“Is it in the yard?” interrupted my second cousin, severely.
“It is, Miss, but the step took the ground----”
My cousin here left the room, and I followed her. A few moments later the trap was wheeled into the yard for our inspection. It was apparently a segment of an antediluvian brougham, with a slight flavour about it of a hansom turned the wrong way, though its great-grandfather had probably been a highly-connected sedan-chair. The door was at the back, as in an omnibus, the floor was about six inches above the ground, and the two people whom it with difficulty contained had to sit with their backs to the horse, rocking and swinging between the two immense wheels, of which they had a dizzy prospect through the little side windows.
“There it is for ye, now!” said the waiter, triumphantly. He had followed us downstairs and was negligently polishing a tablespoon with his napkin. “And Jimmy,” indicating the ostler, “’ll know of the very horse that’ll be fit to put under it.”
“No,” we said faintly, “that would never do; we want to drive ourselves.”
The ostler fell into an attitude of dramatic meditation.
Equally dramatic ecstasy on the part of both ostler and waiter. The former, strange to say, had a friend who was the one person in Galway who had the very thing we wanted. “Letyees be gettin’ ready now,” said Jimmy, “for I’ll go fetch it this minute.”
About half an hour later we were standing at the hotel doorsteps, prepared for our trial trip. On the pavement were clustered about us the beggarwomen of Galway--an awesome crew, from whose mouths proceeded an uninterrupted flow of blessings and cursings, the former levelled at us, the latter at each other and the children who hung about their skirts. We pushed our way through them, and getting up on the car announced that we were ready to start, but some delay in obtaining a piece of cord to tie up the breeching gave the beggars a precious opportunity. My second cousin was recognised, and greeted by name with every endearment.
“Aha! didn’t I tell ye ’twas her?” “Arrah, shut yer mouth, Nellie Morris. I knew the fine full eyes of her since she was a baby.” “Don’t mind them, darlin’,” said a deep voice on a level with the step of the car; “sure ye’ll give to yer own little Judy from Menlo?”