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"And a stormy night it will be," said the woman, who, though she had very little of the Irish accent, seemed to have not a little of that peculiar obliquity of mind, which so often leads the Irishman to follow the last idea started, however loosely it may be connected with the main subject of discourse.
The man was one of the many Fenians who had entered the ranks of the Boer army, instigated by the age-long hereditary hatred of Irishman for Englishman; from his point of view he was justified. This was warfare, and why had the young officer ridden ahead in that boyish, foolhardy way? Nevertheless, the deed had filled the German with inexpressible disgust.
Fernando could not see how he could help fighting the lieutenant again if he demanded satisfaction; but the Irishman was quite sure the lieutenant would have enough to do to keep his captain out of his dilemma. Sukey, who had entered during their conversation, said: "Oh, Fernando, why didn't you aim higher and blow his head off?"
The Irishman said no power on earth could get him to touch it, and he crossed himself reverently, and we left the communion lay-out, and passed the half we had taken from the baskets around among the boys, and they eat as though a special providence had provided them with appetites and means of satisfying them.
"Luckily, he's away just now," Trowbridge went on, ignoring the interruption. "Come with me!" He led the way into the hotel. "Frank," he said to the red-headed proprietor, "is Moran in town to-day?" "Nope." The Irishman regarded Santry with interest. "He went out this morning with four or five men." "Rexhill's here, ain't he?" Trowbridge asked then. "Tell him there's two gentlemen here to see him.
"Och," said the Irishman, "but ye are kind gentlemen, whatever you may be, to give us so good a meal when, perhaps, you have no more." Roche shook him by the hand. "Eat on, fellow," he said, "eat on, and never fear. We will afterwards see what can be done for the legs." As to the Welshman, he never said a word for a full half-hour.
A patch of blood, bright-coloured, was growing slowly on his vest: and there was blood on his lips. "Oh, whirra, whirra, what'll I do?" the Irishman exclaimed, helplessly wringing his hands. "What'll I do for him? He's murdered entirely!" Payton, aided by one of the troopers, was putting on his coat and vest. He paused to bid the other help the gentleman.
"And I'll take you to hear things that will keep the memory of Ireland green while there's an Irishman left in the world." She led them to a raised platform some distance away. Over the platform there floated a white flag with a green harp on it. The old woman pointed to it. "Do you remember the old harp of Tara?" she said to the Twins.
"What d'ye mean by insultin' my mate? take that!" said Peter Grim, giving the Irishman a twirl that tumbled him on the deck. "Oh, bad manners to ye!" spluttered O'Riley, as he rose and ran away; "why don't ye hit a man o' yer own size?" "'Deed, then, it must be because there's not one o' my own size to hit," remarked the carpenter with a broad grin. This was true.
This is not due merely to the daring splendour of the speculations and the vivid picture of Athenian life, it is due also to something analogous in the personalities of that particular ancient Greek and this particular modern Irishman.
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