This question was asked with a vehemence that startled the young
American.

"Lisnahoe. Don't you know the way?" he replied.

"In troth an' I do. Is it Connolly's?"

"Yes," answered Harold. "Drive on, my good fellow; it's growing
late."

The man's only answer was to spring from his seat and seize Harold's
portmanteau, which he deposited on the road with no gentle hand.

"What do you mean?" cried the young man, indignantly.

"I mane that ye'd betther come down out o' that afore I make ye."

Harold was on the ground in a moment and approached the man with
clinched fists and flashing eyes.

"How dare you, you scoundrel! Will you drive me to Lisnahoe or will
you not?"

"The divil a fut," answered the fellow, sullenly.

Hayes controlled his anger by an effort. There was nothing to be
gained by a row with the man. He turned to another driver.

"Pick up that portmanteau. Drive me out to Mr. Connolly's. I'll