I'll ride it into Galway to-morrow! Mr. Gunning, you can ride half-way
if you like!"

But Mr. Gunning had already gone into the hotel with his rod and fishing
basket. He had a gift, that he rarely lost a chance of exercising, of
provoking Fanny Fitz to wrath, and the fact that he now declined her
challenge may or may not be accounted for by the gloom consequent upon
an empty fishing basket.

Next morning the various hangers-on in the hotel yard were provided with
occupation and entertainment of the most satiating description. Fanny
Fitz's new purchase was being despatched to the nearest railway station,
some fourteen miles off. It had been arranged that the ostler was to
drive her there in one of the hotel cars, which should then return with
a horse that was coming from Galway for the hotel owner; nothing could
have fitted in better. Unfortunately the only part of the arrangement
that refused to fit in was the filly. Even while Fanny Fitz was
finishing her toilet, high-pitched howls of objurgation were rising,
alarmingly, from the stable-yard, and on reaching the scene of action
she was confronted by the spectacle of the ostler being hurtled across
the yard by the filly, to whose head he was clinging, while two helpers
upheld the shafts of the outside car from which she had fled. All were
shouting directions and warnings at the tops of their voices, the hotel
dog was barking, the filly alone was silent, but her opinions were
unmistakable.

A waiter in shirt-sleeves was leaning comfortably out of a window,
watching the fray and offering airy suggestion and comment.

"It's what I'm telling them, miss," he said easily, including Fanny Fitz