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Updated: May 3, 2025
Gratitude for his escape from the addresses of Miss McEvoy had apparently blinded him to the difficulties of the future. "There's Coolahan's pub. We'll get something to eat there you'll see it'll be all right." "But," I said, picking my way after him among the rusty tins and the broken crockery, "the Coolahans will think we're mad! We've no hats, and we can't tell them about the Dohertys."
Croppy inquired compassionately, stuffing his lighted pipe into his pocket, as I drifted desolately past him. "Sure you're killed with the load you have! This is a rough owld place for a lady to be walkin'. Sit down, Miss. God knows you have a right to be tired." It seemed that with Croppy also the day was dragging, doubtless he too had lunched on Mrs. Coolahan's pork.
His experiences at the London bar had not instructed him in the commissariat of his country. "A bit of cold beef, or just some bread and cheese." Mrs. Coolahan's bleared eyes rolled wildly to mine, as seeking sympathy and sanity. "With the will o' Pether!" she exclaimed, "how would I have cold beef? And as for cheese !" She paused, and then, curiosity over-powering all other emotions.
For my part, being an amateur artist, I had strapped together a collection of painting materials that would enable me to record my inspiration in oil, watercolour, or pastel, as the spirit might move me. We had ordered a car from Coolahan's public-house in the village; an early lunch was imminent.
I was on the whole inclined to trace these things back to the influence of the pork, working on systems weakened by shock; but Robert was not in the mood to trace them to anything. Unsuccessful fishermen are not fond of introspective suggestions. The member of the expedition who enjoyed himself beyond any question was Mrs. Coolahan's car-horse.
All the while the question remained in the balance as to what we were to do for our hats, and for the myriad baggage involved in the expedition. We finally decided to write a minute inventory of what was indispensable, and to send it to Julia by the faithful hand of Mrs. Coolahan's car-driver, one Croppy, with whom previous expeditions had placed us upon intimate terms.
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