allantly
accepting the jest without a change of her enormous countenance, she's a
long time waiting for the chance! Maybe ourselves'd go if we were axed!
I have a nice bit of salt pork in the house," she continued, "would I
give your honours a rasher of it?"

Mrs. Coolahan had probably assumed that either Julia was incapably
drunk, or had been dismissed without benefit of clergy; at all events
she had recognised that diplomatically it was correct to change the
conversation.

We adventured ourselves into the unknown recesses of the house, and sat
gingerly on greasy horsehair-seated chairs, in the parlour, while the
bubbling cry of the rasher and eggs arose to heaven from the frying-pan,
and the reek filled the house as with a grey fog. Potent as it was, it
but faintly foreshadowed the flavour of the massive slices that
presently swam in briny oil on our plates. But we had breakfasted at
eight; we tackled them with determination, and without too nice
inspection of the three-pronged forks. We drank porter, we achieved a
certain sense of satiety, that on very slight provocation would have
broadened into nausea or worse. 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. It would be necessary to confide the
position to Croppy, but this we felt, could be done without a moment's
uneasiness.

By the malignity that governed all things on that troublous day, neither
of us had a pencil, and Mrs. Coolahan had to be appealed to. That she
had by this time properly grasped the position was apparent in the
hoarse whisper in which she said, carefully closing the door after
her:--

"The Dane's coachman is inside!"

Simultaneously Robert and I removed ourselves from the purview of the
door.

"Don't be afraid," said our hostess reassuringly, "he'll never see
ye--sure I have him safe back in the snug! Is it a writing pin ye want,
Miss?" she continued, moving to the door. "Katty Ann! Bring me in the
pin out o' the office!"

The Post Office was, it may be mentioned, a department of the Coolahan
public-house, and was managed by a committee of the younger members of
the Coolahan family. These things are all, I belie