342 GARRYOWEN 



" Down with the poHce! " 



"Welsher!" 



*' Look! " cried Dashwood. 



French, half dehrious with delight, French, the 

 winner of a big fortune, to say nothing of the stakes 

 and the glory, was being led from the ring by Mr 

 Dashwood, when they came across a maelstrom 

 of howHng humanity, amidst which, like rocks, 

 stood forth the helmets of the constables. 



" It's a welsher, poor devil," cried French. 

 " The poHce have him. Hi! I say — by G — d! 

 it's Giveen! " He had caught a ghmpse for a 

 moment of the face of his cousin. The next, he 

 was in amidst the throng, helping the poHce. 



" Michael! " yelled the half -naked one. " Lend 

 us a hand or I'll be torn in bits. Musha! Ksten 

 to the devils— Help! " 



Next moment French was knocked aside. 

 Fourteen constables had charged the crowd like 

 a wedge, and Giveen was surrounded and safe, and 

 being marched off to the lock-up. 



" Did ever a man see a thing hke that! " cried 

 French. " After winning the race and all, to have 

 a disgrace like this fall on me! " 



" Come on," said Dashwood. " You can go 

 to the poHce station after you have seen the horse. 

 The bounder is all right now. And serve him 

 jolly well right! It's some mistake. He'd never 

 have the brains to try to welsh people. Come 

 on." 



Two hours later, Mr French, Major Lawson and 



