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buttoned his coat and took hold of the stirrup leather. Flurry remained immovable.

“ Master Flurry,” said old Barrett suddenly, with tears in his voice, "you must make it eight, sir!"

“ Michael !" called out Flurry with apparent irrelevance, “run up to your father's and ask him would he lend me a loan of his side-car.”

Half-an-hour later we were, improbable as it may seem, on our way to Lisheen races. We were seated upon an outside-car of immemorial age, whose joints seemed to open and close again as it swung in and out of the ruts, whose tattered cushions stank of rats and mildew, whose wheels staggered and rocked like the legs of a drunken man. Between the shafts jogged the latest addition to the kennel larder, the eight-shilling mare. Flurry sat on one side, and kept her going at a rate of not less than four miles an hour; Leigh Kelway and I held on to the other.

“She'll get us as far as Lynch's anyway,” said Flurry, abandoning his first contention that she could do the whole distance, as he pulled her on to her legs after her fifteenth stumble, "and he 'll lend us some sort of a horse, if it was only a mule.”

“Do you notice that these cushions are very damp?said Leigh Kelway to me, in a hollow undertone.

“ Small blame to them if they are!” replied Flurry. “I've no doubt but they were out under the rain all day yesterday at Mrs. Hurly's funeral.”

Leigh Kelway made no reply, but he took his note-book out of his pocket and sat on it.

We arrived at Lynch's at a little past three, and were there confronted by the next disappointment of this disastrous day. The door of Lynch's farm-house was locked, and nothing replied to our knocking except a puppy, who barked hysterically from within.

“ All gone to the races," said Flurry philosophically, picking his way round the manure heap. “No matter, here's the filly in the shed here. I know he's had her under a car.”

An agitating ten minutes ensued, during which Leigh Kelway and I got the eight-shilling mare out of the shafts and the harness, and Flurry, with our inefficient help, crammed the young mare into them. As Furry had stated that she had been driven before, I was bound to believe him, but the difficulty of getting the bit into her mouth was remarkable, and so also was the crab-like manner in which she sidled out of the yard, with Flurry and myself at her head, and Leigh Kelway hanging on to the back of the car to keep it from jamming in the gateway.

“Sit up on the car now,” said Flurry when we got out on to the road; “I'll lead her on a bit. She's been plowed anyway; one side of her mouth 's as tough as a

gad!

Leigh Kelway threw away the wisp of grass with which he had been cleaning his hands, and mopped his intellectual forehead; he was very silent. We both mounted the car and Flurry, with the reins in his hand, walked beside the filly, who, with her tail clasped in, moved onward in a succession of short jerks.

“Oh, she's all right!” said Flurry, beginning to run, and dragging the filly into a trot; “ once she gets started—” Here the filly spied a pig in a neighboring field, and despite the fact that she had probably eaten out of the same trough with it, she gave a violent side spring, and broke into a gallop.

“Now we're off !” shouted Flurry, making a jump at the car and clambering on;" if the traces hold we'll do!

The English language is powerless to suggest the viewhalloo with which Mr. Knox ended his speech, or to do more than indicate the rigid anxiety of Leigh Kelway's face as he regained his balance after the preliminary jerk, and clutched the back rail. It must be said for Lynch's filly that she did not kick; she merely fled, like a dog with a kettle tied to its tail, from the pursuing rattle and jingle behind her, with the shafts buffeting her dusty sides as the car swung to and fro. Whenever she showed any signs of slackening, Flurry loosed another yell at her that renewed her panic, and thus we precariously covered another two or three miles of our journey.

Had it not been for a large stone lying on the road, and had the filly not chosen to swerve so as to bring the wheel on top of it, I dare say we might have got to the races; but by an unfortunate coincidence both these things occurred, and when we recovered from the consequent shock, the tire of one of the wheels had come off, and was trundling with cumbrous gayety into the ditch. Flurry stopped the filly and began to laugh ; Leigh Kelway said something startlingly unparliamentary under his breath.

“Well, it might be worse," Flurry said consolingly as he lifted the tire on to the car; we're not half a mile from a forge.”

We walked that half-mile in funeral procession behind the car; the glory had departed from the weather, and an ugly wall of cloud was rising up out of the west to meet the sun; the hills had darkened and lost color, and the white bog cotton shivered in a cold wind that smelt of rain.

By a miracle the smith was not at the races, owing, as he explained, to his having “ the toothaches,” the two facts combined producing in him a morosity only equaled by that of Leigh Kelway. The smith's sole comment on the situation was to unharness the filly, and drag her into the forge, where he tied her up. He then proceeded to whistle viciously on his fingers in the direction of a cottage, and to command, in tones of thunder, some unseen creature to bring over a couple of baskets of turf. The turf arrived in process of time, on a woman's back, and was arranged in a circle in a yard at the back of the forge. The tire was bedded in it, and the turf was with difficulty kindled at different points.

“Ye'll not get to the races this day," said the smith, yielding to a sardonic satisfaction; "the turf's wet, and I haven't one to do a hand's turn for me." He laid the wheel on the ground and lit his pipe.

Leigh Kelway looked pallidly about him over the spacious empty landscape of brown mountain slopes patched with golden furze and seamed with gray walls; I wondered if he were as hungry as I. We sat on stones opposite the smoldering ring of turf and smoked, and Flurry beguiled the smith into grim and calumnious confidences about every horse in the country. After about an hour, during which the turf went out three times, and the weather became more and more threatening, a girl with a red petticoat over her head appeared at the gate of the yard, and said to the smith :

“ The horse is gone away from ye.”
“Where?” exclaimed Flurry, springing to his feet,

“I met him walking wesht the road there below, and when I thought to turn him he commenced to gallop.”

“ Pulled her head out of the headstall," said Flurry, after a rapid survey of the forge. “She 's near home by now."

It was at this moment that the rain began; the situation could scarcely have been better stage-managed. After reviewing the position, Flurry and I decided that the only thing to do was to walk to a public-house a couple of miles farther on, feed there if possible, hire a car, and go home.

It was an uphill walk, with mild, generous rain-drops striking thicker and thicker on our faces; no one talked, and the gray clouds crowded up from behind the hills like billows of steam. Leigh Kelway bore it all with egre. gious resignation. I cannot pretend that I was at heart sympathetic, but by virtue of being his host I felt responsible for the breakdown, for his light suit, for everything, and divined his sentiment of horror at the first sight of the public-house.

It was a long, low cottage, with a line of dripping elmtrees overshadowing it; empty cars and carts round its door, and a babel from within made it evident that the racegoers were pursuing a gradual homeward route. The shop was crammed with steaming countrymen, whose loud brawling voices, all talking together, roused my English friend to his first remark since we left the forge.

“ Surely, Yeates, we are not going into that place?” he said severely; "those men are all drunk."

“Ah, nothing to signify!” said Flurry, plunging in and driving his way through the throng like a plow. “Ilere, Mary Kate!” he called to the girl behind the counter, “ tell your mother we want some tea and bread and butter in the room inside.”

The smell of bad tobacco and spilt porter was choking; we worked our way through it after him towards the end of the shop, intersecting at every hand discussions about the races.

“ Tom was very nice. He spared his horse all along, and then he put into him—” "Well, at Goggin's corner the third horse was before the second, but he was goin' wake in hiniself." “I tell ye the mare had the hind leg fasht in

the fore.” Clancy was dipping in the saddle.” “'T was a dam nice race whatever-

We gained the inner rooom at last, a cheerless apartment, adorned with sacred pictures, a sewing-machine, and an array of supplementary tumblers and wineglasses ; but, at all events, we had it so far to ourselves. At intervals during the next half-hour Mary Kate burst in with cups and plates, cast them on the table and disappeared, but of food there was no sign. After a further period of starvation and of listening to the noise in the shop, Flurry made a sortie, and, after lengthy and unknown adventures, reappeared carrying a huge brown teapot, and driving before him Mary Kate with the remainder of the repast. The bread tasted of mice, the butter of turf-smoke, the tea of brown paper, but we had got past the critical stage. I had entered upon my third round of bread and butter when the door was flung open, and my valued acquaintance, Slipper, slightly advanced in liquor, presented himself to our gaze.

His bandy legs sprawled consequentially, his nose was redder than a coal of fire, his prominent eyes rolled crookedly upon us, and his left hand swept behind him the attempt of Mary Kate to frustrate his entrance.

“Good-evening to my vinerable friend, Mr. Flurry Knox!” he began, in the voice of a town crier, "and to the Honorable Major Yeates, and the English gintleman!"

This impressive opening immediately attracted an audience from the shop, and the doorway filled with grinning faces as Slipper advanced farther into the room.

“Why weren't ye at the races, Mr. Flurry?” he went on, his roving eye taking a grip of us all at the same time; “sure the Miss Bennetts and all the ladies was asking where were ye."

“It'd take some time to tell them that,” said Flurry, with his mouth full; “ but what about the races, Slipper? Had you good sport?'

Sport is it? Divil so pleasant an afternoon ever you seen," replied Slipper. He leaned against a side table, and all the glasses on it jingled. “Does your honor know O'Driscoll?” he went on irrelevantly. “Sure you do. He was in your honor's stable. It's what we were all sayin'; it was a great pity your honor was not there, for the likin' you had to Driscoll.”

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