We Stopped At A Place Called Dromore West, To Change Horses And To
Change Cars.
We had dropped the police, a few at a time, as we came
along, so that now the car was not by any means crowded.
We all stood on
the road while the change of horses was being made. It was slow work,
and I went into a shop near to ask for a glass of water. The mistress of
the shop enquired if I would take milk. I assented, and was served with
a brimming tumbler of excellent milk. Payment was refused, and as I
turned to leave, I was favored with a subdued groan from the women
assembled in the shop. Evidently they thought I was some tyrant who
required the protection of the police. It would not flatter me - not
much - to be taken for some landholders here.
When my police fellow-voyagers were dropped at their comfortable white
barracks here and there, and only one was left, we fell into
conversation to beguile the time. He had been at one time on duty in
Donegal and knew how matters were there, from his point of view, better
than I did. We spoke of Captain Dopping, and his opinion of him was if
anything lower than mine. He expressed great thankfulness that guarding
the Captain had never been his duty. Whether he disliked it from moral
causes, or for fear of intercepting in his own person a stray bullet
intended for the gallant captain, he did not say.
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