Philistines. I think in a couple of hours you may be on the look-out for
me; I'll signal you from the window, so now good bye;" and Murphy, leading
the mare, proceeded to the inn, while Dick, with a parting "Luck to you,
my boy," turned back to the cottage of Barny.

The coach had set down six inside and ten out passengers (all voters)
about ten minutes before Murphy marched up to the inn door, leading the
black mare, and calling "ostler" most lustily. His call being answered for
"the beast," "the man" next demanded attention; and the landlord wondered
all the wonders he could cram into a short speech, at seeing Misther
Murphy, sure, at such a time; and the sonsy landlady, too, was all
lamentations for his illigant coat and his poor eye, sure, all ruined with
the mud:--and what was it at all? an upset, was it? oh, wirra! and wasn't
it lucky he wasn't killed, and they without a spare bed to lay him out
dacent if he was--sure, wouldn't it be horrid for his body to be only on
sthraw in the barn, instead of the best feather-bed in the house; and,
indeed, he'd be welcome to it, only the gintlemen from town had them all
engaged.

"Well, dead or alive, I must stay here to-night, Mrs. Kelly, at all
events."

"And what will you do for a bed?"

"A shake down in the parlour, or a stretch on a sofa, will do; my gig is
stuck fast in a ditch--my mare tired--ten miles from home--cold night, and
my knee hurt." Murphy limped as he spoke.

"Oh! your poor knee," said Mrs. Kelly; "I'll put a dhrop o' whisky and
brown paper on it, sure--"