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"I pity men of your country," said he, addressing Murty, who, it must be recollected, had made very great improvement in his education since we first introduced him to our readers, "I pity men of your country, on account of the ignorance in which they are kept by the soul-destroying system of Popery that binds them down." "Indeed, Mr.
"We've had thim on this run," said Murty, "as wanted their horses led gently up to thim, and then they climb into the saddle like a lady. And when they'd come home, all they'd be lookin' for 'ud be some one to casht their reins to, the way they cud strowl off to their tay. Isn't that so, Mick?" "Yairs," said Mick. He was riding an unbroken three-year-old, and had no time for conversation.
To an onlooker there was something distinctly funny in the spectacle. Murty and the boys, however, might be excused for failing to see the finer points of the joke. They were hot beyond expression; they were also extremely dirty, and were verging on becoming extremely cross.
'I've shot Ramsay-Stewart below at the bridge, and the police are after me. Just then the moon rolled from behind a cloud, and Murty Meehan saw his prisoner, saw that he was young, and would be handsome if his face were not so distorted by emotion.
"Don't dress to-night, if you don't mind, Cecil," said Jim, putting his head into his cousin's room. "Not dress?" Evening clothes were part of Cecil's training, and he kept to them rigidly, putting on each night for dinner what Murty O'Toole, having seen in wonder, referred to as "a quare little cobbed-shwaller-tail jacket."
"There's those two blessed lambs in the kitchen, doing wot I'd ought to be doing; and I know Mrs. Archdale 'ud come up an' run things 'ere for me. But wot 'ud 'appen if I did go, I ask you, Murty? Simply they'd take the two blessed lambs out of the kitchen an' put 'em to nursing in the wards, an' next thing you knew they'd both be down with the beastly flu' themselves.
"It's smoke, I'm positive, and too near Billabong and the Creek to be comfortable. I think we'll make tracks for home, Wally. Have you seen Murty anywhere?" As if in answer, Mr. O'Toole came running down the hill. "I've been huntin' ye's everywhere," he panted.
The years had brought a good deal of sober sense to Bosun and Monarch, but motors were still unfamiliar objects on Billabong. Indeed, no car of the size of Norah's Rolls-Royce had ever been seen in the district, and the men gaped at it open-mouthed as Jim drove it round to the stable after unloading his passengers. "Yerra, but that's the fine carry-van," said Murty.
Boone was a mighty "slogger," and Wally had a neat and graceful style that sent the Cunjee supporters into the seventh heaven. Between them the score mounted rapidly, and the men of Mulgoa breathed a sigh of relief when at length Dave skied a ball from Billings, which descended into the ample hands of Murty O'Toole, who was quite undecided whether to treat his catch as a triumph or a calamity.
Shtop a minnit! Who put y' on Bobs?" "Mind your own business," said Cecil, between his teeth, looking round. "My business, is it? Sure, 'tis my business, if 'tis anny man's on Billabong! Did Miss Norah say y' could ride her pony?" "What's that to you?" "Be gob!" said Murty, "'tis more to me than it is to you, seein' 'tis meself knows Miss Norah's feelin's an' disposition about Bobs!
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