force would, even if it obtained his dis- 
 charge, be so noticeable a statement that the 
 
350 GARRYOWEN 
 
 London press would be sure to seize upon it. If 
 the horses had been taken away it would be far 
 better to put the fact down to the evasion having 
 been effected whilst he was asleep, and as he had 
 some money about him he felt sure of being able 
 to pay any fine that might be inflicted on him. 
 He was unconscious of the fact that he had kicked 
 the constable. 
 
 ]\Ir Dashwood, having released him, paid his 
 fine and given him some soda-water at the Holl- 
 borough inn, sketched for him the true position 
 of affairs, making him understand that the horse, 
 once the race was over, would be religiously 
 brought back, and that the only course for him 1 
 in the midst of these circumstances was to return 
 to The Martens, accept its hospitahty, and wait. 
 
 Having left him there, the young man, after a 
 short interview with Miss Grimsha^w, returned to 
 London. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THE ROMAN ROAD 
 
 The spring was early that year. The swallows 
 must have known it, for they had returned several 
 days before their time, and to-day, the sixteenth 
 of April, the silence of the Roman Road was broken 
 by their twittering and crossed by their shadows; 
 the trees in the woods were green again, the httle 
 river beneath the bridge was foaming in spate, 
 and from far away in the wood depths came the 
 moist, sweet sound of the cuckoo, singing just as 
 he sang in Chaucer's time, just as he will sing in 
 times a thousand years unborn. 
 
 The girl had freed herseK from Effie and had 
 wandered down to the bridge, where she stood 
 now, watching the wimpHng water and the brown 
 weeds, Hstening to the cuckoo and the chatter of 
 the blue tits in the branches of the trees. 
 
 A telegram had brought her, yesterday, the 
 grand news of Garryowen's victory, and this 
 morning's post had brought her two letters — one 
 from Mr French and one from jMr Dashwood. 
 
 From what she could gather in the perusal of 
 these letters each man was in love with her, yet 
 each was proposing that she should not look 
 coldly on the other. 
 
 They would return that evening. She would have 
 351 
 
352 GARRYOWEN 
 
 to make up her mind on the question, and she had 
 come here, apparently, to argue the question out. 
 
 Now that she was brought face to face with the 
 matter, the chivahy of these two gentlemen one 
 towards the other was the thing that perplexed 
 her most. 
 
 She had come here, apparently, to argue the 
 matter out, but in reahty her subUminal mind 
 had already made the decision as to which of 
 these two gentlemen she would choose as her 
 natural protector for Hfe. 
 
 She had no one to confide in, no one to make a 
 confidant of her choice; she had taken her seat 
 on a httle ledge of the parapet, and with that 
 charming impulse which prompts a woman to put 
 her name on paper coupled with the name of the 
 man she loves, the girl, with the point of her 
 parasol, dreamily, and hke a mesmerist under the 
 dictation of a spirit, wrote upon the dust of the 
 old road's face, 
 
 VIOLET. 
 
 Then, with a haK-blush, she was preparing to 
 add the fateful other name, and the blue tits in the 
 branches above were craning their necks to see, 
 when from beyond the hill-top the sound of a 
 motor car rapidly approaching broke the spell. 
 
 As it passed she was standing looking at the 
 river, and name on the dust of the road there was 
 none, nor anything to hint of love but the graceful 
 figure of the girl and the beauty of the morning. 
 
 THE END. 
 
^^^^bster Family Library of Veterinary Medicm 
 CiimmJngs School of Veterinary Medicine at 
 
 Tufts University 
 
 200 Westboro Road 
 
 Morth Grafton, WIA 016^ 
 

mm^r. 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 o. 
 
 mmmm 
 
 1 
 
 
 ! 
 
 /a 
 
 Ar ^ 
 
 u 
 
 ;^r^,