282 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



ye had a fine sthore/ he says. * Ye cannot give 

 me what I want,' and he went out. 



" He came back in an hour an' he lukked and 

 lukked, poked at sails an' nets an' bolts, an' 

 shakin' his head. 



" ' It is but a poor hotel,' he says. 



Then,' says Mortimer, verra vexed, * I will 

 bet,' he says, ' that there is nothing here that a 

 man cud want for his ship that I have not, an' 

 I will bet ye, sthranger,' he says, ' what ye like/ 

 an' he swore out with the anger. 



" Then in came Colonel Martin in his fine clothes 

 an' he listened verra careful, an' he smiled whin he 

 heard — sneerin' like at Mortimer. 



" ' What will ye bet ? ' says the sailor. ' For ye 

 have not what I luke for. Will ye bet me a 

 hundred pound ? ' 



" ' I will bet ye a hundred pound,' roars Mor- 

 timer, verra angered, an' bein' sure the sailor cud 

 not put down the bet. 



" ' I will bet ye,' says the sailor, pullin' out the 

 goold. ' An' his honour here is witness,' says 

 he. Then he waits . . . ' I am lukkin' for a 

 wind,' he says, ' to sail me ship home to Galway 

 an' ye have not got it here,' he says verra gintle. 



" Faix the man had to pay, with Colonel Martin 

 laughin' soft an' Mortimer known now that it 

 was a plot on him. But that was the sort the 

 great Martin was that he'd never forgive till he 

 paid out an enemy." 



