The Lord betune ye an'
harrum, Andy avick. Shure it's no human bein' ye're drivin' away wid."
And many other remarks made in Irish, no doubt, of the same
encouraging character.
"Come, come," exclaimed Paul impatiently, "let us get off?"
Andy reluctantly clambered on the opposite seat and commenced driving
slowly up the village street, followed by a loud huzza. He seemed ill at
ease and was loth to leave, driving so slowly that Paul had to urge him
on. Reaching the last house on the straggling village street, he
stopped the car and turning to Paul said: "Oi want to get a light fur my
pipe, sur."
After a little time, during which Paul heard a vehement conversation
going on inside, Andy re-appeared holding a coal of fire on the bowl
of his clay pipe. He remounted again and slowly drove away followed by
the shrill blessings and good wishes of the barefooted woman that stood
at the door. Their way now lay along the cliff-road and squall after
squall came bearing in from a roaring sea outside. At times Andy would
reach across when the booming of the breakers could be heard coming up
through ravine on the cliffs and say:
"Shure no human bein' could live in that sea, sur. Did ye come on top of
the wather er under?"
"Oh, drive on, drive on," was the impatient response, "never mind.
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