For the present, the Irishman was evidently in command,
by virtue of his witty tongue.
"Can ye see the Gineral, Kurnel?" said he, with the utmost apparent
deference; "av coorse ye can, sir, only it'll be necessary for you
to lave your carriage an' the horses and the nagur here in the care
of these gintlemen, while I takes ye to the Gineral mesilf."
"Why can I not drive on?"
"Why can't ye dhrive? Is it a Kurnel ye is, an' don't know that?
Shure the cavalry an' the arthillery an' the caysons an' one thing
an' another of that kind would soon crush a chayriot like that to
flinders, ye know."
"I cannot leave my carriage," said Desmit.
"Mein Gott, shust hear him now I" said a voice on the other side,
which caused Desmit to turn with a start. A bearded German, with a
pair of myoptic glasses adding their glare to the peculiar intensity
of the short-sighted gaze, had climbed upon the opposite wheel
during his conversation with Pat, and leaning half through the
window was scanning carefully the inside of the carriage. He had
already one hand on the demijohn of peach-brandy upon which the
owner's hopes so much depended. Potetsatem Desmit was no coward,
and his gold-headed cane made the acquaintance of the Dutchman's
poll before he had time to utter a word of protestation.
It was all over in a minute, then. There was a rush and a scramble.
The old man was dragged out of his carriage, fighting manfully
but vainly.
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