Suddenly upon our line of vision strode the superb form of Jem Bottles. A short pipe was in his mouth, and he gestured splendidly with a pint pot. "More of the beer, my dear," said he to a buxom maid. "We be all rich in Ireland. And four of them set upon me," he cried again to the yokels. "All noblemen, in fine clothes and with sword-hilts so flaming with jewels an ordinary man might have been blinded. 'Stop!' said I. 'There be more of your friends somewhere. Call them.' And with that"
"'And with that'?" said I myself, opening the door and stepping in upon him. "'And with that'?" said I again. Whereupon I smote him a blow which staggered him against the wall, holding his crown with both hands while his broken beer-pot rolled on the floor. Paddy was dancing with delight at seeing some other man cuffed, but the landlord and the yokels were nearly dead of terror. But they made no sound; only the buxom girl whimpered.
"There is no cause for alarm," said I amiably. "I was only greeting an old friend. 'T is a way I have. And how wags the world with you, O'Ruddy?"
"I am not sure for the moment," replied Jem Bottles ruefully. "I must bide till it stops spinning."
"Truth," cried I. "That would be a light blow to trouble the great O'Ruddy. Come now; let us have the pots filled again, and O'Ruddy shall tell us more of his adventures. What say you, lads?"
The yokels had now recovered some of their senses, and they greeted my plan with hoarse mutterings of hasty and submissive assent.
"Begin," said I sternly to the highwayman. He stood miserably on one foot. He looked at the floor;
