"Carried unanimously," said Father McCormack. "And now about the price. What will that nephew of yours do us a statue for, Doyle? And mind you, it must be done well."

"Before we go into that," said Dr. O'Grady, "I'd like the committee to hear a letter which Mr. Doyle has received from his nephew. I thought it well, considering how short the time at our disposal is——"

"Ten days," said the Major. "Ten days to make a statue——"

"The letter which we are just going to read," said Dr. O'Grady, "will meet the Major's difficulty. I thought it well to get into communication with Mr. Aloysius Doyle at once so as to have everything ready for the committee."

"I wonder you haven't the statue ready," said the Major.

"I wrote to him, or rather I got Doyle to write to him, the day before yesterday, and the letter you are now going to hear is his reply. I may say that we laid the circumstances full before him; especially the shortness of the time. You're not the only person who thought of that difficulty, Major. Just read the letter, will you, Doyle?"

Doyle took up the letter which lay on the table in front of him and unfolded it. He glanced at it and then put it down and began to fumble in his pocket.

"Go ahead," said Dr. O'Grady.

"I can't," said Doyle. "This isn't that letter, but another one altogether."

He drew his packet of papers from his pocket again and began to go through them rapidly. There was a light tap at the door.

"Who on earth's that?" said Dr. O'Grady. "I said specially that this meeting was not to be disturbed."

"Possibly Doyle's nephew," said the Major, "with a sample statue. He ought to submit samples to us."

"Come in whoever you are," said Dr. O'Grady.

Mary Ellen half opened the door and put her head into the room. Dr. O'Grady realised the moment he saw her that something must have gone wrong in the dressmaker's shop. He assumed, without enquiry, that Mrs. Ford had been making herself objectionable.

"What has Mrs. Ford done now?" said Dr. O'Grady. "I can't go to her till this meeting is over."

"Mrs. Ford's off home this half hour," said Mary Ellen. "She said she wouldn't put up with the nonsense that was going on."

This was a relief to Dr. O'Grady. If Mrs. Ford had gone home the difficulty, whatever it was, must be capable of adjustment.

"Then what on earth do you want? Surely you and Mrs. Gregg haven't been quarrelling with each other."

"Mrs. Gregg says——" said Mary Ellen.

Then she paused, looked at Dr. O'Grady, looked at Doyle, and finally took courage after a glance at Father McCormack.

"She says, is there to be white stockings?"

"Certainly not," said Dr. O'Grady. "White stockings would be entirely out of place. If we're dressing you as an Irish colleen, Mary Ellen, we'll do it properly. Go and tell Mrs. Gregg that your stockings are to be green, bright green. Did you ever hear such a silly question?" he added turning to the other members of the committee. "Who ever saw an Irish colleen in white stockings?"

"While you're at it, O'Grady," said the Major, "you'd better settle the colour of her garters."

Mary Ellen, grinning broadly, withdrew her head and shut the door.

"What's that about green stockings for Mary Ellen?" said Father McCormack.

"Oh, it's all right," said Dr. O'Grady. "The stockings will scarcely show at all. Her dress will be right down to her ankles, longer by far than the ones she usually wears. I needn't tell you, Father McCormack, that I wouldn't consent to dressing the girl in any way that wasn't strictly proper. You mustn't think——"

"I wasn't thinking anything of the sort," said Father McCormack.

"You very well might be," said Dr. O'Grady, "Anyone would think we intended her to appear in a ballet skirt after that remark of the Major's about her garters."

"All I was thinking," said Father McCormack, "was that if you dressed the girl up in that style she'll never be contented again with ordinary clothes."

"I'd be opposed, so I would," said Gallagher, "to anything that wouldn't be respectable in the case of Mary Ellen. Her mother was a cousin of my own, and I've a feeling for the girl. So if you or any other one, Doctor, is planning contrivances——"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Thady," said Dr. O'Grady.

"I tell you she'll be all right. Now, Doyle, will you read us that letter from your nephew? If we don't get on with our business we'll be here all night."



CHAPTER XV

"I can't find the letter high or low," said Doyle.

"Maybe now," said Father McCormack, "it's not in your pocket at all."

"It should be," said Doyle, "for it was there I put it after showing it to the doctor here yesterday."

"It doesn't matter," said Dr. O'Grady, "you can tell us what he said in your own words."

"What I told my nephew," said Doyle, "when I was writing to him, was that the committee was a bit pressed in the matter of time, owing to next Thursday week being the only day that it was convenient for the Lord-Lieutenant to attend for the opening of the statue. Well, gentlemen, by the height of good luck it just happens that my nephew has a statue on hand which he thinks would do us."

"He has what?" said the Major.

"A statue that has been left on his hands," said Doyle. "The way of it was this. It was ordered by the relatives of a deceased gentleman, and it was to have been put up in St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin."

"That shows," said Dr. O'Grady, "that it's a first rate statue. They wouldn't let you put up anything second rate in a cathedral like that."

"It must be a good one, surely," said Father McCormack.

"But when the relatives of the deceased party went into his affairs," said Doyle, "they found he hadn't died near as well off as they thought he was going to; so they told my nephew that they wouldn't take the statue and couldn't pay for it. It was pretty near finished at the time, and what my nephew says is that he could make sure of having it ready for us by the end of this week at the latest."

"Look here, O'Grady," said the Major, "I'm as fond of a joke as any man; but I must draw the line somewhere. I'm hanged if I'll be mixed up in any way with a second-hand statue."

"It's not second-hand," said Dr. O'Grady, "it's perfectly new. At this moment it isn't even finished; I wouldn't ask this committee to buy anything second hand. But you can surely see, Major—you do see, for you raised the point yourself, that with the very short time at our disposal we must, if we are to have a statue at all, get one that's more or less ready made."

"But—Good Heavens! O'Grady," said the Major. "How can you possibly put up a statue of somebody else and call it General John Regan? It won't be the least like him. How can you—the thing's too absurd even for you. Who was this man that the statue was made for?"

"Who was he, Doyle?" said Dr. O'Grady. "It doesn't really matter to us who he was; but you may as well tell the Major so as to satisfy him."

"I disremember his name," said Doyle, "and I can't lay my hand on the letter; but he was a Deputy-Lieutenant of whatever county he belonged to."

"There you are now, Major," said Dr. O'Grady. "A Deputy-Lieutenant! Nothing could be more respectable than that. You're only a J.P. yourself, and I don't believe you'll ever be anything more. You can't afford to turn up your nose at a Deputy-Lieutenant. We shan't be doing any injury to the General's reputation by allowing him to be represented by a man of high position, most likely of good family, who was at all events supposed to be well off before he died."

"I wasn't thinking of the General's reputation," said the Major. "I don't care a hang——"

"I don't see that we are bound to consider the feelings of the Deputy-Lieutenant," said Dr. O'Grady. "After all, if a man deliberately leads his relatives to suppose that he is rich enough to afford a statue in a cathedral and then turns out to be too poor to pay for it, he doesn't deserve much consideration."

"I wouldn't cross the road," said Doyle, "to do a good turn to a man that let my nephew in the way that fellow did. For let me tell you, gentlemen, that statue would have been a serious loss to him if——"

"I'm not thinking of him or Doyle's nephew either," said the Major. "I don't know who that Deputy-Lieutenant was, and I don't care if his statue was stuck up in every market town in Ireland."

"If you're not thinking of the General," said the doctor, "and if you're not thinking of the Deputy-Lieutenant, what on earth are you grumbling about?"

"I'm grumbling, as you call it," said the Major, "about the utterly intolerable absurdity of the whole thing. Can't you see it? You can of course, but you won't. Look here, Father McCormack, you're a man of some sense and decency of feeling. Can we possibly ask the Lord-Lieutenant to come here and unveil a statue of General John Regan—whoever he was—when all we've got is a statue of some other man? Quite possibly the Lord-Lieutenant may have known that Deputy-Lieutenant personally, and if he recognises the statue where shall we be?"

"There's something in what the Major says," said Father McCormack. "I'll not deny there's something in what he says."

"There isn't," said Dr. O'Grady. "Excuse my contradicting you flatly, Father McCormack, but there really isn't. We all know Doyle, and we respect him; but I put it to you now, Father McCormack, I put it to any member of the committee: Is Doyle likely to have a nephew who'd be able to make a statue that anybody would recognise?"

"There's something in that," said Father McCormack. "I'm not well up in statues, but I've seen a few in my time, and all I can say is that unless Doyle's nephew is a great deal better at the job than most of the fellows that makes them, nobody would know, unless they were told, who their statue's meant to be like."

"My nephew's a good sculptor," said Doyle. "If he wasn't I wouldn't have brought his name forward to-day; but what the doctor says is true enough. I've seen heads he's done, for mural tablets and the like, and so far as anybody recognising them for portraits of the deceased goes, you might have changed the tablets and, barring the inscriptions, nobody would have known to the differ. Not but what they were well done, every one of them."

"There now, Major," said Dr. O'Grady. "That pretty well disposes of your last objection."

"That's only a side issue," said the Major, speaking with a calm which was evidently forced. "My point is that we can't, in ordinary decency, put up a statue of one man to represent another."

"I don't know that I altogether agree with the Major there," said Father McCormack, "but there's something in what he says."

"I can't see that there's anything," said Dr. O'Grady. "Deputy-Lieutenants have uniforms, haven't they? So have Generals. Nobody can possibly know what the uniform of a Bolivian General was fifty or a hundred years ago. All we could do, even if we were having the statue entirely made to order, would be to guess at the uniform. It's just as likely to be that of a modern Deputy-Lieutenant as anything else."

"That's true of course," said Father McCormack.

"Anyway," said Doyle, "if we're to have a statue at all it'll have to be this one. There's no other for us to get, so what's the use of talking?"

The Major shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"There's evidently no use my talking," he said.

"Is it your wish then, gentlemen," said Father McCormack, "that the offer of Mr. Aloysius Doyle to supply a statue of General John Regan be accepted by the committee?"

"It is," said Dr. O'Grady.

"Subject to the price being satisfactory," said Gallagher. "We haven't heard the price yet."

"I have the letter about the price which my nephew sent me," said Doyle, "and I think you'll all agree with me that he's giving it cheap."

"He ought to," said Gallagher, "considering that if he doesn't sell it to us it's not likely he'll sell it at all."

"The demand for second-hand statues must be small," said the Major.

"What he says is," said Doyle, "that considering he's dealing with a member of his own family he'll let the statue go at no more than the price of the raw material, not making any charge for the work he's putting into it. I don't know that we can expect more than that from him."

"You cannot, of course," said Father McCormack.

"Let's hear the figure," said Gallagher.

"I should say," said the Major, "that L10 would be a liberal offer on our part."

"Shut up, Major," said Dr. O'Grady. "What do you know about the price of statues? You wouldn't get a plaster cast of a pet dog for L10."

Doyle smiled amiably.

"There's not a man in Ballymoy," he said, "fonder of a joke than the Major."

"Let's hear the figure," said Gallagher.

"What he says," said Doyle, "is L81."

Major Kent whistled.

"But I wouldn't wonder," said Doyle, "but you could get him to knock 10s. off that and say L80 10s."

Dr. O'Grady pulled a sheet of paper towards him and began to write rapidly.

"Statue L80 10s.," he said. "Carriage, say L1 10s. The railway companies are robbers. Expenses of erection, say L2. You'll let us have any mortar and cement that are needed for nothing, Doyle; so we'll only have to pay for labour. I'll superintend the erection without charging a fee. Illuminated Address, L4. Bouquet L1 is. That's a good deal to give for a bouquet, but I don't think we'll get a decent one for less. Dresses, etc., for Mary Ellen—the green stockings will have to be ordered specially, and so will come to a little money. And we may have to get that grey tweed dress which Mrs. Ford wants, just to prevent her kicking up a row. Two dresses, stockings, etc., for Mary Ellen, say L4. That will include shoes with buckles. She'll have to wear an Irish brooch of some sort, but we'll probably be able to borrow that. Lunch for the Vice Regal party on the day of the unveiling—there'll be at least four of them, say five in case of accidents. That will allow for two aides de camp and a private secretary. They can't want more. The five of us and Mr. Billing, who said he'd be back for the ceremony. That makes eleven. I suppose you could do us really well, Doyle, at 7s. 6d. a head, including drinks, and there'll have to be three or four bottles of champagne on the sideboard, just for the look of the thing. We may not have to open more than one. Eleven times 7s. 6d. makes L4 2s. 6d. What do you mean to charge us for the printing of the posters, Gallagher?"

"I'll say L3," said Gallagher, "to include posters and advertisements in the paper. I'll be losing money on it."

"You'll not be losing much," said Dr. O'Grady, "but we'll say L3. That will make—let me see——"

He added up his column of figures and then checked the result by adding them downwards.

"That comes to L100 3s. 6d.," he said, "and we've not put down anything for postage. You'll have to get your nephew to knock another 10s. off the price of the statue. After all, when he said L81, he must have been prepared to take L80, and he'll have to cut the inscription for us without extra charge."

"He might," said Doyle, "if we approached him on the subject."

"He'll have to," said Dr. O'Grady, "for L100 is all we've got, and we can't run into debt."

"He did say," said Doyle, "that 3d. a letter was the regular charge for cutting inscriptions."

"We'll make it short," said Dr. O'Grady. "We won't stick him for more than about 10s. over the inscription. After all long inscriptions are vulgar. I propose that Mr. Thaddeus Gallagher, as the only representative of the press among us, be commissioned to write the inscription."

"We couldn't have a better man," said Father McCormack.

"I'll not do it," said Gallagher. He had a solid reason for refusing the honour offered to him. The writer of an inscription at the base of a statue is almost bound to make some statement about the person whom the statue represents.

"You will now, Thady," said Doyle, "and you'll do it well."

"I will not," said Gallagher. "Let the doctor do it himself."

"There's no man in Connacht better fit to draw up an inscription of the kind," said Father McCormack, "than Mr. Gallagher."

Thady Gallagher was susceptible to flattery. He would have liked very well to draw up an inscription for the statue, modelling it on the resolutions which he was accustomed to propose at political meetings in favour of' Home Rule. But he was faced with what seemed to him an insuperable difficulty. He did not know who General John Regan was.

"Let the doctor do it," he said reluctantly.

"Whoever does it," said Doyle, "it'll have to be done at once. My nephew said that on account of the way we are pressed for time he'd be glad if the words of the inscription was wired to him to-day."

"It would, maybe, be better," said Father McCor-mack, "if you were to do it, doctor. We'll all be sorry that the words don't come from the accomplished pen of our respected fellow citizen, Mr. Gallagher——"

"I'll not do it," said Gallagher, "for I wouldn't know what to say."

"Write it out and have done with it, O'Grady," said the Major. "What's the good of keeping us sitting here all day?"

"Very well," said Dr. O'Grady. "After all, it's not much trouble. How would this do? 'General John Regan—Patriot—Soldier—Statesman—Vivat Bolivia'."

"We couldn't do better," said Father McCormack.

"What's the meaning of the poetry at the end of it?" asked Gallagher.

"It's not poetry," said Dr. O'Grady, "and it doesn't mean much. It's the Latin for 'Long live Bolivia.'"

Gallagher rose to his feet. He had been obliged to confess himself unable to write an inscription; but he was thoroughly well able to make a speech.

"Considering," he said, "that the town of Ballymoy is in the Province of Connacht which is one of the provinces of Ireland, and considering the unswerving attachment through long centuries of alien oppression which the Irish people have shown to the cause of national independence, it's my opinion that there should be something in the inscription, be the same more or less, about Home Rule. What I say, and what I've always said——"

"Very well," said Dr. O'Grady, "I'll put 'Esto Perpetua,' if you like. It's the same number of letters, and it's what Grattan said about the last Home Rule Parliament. That ought to satisfy you, and I'm sure the Major won't mind."

"I'm pretty well past minding anything now," said the Major.

"There's no example in history," said Gallagher, "of determined devotion to a great cause equal to that of the Irish people who have been returning Members of Parliament pledged to the demand which has been made with unfaltering tongue on the floor of the House at Westminster——"

"Get a telegraph form, Doyle," said Dr. O'Grady, "and copy out that inscription while Thady is finishing his speech."

"There's one other point that I'd like to mention," said Doyle, "and it's this——"

"Wait a minute, Thady," said Dr. O'Grady. "We'll just deal with this point of Doyle's and then you'll be able to go on without interruption. What is it, Doyle?"

"My nephew says," said Doyle, "that he'd be glad of a cheque on account for the statue; he having been put to a good deal of out-of-pocket expense."

"Very well," said Dr. O'Grady, "send him L25. Now go on, Thady."

"Is it me send him L25?" said Doyle doubtfully.

"Of course it's you. You're the treasurer."

"But it's you has Mr. Billing's cheque," said Doyle.

"I haven't got Mr. Billing's cheque," said Dr. O'Grady.

"If you haven't," said Doyle, helplessly, "who has?"

"It's my belief," said Gallagher, in a tone of extreme satisfaction, "that there's no cheque in it."

"Do you mean to say, Doyle," said Dr. O'Grady, "that you've been such a besotted idiot as to let that American escape out of this without paying over his subscription for the statue?"

"You'll never see him again," said Gallagher. "He's not the first man that skipped the country after letting everybody in."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said Father McCormack, "order, please, order."

"We'll have to drop the whole thing now," said the Major, "and I must say I'm extremely glad."

"I'm no more an idiot than you are yourself, doctor," said Doyle, "and I won't have language of the kind used to me. How was I to know he hadn't given you the cheque?"

"You were the treasurer," said Dr. O'Grady. "What on earth is a treasurer for if he doesn't get in the subscriptions?"

"That nephew of yours will have his statue on his hands a bit longer," said Gallagher.

He still spoke in a tone of satisfaction; but even as he contemplated the extreme disappointment of Doyle's nephew it occurred to him that there might be a difficulty about paying his own bill for L3. The same thought struck Father McCormack.

"Gentlemen," he said, "there's been an unfortunate mistake, but it might be worse."

"That American fellow has us robbed," said Gallagher.

"We'll prosecute him when we catch him," said Doyle.

"It might be worse," said Father McCormack. "We haven't spent very much yet. The dresses for Mary Ellen can hardly have been put in hand yet, so we won't have to pay for them."

"There's my bill," said Gallagher.

"So there's only Mr. Gallagher's little account," said Father McCormack.

"We'll have a house-to-house collection," said Doyle, "till we get the money raised."

"Don't be a blithering idiot, Doyle," said Dr. O'Grady. "How can you go round and ask people to subscribe to——"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said Father McCormack.

"We must fall back upon the subscription list that was published in the Connacht Eagle," said the Major, "as well as I recollect we all promised——"

"Nobody promised anything," said Doyle. "It was Dr. O'Grady that promised for us and before I pay a penny for a man that owes me more this minute than he can pay——"

"Oh, do shut up, Doyle," said Dr. O'Grady. "What's the good of raking up the past? What we've got to do now is to find a way out of the confounded hole we've been let into through your incompetence and carelessness."

"I'm down for L5," said the Major, "and I'll consider that I'm very well out of this business if I have to pay no more. I'd rather give five pounds any day than stand by watching Mary Ellen and the Lord-Lieutenant making faces at a second-hand statue."

"It's a handsome offer, so it is," said Father McCormack, "and the thanks of the meeting——"

"I'll not pay a penny," said Doyle, "and what's more, if the doctor doesn't pay me what he owes me I'll put him into the County Court."

"It's you that'll have to pay," said Gallagher, "whether you like it or not."

"I'm damned if I do," said Doyle.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said Father McCormack, "will you mind what you're saying? That's no language to be using, Mr. Doyle; and I don't think the doctor has any right—not that I mind myself what you say for I'm not particular; but if it was to get out to the ears of the general public that this meeting had been conducting itself in ways that's very far from being reputable——"

"There's no general public here," said Dr. O'Grady, "and that's just as well."

"What I'm trying to tell you," said Father McCormack, "and what I would tell you if you'd listen to me, is that there's somebody knocking at the door of the room we're in and whoever it is must have heard every word that's been said this last five minutes."

Doyle and Gallagher stopped growling at each other when the priest spoke. Dr. O'Grady sat upright in his chair and bent his head towards the door. There was a moment's silence in the room and a very faint, as it were an apologetic, knock was heard at the door.

"Come in," said Dr. O'Grady.

Mary Ellen opened the door and looked in. She appeared to be rather frightened. If, as Father McCormack supposed she heard every word spoken during the previous five minutes, she had very good reason for feeling nervous. She had a still better reason a moment later when Doyle caught sight of her. Doyle had completely lost command of his temper.

"Get away out of that, Mary Ellen," he said, "and if I catch sight of you here again before I call for you I'll have the two ears cut off you and yourself sent home to your mother with them in a paper parcel in the well of the car."

Curiously enough this appalling threat seemed to cheer Mary Ellen a little. She smiled.

"Mrs. Gregg says——" she said.

"If you're not outside the door and it shut after you before I've done speaking I'll do what I've said and worse on top of that," said Doyle.

"I won't have Mary Ellen bullied," said Dr. O'Grady. "It's all you're fit for, Doyle, to frighten helpless little girls. If you'd talked that way to Billing when he was trying to run away without paying——"

"You're a nice one to talk about paying," said Doyle.

Dr. O'Grady left his seat and walked over lo the door.

"What is it now, Mary Ellen?" he said.

"Mrs. Gregg says," she said, "will I be wearing a hat or will I not?"

"Go back to Mrs. Gregg," said Dr. O'Grady, "and tell her that you will not wear a hat, but you'll have your hair tied up with a green silk ribbon to match your stockings. Would you like that?"

"I'd as soon have a hat," said Mary Ellen, "and Mr. Moriarty says———"

"Surely to goodness," said Dr. O'Grady, "he hasn't been helping to order your clothes!"

"He has not," said Mary Ellen, "but he was outside the barrack and me coming along the street——"

"He always is," said Dr. O'Grady.

"And he said to me that it wouldn't do for me to be dressed up any way foolish like."

"Let Constable Moriarty mind his own business," said Dr. O'Grady. "You go back and tell Mrs. Gregg what I say."

The other members of the committee sat listening with amazed interest to all Dr. O'Grady said to Mary Ellen. Even Doyle was too much astonished to attempt an interruption. He said nothing till the doctor, having dismissed Mary Ellen, returned to the table. Then he spoke.

"And who's going to pay for the green ribbon which is to go along with the stockings? Who's going to pay for it? That's what I'm asking you. You needn't be thinking that I will."

"Gentlemen," said Dr. O'Grady, "I owe you all an apology. I'm afraid I lost my temper for a minute or two. Father McCormack, I beg your pardon, and if I said—as I fear I did say—anything disrespectful to you as chairman——"

"Don't speak another word, Doctor," said Father McCormack, "you've said enough. Sure anyone might have been betrayed into a strong expression when he was provoked. Not that you said a word to me that you've any reason to be sorry for."

"Major Kent," said Dr. O'Grady, "if I've in any way insulted you——"

"Not worse than usual," said Major Kent. "I'm quite accustomed to it."

"Mr. Doyle," said the doctor, "I'm afraid that in the heat of the moment I may have—but I can do no more than ask your pardon———"

"I don't care a thraneen," said Doyle, "what you called me, and I'll give you leave to call me that and more every day of the week if you see your way to get the L100 out of the American gentleman."

"I can't do that," said Dr. O'Grady, "but I have a proposal to lay before the meeting which I think will get us out of our difficulty."



CHAPTER XVI

"Let you speak out," said Doyle, "and if so be that you're not asking us to pay up——"

"I think we may take it for granted, gentlemen," said Dr. O'Grady, "that if we produce a creditable statue for the Lord-Lieutenant to unveil and give him a really gratifying illuminated address——"

"The statue and the illuminated address would be all right," said Doyle, "if there was any way of paying for them."

"And a bouquet," said Dr. O'Grady; "and a good luncheon. If we do all that and make ourselves generally agreeable by means of Mary Ellen and in other ways the Lord-Lieutenant couldn't very well refuse to give us a grant of Government money to build a pier."

"It's likely he'd give it," said Father McCormack, "it's likely enough that he'd give it—if we——"

"He couldn't well not," said Doyle, "after us giving him a lunch and all."

"If so be," said Gallagher, "that he was to refuse at the latter end we'd have questions asked about him in Parliament; and believe you me that's what he wouldn't like. Them fellows is terrible afraid of the Irish Members. And they've a good right to be, for devil the finer set of men you'd see anywhere than what they are. There isn't a thing goes wrong in the country but they're ready to torment the life out of whoever might be responsible for the man that did it."

"Very well," said Dr. O'Grady. "Now do we want a pier?"

"We want the money," said Doyle.

"I don't know," said Father McCormack, "could we get the money without we'd build a pier when we'd got it."

"My point is," said Dr. O'Grady, "that the pier itself, the actual stone structure sticking out into the sea, being no particular use to any one once it's built——"

"It'd be a public nuisance," said the Major.

"We can do very well with an inferior kind of pier," said Dr. O'Grady. "What I mean to say is we might spend a little less than we're actually given."

"What about the inspector they'd send down?" said Doyle.

"Them inspectors," said Gallagher, "is as thick about the country as fleas on a dog. Hardly ever a man would turn round without he'd have one of them asking him what he was doing it for."

For once Gallagher had spoken in a way that was acceptable to the other members of the committee. There was a general murmur of assent. Everyone present was more or less conscious of the enormous numbers of inspectors in Ireland. Even Major Kent, who had been in a bad temper all along, brightened up a little.

"I was reading a paper the other day," he said, "that 80 per cent, of the adult population of Leinster, Munster and Connacht, were paid by the Government to teach the other people how to get their livings, and to see that they did what they were told. That included schoolmasters."

"I shouldn't wonder now," said Father McCormack, "that those figures would be about right."

"It was only the week before last," said Doyle, "that there was a man stopping in my hotel, a man that looked as if he was earning a comfortable salary, and he——"

Doyle spoke in the tone of a man who is going to tell a long and leisurely story. Dr. O'Grady, who had heard the story before, interrupted him.

"Of course we'd have to talk to the inspector when he comes," he said.

"You'd do that, O'Grady," said the Major. "You'd talk to a bench of bishops."

"I'm not sure," said Father McCormack, "that I quite see what the doctor's getting at."

"It's simple enough," said Dr. O'Grady, "Suppose he offers us L500 for a pier—he can't well make it less——"

"It'll be more," said Doyle optimistically. "It'll be nearer a thousand pounds."

"Say L500," said Dr. O'Grady. "What I propose is that we spend L400 on a pier and use the other hundred to pay for the statue and the rest of the things we have to get."

"Bedamn," said Doyle, "but that's great. That's the best ever I heard."

Major Kent rose to his feet. He was very red in the face, and there was a look of rigid determination in his eyes.

"I may as well tell you at once," he said, "that I'll have nothing to do with any such plan."

"Why not?" said Dr. O'Grady.

"Because I'm an honest man. I raised no particular objection when you merely proposed to make a fool of me and everybody else concerned——"

"You've done very little else except raise objections," said Dr. O'Grady.

"—But when it comes to a deliberate act of dishonesty———"

"That's a hard word, so it is," said Doyle.

"It's not a bit too hard," said the Major, "and I say it again. Dishonesty. I won't have anything to do——"

"The Major's right," said Father McCormack, "there's no denying it, the Major's right."

"He would be right," said Dr. O'Grady, "he'd be perfectly right if there were any dishonesty about the matter. I hope it isn't necessary for me to say that if I thought the plan a dishonest one I'd be the last man in Ireland to propose it."

"Of course, of course," said Father McCormack.

"The doctor wouldn't do the like," said Doyle.

"Sure we all know that," said Father McCormack, "but the objection that the Major has raised——"

"It's all very well talking," said the Major. "But talking won't alter facts. It is dishonest to get a grant of money for one purpose and use it for something totally different."

"I'm not quite sure," said Dr. O'Grady, "whether you quite understand the philosophy of modern charity, Major."

"I understand the ten commandments," said the Major, "and that's enough for me."

"Nobody's saying a word against the ten commandments," said Dr. O'Grady.

"You're going to do something against one of them," said the Major, "and that's worse. If you merely said things against them I shouldn't mind. We all know that you'd say anything."

"You're begging the question, Major, you really are. Now listen to me. What's the ordinary recognised way of raising large sums of money for charitable objects? Some kind of bazaar, isn't it?"

"It is," said Father McCormack. "There's hardly ever a winter but there's one or two of them up in Dublin for hospitals or the like."

"Very well," said Dr. O'Grady. "What happens when a bazaar is held?"

"It doesn't matter to us what happens," said the Major. "We're not holding one."

"Let the doctor speak," said Doyle.

"What happens is this," said Dr. O'Grady. "A large sum of money, very often an enormous sum, is spent on getting up switch-back railways, and Alpine panoramas, and underground rivers, and old English villages. Those things are absolutely necessary to the success of the show. They cost thousands of pounds sometimes. Now, who pays for them? The charity pays, and is jolly glad to. The price of them is deducted from the gross receipts and the balance is handed over to the hospital. Is there anything dishonest about that?"

"There is not, of course," said Father McCormack. "It's always done."

"Wouldn't a bishop do it? A bishop of any church?"

"Lots of them do," said Father McCormack.

"Well, if a bishop would do it, it can't be dishonest," said Dr. O'Grady. "You'll agree to that, I suppose, Major? You won't want to accuse the hierarchy of Ireland, Protestant and Roman Catholics, of flying in the face of the ten commandments."

The Major had sat down again. While Dr. O'Grady was speaking he turned his chair half round and stared out of the window. He wished to convey the impression that he was not listening to a word that was said. When Dr. O'Grady appealed to him directly he turned round again and answered:

"It's dishonest to take money given for one purpose and use it for another," he said.

"I'm with you there, Major," said Father McCormack. "I'm with you there."

"Are you prepared," said Dr. O'Grady, "to go back on the whole theory of necessary expenses? Would you refuse to allow the unfortunate secretary of a charitable society to refund himself for the postage stamps he uses in sending out his appeals?"

"Secretaries have nothing to do with us," said the Major. "This is a simple question of right and wrong."

"You haven't quite caught my point yet," said Dr. O'Grady patiently. "What I'm trying to explain to you is this: we're in exactly the same position as the charity that's getting up a bazaar. In order to make the money we want for the good of the town—the good of the town, mind you, Major—that's a worthy object."

"A pier wouldn't be any good if you had it," said the Major.

"A lot of money would be spent building it," said Dr. O'Grady, "and that would do us all good. But in order to get a pier we must incur some expense. We shan't get the pier unless we succeed in enticing a Lord-Lieutenant down here."

"You will not," said Doyle. "It's waste of time writing letters to those fellows, for they don't read them."

"And we can't get the Lord-Lieutenant down unless we have a statue for him to unveil," said Dr. O'Grady.

"He wouldn't come without he had something of the sort," said Father McCormack. "That's sure."

"Therefore," said Dr. O'Grady, "the statue is a necessary part of our expenses in getting the pier. So is the illuminated address. So is the bouquet. And we're just as well entitled to charge what they all cost us against the money we succeed in making, as the secretary of a charitable bazaar is to debit his gross earnings with the hire of the hall in which the show is held."

"Now that you put it in that way," said Father McCormack, "I can see well that there's something in what you say."

"Honesty and dishonesty are two different things," said the Major.

"Don't keep on making those bald and senseless assertions," said Dr. O'Grady. "Even an income tax collector, and he's the most sceptical kind of man there is with regard to assertions about money—but even he allows his victims to deduct the expenses necessarily incurred in making their incomes from the gross amount which they return to him. You can't want to go behind the income tax authorities, Major."

"It's all very well arguing," said the Major, "and I can't answer you when you confuse things in the way you do. But I know perfectly well that it isn't right——"

"Well do what the doctor says, anyway," said Doyle. "Doesn't the Government rob the whole of us every day more than ever we'll be able to rob it?"

"There's something in that, too," said Father McCormack.

Curiously enough Doyle's statement produced far more effect on Major Kent's mind than the elaborate arguments of Dr. O'Grady. He was accustomed to gnash his teeth over the burden of taxation laid upon him. He had often, in private conversation, described governments, especially Liberal Governments, as bandits and thieves.

"We are robbed," he said. "I admit that. What with the extra tax on unearned income and the insurance of servants against accidents, and this infernal new unemployment insurance, and the death duties, and——"

"There was a report of the Financial Relations Commission," said Gallagher, "which presented a case on behalf of Ireland that showed——"

"Don't drag in politics, Thady," said Dr. O'Grady. "The Major admits that he's robbed. That ought to be enough for you. Now, Major, if you were attacked by a highwayman——"

"I didn't say the Government was a highwayman," said the Major.

"You said it was a robber. Didn't he, Father Mc-Cormack?"

"He said it had him robbed," said Father McCormack, with the air of a man who is carefully making a fine distinction.

"That's exactly the same thing. Now, Major, if a robber stole your money, wouldn't you take the first chance you could of getting it back? You know you would. We all would. And would you call that dishonesty? You would not. Now we're offering you the chance of getting something back, a mere trifle, but still something, out of a Government which, as you admit, has robbed you. Why on earth do you start making a fuss?"

"I can't argue with you, O'Grady," said the Major, "but you're wrong."

"What's the good of talking?" said Doyle. "We'll do what the doctor says."

"Your nephew won't be able to get that advance he asked for," said Dr. O'Grady.

"Let him not," said Doyle. "I don't pity him. He'll get his money in the end."

"Gentlemen," said Father McCormack, "is it your will that the plan now laid before the meeting by Dr. O'Grady, be adopted?"

"It is," said Gallagher.

"What else is there for us to do?" said Doyle.

"You may take me as dissenting," said the Major.

"I'll make a note of that in the minutes," said Dr. O'Grady, "and then your conscience will be perfectly clear, no matter what happens."

"Well, gentlemen," said Father McCormack, "I suppose that completes our arrangements for to-day. When shall we have our next meeting?" He rose to his feet as he spoke. Everyone else rose too. Major Kent put on his hat and walked towards the door. When he reached it he turned.

"I shan't come to any more meetings," he said.

"I don't think there's any necessity to hold another meeting," said Dr. O'Grady, "until after the Lord-Lieutenant has left and the time comes for squaring up things. I shall be so busy between this and the day of his visit that I shan't have time to attend meetings."

"Very well," said Father McCormack. "I shall be all the better pleased."

He left the room and followed Major Kent down the stairs.

"Thady," said Doyle, "do you go down to the bar, and I'll be with you in a minute. I've a word to say to the doctor."

"I could do with a sup of porter after all that talk," said Gallagher, as he left the room.

"Doctor," said Doyle, "if things turn out the way we hope——".

"I suppose you're knocking a commission out of that nephew of yours for selling his statue for him?"

"Twenty-five per pent, is the amount agreed on. It isn't everyone I'd tell, but I've confidence in you, doctor."

"And if we get L500 for the pier?"

"A middling good pier," said Doyle, "as good a pier as anyone'd have a right to expect in a place like this, might be built for L300."

"That'll put L120 into your pocket, Doyle, not counting anything you may make on the luncheons!"

"What I was meaning to say, doctor, is, that it would be a satisfaction to me if there was something coming to yourself. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Doyle; but I'm not in this business to make money."

"It would be well," said Doyle with a sigh, "if you'd make a little more now and again."

"If you're going to start about that wretched bill I owe you——"

"I am not then. Nor I won't mention it to you until such time as you might be able to pay it. If so be that things turn out the way you say I shouldn't care——"

"If you keep Gallagher waiting too long for his drink," said Dr. O'Grady, "he'll start breaking things. He must be uncommonly thirsty after all the speeches he made this afternoon."

"That's true," said Doyle. "I'd maybe better go to him."

Constable Moriarty stood just outside the door of the hotel. He saluted Major Kent as he passed. He touched his hat respectfully to Father McCormack. He saw Gallagher come downstairs and enter the bar. A few minutes later he saw Dr. O'Grady. All traces of his usual smile vanished from his face. He drew himself up stiffly, and his eyes expressed something more than official severity. When Dr. O'Grady passed through the door into the street, Moriarty confronted him.

"I'm glad to see," said Dr. O'Grady, "that you've stopped grinning. It's quite time you did."

"It's not grins I'm talking about now," said Moriarty. "It's Mary Ellen."

"Nice little girl, isn't she?"

"It's a nice little girl you'll make of her before you've done! What's this I'm after hearing about the way you have in mind for dressing her up?"

"Do be reasonable, Moriarty! What's the good of asking me what you've heard? I can't possibly know, for I wasn't there when you heard it."

"You know well what I heard."

"Look here, Moriarty," said Dr. O'Grady. "If you think I'm going to stand here to be bullied by you in the public street you're greatly mistaken. Why don't you go and patrol somewhere?"

"I'll not have Mary Ellen play-acting before the Lord-Lieutenant, so now you know, doctor."

"There's no play-acting to be done," said Dr. O'Grady. "We haven't even had time to get up a pageant. I wish we had. You'd look splendid as a Roman Emperor trampling on a conquered people. I'm not sure that I wouldn't get you up as an Assyrian bull. The expression of your face is just right this minute."

"Mary Ellen's an orphan girl," said Moriarty, "with no father to look after her, and what's more I'm thinking of marrying her myself. So it's as well for you to understand, doctor, that I'll not have her character took from her. It's not the first time you've tried that same, but it had better be the last."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Moriarty. There's nobody injuring the girl's character except, maybe, yourself. Doyle tells me you're never out of the back-yard of the hotel."

"You put it out that she was married to young Kerrigan."

"That was Thady Gallagher," said Dr. O'Grady, "and it didn't do her a bit of harm. Nobody except Mr. Billing believed it."

"I don't mind that so much now," said Moriarty, "though I don't deny I was angry at the time, but what I won't have is Mary Ellen dressed up to be an ancient Irish colleen. It's not respectful to the girl."

"You told me the other day that you want the Lord-Lieutenant to make you a sergeant. Did you mean that when you said it, or did you not?"

"It's no way to make a sergeant of me to be dressing up Mary Ellen."

"It's far the best way. When the Lord-Lieutenant sees her and hears——"

"It's not going to be done, anyway," said Moriarty, "for I won't have it."

"Listen to me now," said Dr. O'Grady, "and you may take it that this is my last word, for I haven't time to waste talking to you. If I catch you interfering with Mary Ellen in any way or setting the girl's mind up against the costume that Mrs. Gregg has designed for her, I'll speak to Mr. Gregg, and have you transferred to some different county altogether, where you'll never see Mary Ellen either in fancy dress or any other way. What's more I'll represent your conduct to the Lord-Lieutenant, so that you'll never be made a sergeant as long as you live."

These threats affected Moriarty. He had no doubt in his mind that Dr. O'Grady could and would carry out the first of them. About the second he was not quite so sure, but it remained a horrible possibility.

He saw that there was nothing to be done by opposing his will to a powerful combination of private influence and official power. Without speaking another word he turned and walked across the street to the barrack. But his anger had by no means died away. He found Sergeant Colgan asleep in the living-room. He woke him at once.

"I'll be even with that doctor," he said, "before I've done with him."

"That's threatening language," said the sergeant, who was not pleased at being wakened, "and it's actionable; so you'd better mind yourself, Moriarty. There's many a better man than you has gone to jail for less than that. I knew a Member of Parliament one time that got three weeks for no more than saying that he'd like to see the people beating the life out of a land grabber. What has the doctor been doing to you?"

"It's about Mary Ellen."

"Get out," said the sergeant, "you and your Mary Ellen! It's too fond you are of running here and there after that same Mary Ellen."

It was plain that no sympathy was to be expected from Sergeant Colgan. Moriarty sat down on a chair in the corner and meditated on plans of vengeance. The sergeant dropped off to sleep again.



CHAPTER XVII

According to the official programme—so described by Dr. O'Grady—the Lord-Lieutenant and Lady Chesterton were to arrive in Ballymoy by motor-car at half-past twelve o'clock. There might be two motor-cars. That depended on the number of aides-de-camp and of the suite which the Lord-Lieutenant brought. There would certainly be one, and Doyle had the coach-house in his back-yard emptied and carefully cleaned to serve for the garage. Everything in the town was ready before half-past ten. The statue had been erected on its pedestal the day before and excited general admiration. Even Major Kent admitted that it was a striking work of art which would be an ornament to the town. The deceased Deputy-Lieutenant was dressed in flowing robes which resembled those worn by judges. He held a large roll, intended to represent parchment, in his left hand. This, Dr. O'Grady said, might very well be taken for the original draft of the Bolivian Constitution. His right hand pointed upwards with extended forefinger. In the case of the Deputy-Lieutenant, who was almost certainly a strong Unionist, this may have symbolised an appeal to the higher powers—the House of Lords, or even the King—to refuse consent to a Home Rule Bill. When the statue ceased to be a Deputy-Lieutenant and became General John Regan the attitude was taken to express his confidence in the heavenly nature of the national liberty which he had won for Bolivia. This was the explanation of the uplifted forefinger which Dr. O'Grady offered to Thady Gallagher. But Gallagher was curiously sulky and suspicious. He seemed unimpressed.

Doyle's nephew came down to Ballymoy and personally superintended the fixing of the statue on its pedestal. He complained that the cement supplied for the purpose by his uncle was of very inferior quality, and expressed grave doubts about the stability of the structure. Dr. O'Grady did not seem very anxious. He hinted that the people of Ballymoy would be quite satisfied if the statue stood for twenty-four hours. The weather was exceptionally fine and calm. There was no reason—if the unveiling were carefully done—why Doyle's cement should be subjected to any strain whatever.

At nine o'clock on the morning of the Lord-Lieutenant's visit, Dr. O'Grady, with the help of Doyle and two labourers, who had three step-ladders, veiled the statue. They draped it from the head to the bottom of the pedestal in a large sheet of blay calico of a light yellowish colour. This was carefully done, and an elaborate arrangement of string was made, leading out from the statue to the place where the Lord-Lieutenant was to stand. Dr. O'Grady satisfied himself by a series of experiments that the apparatus would work. At a single pull at the end of the string the whole sheet fluttered to the ground and exposed the Deputy-Lieutenant to public view.

It was ten o'clock before these arrangements were completed and the step-ladders taken away. Dr. O'Grady went into the barrack and warned Sergeant Colgan that he would be held personally responsible if any curious wayfarer pulled the string before the proper time. Sergeant Colgan at once ordered Moriarty to mount guard over the statue. Dr. O'Grady went over to the hotel and inspected the luncheon table. He had laid it himself the night before, so he felt fairly confident that everything was as it should be; but he was not inclined to run any risks. It was just possible that Doyle, acting on advice from somebody else, might have altered the position of the spoons and forks during the night.

"It'll be after lunch," said Dr. O'Grady, "that we'll introduce the subject of a pier."

"Then or sooner," said Doyle.

"Hints will have been given before that," said Dr. O'Grady. "Father McCormack has promised to touch on the undeveloped condition of our fishing industry when he's making his introductory remarks previous to the unveiling of the statue. If I get half a chance, I mean to point out what excellent stones there are in that old mill of yours. The matter is distinctly alluded to at the end of the illuminated address, but I'm afraid they're not likely to read that till they get back to Dublin, if then. I suppose, by the way, the address has arrived all right?"

"It has," said Doyle, "but I haven't it unpacked yet. It's in a case."

"We'd better have it quite ready. Get a screwdriver, will you, and a hammer."

The address turned out to be very large indeed and most magnificently coloured. In the top left-hand corner was a small photograph of the market square of Ballymoy, without the statue. In the right-hand Corner was a picture, supplied by Mr. Aloysius Doyle, of the statue itself. In the bottom left-hand corner was a photograph of the Viceregal Lodge in the Phoenix Park, and opposite it a portrait of the Lord-Lieutenant in his state robes. The whole left-hand side of the address was occupied by an immensely complicated design made up of spirals, serpents, and trumpet pattern ornaments, which twisted in and out of each other in a way most bewildering to the eye. This was supposed to represent the manner in which ancient Irish artists made the letter "t," when they were not in a hurry. "T" is the first letter of the word "to" with which the actual address began. The words "Excellency," "Lord," and "Lieutenant" were similarly honoured with capital letters of Celtic design, but inferior size. "Ireland," which came on a line to itself, was blazoned in red and green, on a background of dull gold, laid on smoothly, and afterwards dinted here and there with some instrument which must have resembled a blunt pin. The rest of the letter-press was done in crooked, angular characters, very ornamental to look at, but most difficult to read.

"It's a good address, so it is," said Doyle, "and worth the money, though, mind you, it was a big lot we gave for it. A cheaper one would have done well enough."

"I call it cheap at the price," said Dr. O'Grady. "I'd no idea you could get so much for L4. Now what about the bouquet?"

"I have it in a jug of water," said Doyle, "under the counter of the bar. I thought it would be better in water the way it would be fresh."

"Quite right. But be sure you wipe the stalks before you give it to Mrs. Gregg. It doesn't so much matter about Lady Chesterton. She must be pretty well accustomed to handling damp bouquets. But I'd be sorry to spoil Mrs. Gregg's new gloves. She's sure to have new gloves. By the way, what's being done about getting Mary Ellen ready? That girl can't be trusted to dress herself."

"Mrs. Gregg is putting the clothes on her this minute," said Doyle, "above in the best bedroom. She said she'd do it early so as she'd have time after to go home and dress herself."

"There's been no trouble with Moriarty, I suppose? I told you about the way he threatened me, didn't I?"

"He hasn't said a word to me, but he's a fellow I wouldn't trust further than I can see him, and he's had an ugly look about him this three days, like as if he had some mischief in his mind."

"I wouldn't trust him either," said Dr. O'Grady; "but I don't see what he could do. He wouldn't venture to meddle with the statue, would he? Tangle up the strings we have tied to the sheet or anything of that sort?"

"He would not; for he knows well it would be the worse for him if he did. It's not likely Mr. Gregg would overlook it if Moriarty did anything that put a stop to Mrs. Gregg presenting the bouquet."

"We'll have to chance it anyway, and I don't see that he can do much except sulk, and that won't hurt us. I think I'll be getting home now, Doyle. I have to shave and generally clean up a bit before the Viceregal party arrives. You don't own a silk hat, I suppose?"

"I do not. What would I have the like for?"

"You might have worn it if you had," said Dr. O'Grady. "My own is so old that I'm ashamed to put it on. However, it doesn't really matter. Both the Major and Father McCormack are sure to have them, so the Lord-Lieutenant won't notice that you and I haven't and nobody would expect much from Thady Gallagher. After all, our hats will be in our hands most of the time, and we can keep them behind our backs."

At half-past eleven Mary Ellen and Mrs. Gregg came out of the hotel together. Mary Ellen's costume was beautifully complete. An English tourist accustomed to buy the coloured picture postcards with which the Germans obligingly supply our shops, would have recognised her at once as an Irish colleen. Her stockings were of the brightest shade of green. Her shoes, which were highly polished, had aggressively square toes and enormous steel buckles which flashed in the sunlight as she walked. Her skirt reached half way down the calves of her legs. It was of crimson flannel, made very wide. A green and black tartan shawl was fastened round her with a large Tara brooch which also held in its place a trail of shamrock. Underneath the shawl she had a green silk blouse. It showed very little but it exactly matched her stockings. Her hair was brushed smoothly back from her forehead, and covered with a black and white-checked kerchief tied beneath her chin and falling in a neat triangle at the nape of her neck. Mrs. Gregg, who was naturally very pleased, led Mary Ellen over to the statue, placed her beside it, and told her not to move or in any way disorder her dress. Then she herself hurried away.

Constable Moriarty, who was on guard beside the statue, scowled at Mary Ellen. He approached her slowly, walked round her, surveyed her from every point of view, and then snorted with intense disapproval.

"Your mother wouldn't know you," he said.

Mary Ellen smiled. She was greatly pleased at her own appearance and chose to take Moriarty's remark as a compliment.

"She might not," she said, in a tone of evident delight.

Moriarty intended to say more; but at that moment the town band began to play. Young Kerrigan had collected the members of it early in the day and kept them in a group outside his father's shop. The arrival of Mary Ellen seemed to him to be a suitable occasion for a tune. He gave a signal and the band struck up. "Rich and Rare Were the Gems She Wore" was the tune on which they chanced. It was remarkably appropriate. The band marched twice round the statue playing that tune. With the last note it came to rest again in its old position outside Kerrigan's shop. Then Thady Gallagher came out of his office. He walked over and looked at Mary Ellen.

"If you're not ashamed of yourself," he said, "you ought to be."

"I am not, then," said Mary Ellen.

Gallagher turned to Moriarty.

"You're sure now," he said, "that the tune the band is to play is the one you told me."

Moriarty grinned malevolently.

"I am sure," he said.

"For if you're playing any kind of a trick on me——"

"I am not. Amn't I wanting to get my knife into the doctor the same as yourself?"

"And why would you want that?"

"It's on account of the way he has Mary Ellen dressed up. Will you look at the girl?"

Gallagher looked at her again, long and carefully.

"Play acting!" said Moriarty, "and she's a respectable girl. It's not decent, so it's not."

"If the tune's what you say it is," said Gallagher, "it'll not be played in Ballymoy to-day nor any other day. I'll put the fear of God into young Kerrigan before he's an hour older."

Moriarty grinned again. It seemed that, with the aid of Gallagher, he was going to hit Dr. O'Grady on a vital spot. He understood that great importance was attached to the performance of "Rule, Brittania" by the band. Gallagher walked across to young Kerrigan.

"I know now," he said, "what the tune is you're meaning to play."

"If you know that," said Kerrigan, "you know more than I do."

"None of your lies now. Constable Moriarty is after telling me the name of the tune."

"If you know it," said Kerrigan, "maybe you'll tell me. Not that I care what the name of it is, for it's a good tune, name or no name."

"You will care," said Gallagher. "You will care before the day is out."

"Why don't you tell me the name of it, then? if so be you know it."

"You know well why I don't tell you. It's because I wouldn't defile my lips with the name of it, because I wouldn't say the words that would be a disgrace to any Irishman."

"You're mighty particular," said young Kerrigan. "It would have to be a pretty bad name that's on the tune if it's worse than what you said many a time."

Gallagher was not in a mood to submit calmly to taunts of this kind. He knew that he was perfectly right in refusing to pronounce the name of the tune. He was convinced that young Kerrigan knew and was able to talk as he did only because he was dead to all sense of decency or shame.

"Let me tell you this," he said, "and it's my last word. If that tune's played in Ballymoy to-day it'll be the worse for you, and the worse for your father, and the worse for all belonging to you. Let you not play that tune or the grass will be growing on the step outside your father's shop before any decent Nationalist will go into it to buy a bit of meat. Them that makes their living off the people will have to mind themselves that they don't outrage the convictions of the people."

This was an awful threat, and it cowed young Kerrigan a good deal. He did not believe that Gallagher was capable of having it carried out to the last extremity. The grass would not actually grow on his father's doorstep, because the people of the west of Ireland, though swift and passionate in resentment, find a difficulty in keeping up a personal quarrel long enough to permit of the growth of grass. But a great deal of temporary inconvenience might be caused by a boycott initiated by Gallagher and taken up by the local branch of the League. Young Kerrigan was shaken.

"You'd better speak to the doctor about it," he said. "It's his tune and not mine."

"I will speak to the doctor," said Gallagher. "I'll speak to him in a way he won't like. I was thinking all along he was up to some mischief with that tune; but I didn't know how bad it was till Moriarty was talking to me this morning. Where is the doctor?"

"He was over in Doyle's hotel a minute ago," said Kerrigan, "but I don't know is he there yet. He might not be, for I seen him going out of it and along the street."

"Wherever he is I'll make it hot for him," said Gallagher, as he turned away.

"Constable Moriarty be damned," said young Kerrigan softly but fervently as soon as Gallagher was safely out of earshot. Gallagher stopped on his way to the hotel to take another scornful look at Mary Ellen.

"If your father that's dead was alive this day," he said, "he'd turn you out of the house when he seen you in them clothes."

Mary Ellen had no recollection of her father, who had died before she was twelve months old, but she was more hopeful about him than Gallagher seemed to be.

"He might not," she said.

Then Father McCormack appeared, walking briskly up the street from the-presbytery. He was wearing, as Dr. O'Grady had anticipated, a silk hat. He had a very long and voluminous frock coat. He had even, and this marked his sense of the importance of the occasion, made creases down the fronts of his trousers. Gallagher went to meet him.

"Good morning, Thady," said Father McCormack cheerfully. "We're in great luck with the weather."

"Father," said Gallagher, "you were always one that was heart and soul with the people of Ireland, and it will make you sorry, so it will, sorry and angry, to hear what I have to tell you."

Father McCormack felt uneasy. He did not know what Gallagher meant to tell him, but he was uncomfortably conscious that the day of the Lord-Lieutenant's visit might be a highly inconvenient time for proving his devotion to the cause of the people. The worst of devotion to any cause is that it makes demands on the devotee at moments when it is most difficult to fulfil them. Father McCormack tried feebly to put off the evil hour.

"To-morrow, Thady, to-morrow," he said. "There isn't time now. It's half-past eleven, and the Lord-Lieutenant may be here any minute."

"Begging your reverence's pardon," said Gallagher firmly, "but to-morrow will be too late. The insult that is about to be offered to the people of this locality will be offered to-day if a stop's not put to it."

"Nonsense, Thady, nonsense, nobody is going to insult us."

"You wouldn't know about it," said Gallagher, "for you'd be the last man they'd dare to tell, knowing well that you'd be as angry as I am myself. Do you know what the tune is that the doctor has taught to the band?"

Father McCormack did know, but he was very unwilling to enter into a discussion of the subject with Gallagher.

"Constable Moriarty," said Gallagher, "is after telling me the name of the tune, and you'd be surprised, so you would, if you heard it."

"You may be mistaken, Thady, you may be mistaken. One tune's very like another when it's played on a band."

"I am not mistaken," said Gallagher, who was beginning to feel suspicious about the priest's evident desire to shelve the subject.

"And anyway," said Father McCormack, "it's Dr. O'Grady himself that you'd better be speaking to about the tune."

"I will speak to him; but he's not here presently."

"Try Doyle then," said Father McCormack. "There he is coming out of the hotel. I haven't time to go into the matter. I want to go over and look at Mary Ellen."

He slipped away as he spoke, leaving Gallagher standing, sulky and very suspicious, by himself. Doyle, who had no reason to think that anything had gone wrong, greeted him heartily. Gallagher replied angrily.

"Do you know what tune it is that the band's going to play?" he said.

"You and your old tune!" said Doyle. "You had the life plagued out of me about that tune. Can't you let it alone?"

"I will not let it alone, for——"

"Was it that you were talking to the priest about?"

"It was, and——"

"I thought it might have been," said Doyle, "by the look of him. Why can't you have sense, Thady, instead of tormenting the whole town about a tune?"

"It's my belief," said Gallagher, "that he knows more about the tune than he'd care to own up to. He and the doctor is in the conspiracy together."

"I'll not stand here listening to you talking disrespectfully about the clergy," said Doyle with a fine show of indignation.

He felt that he was on doubtful ground in discussing the tune, which might, for all he knew, be an objectionable one. It was a satisfaction to be able to put himself definitely in the right by protesting against Gallagher's tendency to anti-clericalism.

"I'd be the last man in Ireland," said Gallagher, "that would say a word against the clergy, but when we get Home Rule—and that won't be long now, please God——"

He paused impressively.

"Well," said Doyle, "what'll you do to the clergy when you get Home Rule?"

"There's some of them that will be put in their places mighty quick, them that's opposing the will of the people of Ireland behind their backs."

"If you mean Father McCormack, Thady, you'd better go home before you've said what you'll be sorry for."

"I'll not go home till I've told the doctor what I think of him."

"Well, go and see him," said Doyle. "He's in his house. When you come back you can tell me what he says to you. That'll be better worth hearing than anything you're likely to say to him."

Doyle looked round with an air of some satisfaction when Gallagher left him. He had no doubt that Dr. O'Grady would be able to deal satisfactorily with the difficulty about the tune. Everything else seemed to be going well. A considerable number of people had already gathered in the square. The band stood ready to play. Father McCormack was apparently very much pleased with the appearance of Mary Ellen. Constable Moriarty was on guard over the statue, looking unusually stern. Sergeant Colgan had come out of the barrack and was exerting all his authority to keep back a number of small children who wanted to investigate Mary Ellen's costume. Every time any of them approached her with the intention of pulling her shawl or testing by actual touch the material of her skirt, Sergeant Colgan spoke majestically.

"Get away out of that," he said. "Get along home out of that, the whole of yez."

The children did not, of course, obey him literally; but they always drew back from Mary Ellen when he spoke, and it was generally at least a minute before the boldest of them ventured to touch her again.



CHAPTER XVIII

Doyle's satisfaction did not last long. Major Kent drove into the town in his pony trap and pulled up opposite the statue. He called to Father McCormack, who had satisfied himself about Mary Ellen's appearance, and was prowling round the statue, making mild jokes about its ghostly appearance. Doyle detected a note of urgency in the Major's voice, and hurried across the square, reaching the pony trap just as Father McCormack did.

"So I hear," said the Major, "that the Lord-Lieutenant's not coming after all."

For a moment neither Father McCormack nor Doyle spoke at all. The rumour—it could be no more than a rumour—to which the Major referred was too terrible for immediate digestion.

"I shan't be sorry myself," said the Major, "if he doesn't come. I've always thought we were making fools of ourselves."

Then Doyle regained his power of speech.

"It's a lie," he said, "and whoever told it to you is a liar. The Lord-Lieutenant can't not come."

"It'll be a curious thing, so it will," said Father McCormack, "if he doesn't, but I can't believe it. Who was it told you, Major, if you don't mind my asking?"

"It was Mr. Ford," said the Major. "He was standing at his door as I drove past and he stopped me to say that he'd just had a telegram from Dublin Castle——"

"I don't believe it," said Doyle. "I don't believe a word of it. That fellow Ford was against us all the time, and he's just saying this now to annoy us."

"He seemed to believe it himself," said the Major.

"Where's the doctor?" said Father McCormack. "If there's any truth in it he'll be sure to know."

"If so be that such a telegram was sent," said Doyle, "it'll be on account of something that fellow Ford has been doing. He was always against us."

"Where's the doctor?" said Father McCormack helplessly.

"Probably bolted," said the Major. "If Ford's news is true that's the only thing for the doctor to do."

"He was with me half-an-hour ago," said Doyle, "taking a look round at the luncheon and the rest of it. He went away back to his house to clean himself. If he knew——but he didn't."

"I'll go and see him at once," said Father McCormack.

"You'll find that he's cut and run," said the Major.

"You needn't go, Father," said Doyle, "for Thady Gallagher's just after going to him, and I see him coming back at the far end of the street this minute."

Thady Gallagher pushed his way through the crowd which had gathered thickly at the lower end of the square. It was plain from the way he elbowed the people who stood in his way that he was in a very bad temper indeed. He strode up to the Major's trap and began to speak at the top of his voice.

"Let me tell you this, gentlemen," he said: "if you deserve the name of gentlemen, which you don't, that the conspiracy which you're engaged in for insulting the people of this district by means of a tune——"

He appeared to be addressing himself particularly to Major Kent, whom he evidently regarded as, next to the doctor, the chief conspirator. The Major disliked being abused. He also shrank from complicated situations. He foresaw that an argument with Gallagher about a tune which might be played if the Lord-Lieutenant did not fail to keep his appointment, was likely to be a confused and highly complex business. He touched his pony with the whip and drove away in the direction of Doyle's yard, where he usually put up his trap.

"Have sense, Thady," said Father McCormack appealingly.

"I will not have sense," said Gallagher. "Why would I have sense when——"

"Did you speak to the doctor?" said Doyle.

"I did not, but if I had——"

"The Lord save us and deliver us," said Doyle in despair. "He's gone, the way the Major said he would."

"What are you talking about?" said Gallagher. "The doctor's shaving himself."

"Are you sure of that?"

"I am sure. Didn't I go through the house till I found him? Didn't I open the door of the room he was in? Didn't I see him standing there with a razor in his hand?"

"And what did he say to you, Thady? Did he tell you——"

"He told me to get along out of that," said Gallagher.

"It's likely he'd heard the news. He'd never have said the like of that to you, Thady, if he hadn't been upset about something."

"What'll we do at all?" said Doyle. "There's the statue to be paid for and the dress for Mary Ellen and the luncheon. It's ruined we'll be, for where will we get the money?"

"I had my mind made up," said Gallagher, "to speak out plain to the doctor about the tune the band's to play. I had my mind made up to tell him straight what I thought of him. And to tell him what I thought of the whole of you."

"Be quiet, Thady," said Father McCormack. "Don't you know——"

"There's more than you will want to speak plain to the doctor," said Doyle in sudden anger. "It's him that's got us into the trouble we're in. It's him that ought to be made to pay up what'll have to be paid; only he can't do it, for he owes more this minute than ever he'll pay. Tell me now, Thady, what you said to him. Tell me the language you used. It'll be some satisfaction to me to hear the words you said to the doctor."

"I said nothing," said Gallagher. "Is it likely I'd speak the way I meant to a man with an open razor in his hand? I'd have had my throat cut if I'd said a word."

Mrs. Gregg rode hurriedly into the market square on her bicycle, while Gallagher was making his confession. She wore a delicate and flimsy pink silk skirt, entirely unsuited for cycling. A very large hat, adorned with a wreath of pink roses, had been forced to the back of her head by the speed at which she rode, and was held there with much strain by two large pins. She had only one glove, and several hooks at the back of the upper part of her dress were unfastened. No one could doubt that Mrs. Gregg had left home before she was quite ready. No one could doubt that she had come into Ballymoy as fast as she could. She dismounted in front of Father McCormack and panted. She said "Oh" three times, and each time was prevented saying anything else by lack of breath. Then she caught sight of Major Kent, who was coming out of the hotel yard after stabling his pony. She let her bicycle fall at the feet of Father McCormack, and ran to the Major.

"Oh," she said. "Oh! my husband—just told me—a telegram—isn't it frightful? What are we to do?"

"I'm rather glad myself," said the Major, "but everybody else is making a fuss."

Doyle, Father McCormack and Gallagher followed Mrs. Gregg. Father McCormack, who was a chivalrous man even when agitated, picked up her bicycle and brought it with him.

"Is it true, ma'am," said Doyle, "what we're after hearing?"

"It's quite true," said Mrs. Gregg. "My husband had a telegram. So had Mr. Ford. And Mrs. Ford is so pleased. Oh, it's too much! But where's Dr. O'Grady?"

"Everybody is asking that," said the Major. "My own impression is that he's bolted."

"If only Dr. O'Grady were here," said Mrs. Gregg, "he might do something."

"There's one thing the doctor won't do," said Gallagher, "Lord-Lieutenant or no Lord-Lieutenant, he'll not have the town band playing the tune that he's after teaching young Kerrigan."

"Doyle," said Major Kent, "do you think you could get Thady Gallagher out of this? He's becoming a nuisance. Nobody's temper will stand a Home Rule speech at the present moment."

"Thady," said Doyle, persuasively, "a drop of something to drink is what will suit you. The inside of your throat is dried up the same as if you'd been eating lime on account of the rage that's in you."

Doyle was himself no less perplexed than everyone else. He was more acutely sensitive than anyone to the danger of financial disaster. But he was a man of cool judgment even in a crisis. He saw that Gallagher's presence was highly inconvenient.

"A bottle of porter, Thady," he said, "or maybe two, would do you good."

Gallagher made a strong effort to swallow, intending when he had done so to speak again. But the description Doyle gave of the inside of his throat and the thought of cool draughts of porter, had actually induced a very real dryness of his mouth. He turned doubtfully towards the hotel, walked a few steps and then stood still again.

Doyle caught a glimpse, through a momentary opening in the crowd, of Dr. O'Grady, shaved, and very carefully dressed in a new grey tweed suit. He became more than ever anxious to get Gallagher into the hotel.

"If you fancy a glass of whisky, Thady," he said, "it's in there for you and welcome. There'll be no tunes played here for the next half hour, anyway, so you needn't be afraid to go."

He took Gallagher by the arm as he spoke and led him towards the hotel. Gallagher went at first with apparent reluctance, but as he got near the door his steps quickened. Doyle did not leave him till he handed him over to the care of the young man who stood behind the bar while Doyle himself was absent.

Dr. O'Grady made his way through the crowd with gay confidence, smiling and nodding to his acquaintances as he went. The people had been slightly suspicious beforehand and feared that something had gone wrong with the arrangements for the day's entertainment. They were cheered, and their confidence was fully restored when they saw Dr. O'Grady was not in the least depressed. He smiled at Mary Ellen as he passed her and winked at Constable Moriarty.

Mrs. Gregg, as soon as she caught sight of him, rushed to meet him.

"Oh, Dr. O'Grady," she said, "isn't it terrible? What are we to do? I wouldn't mind so much only that Mrs. Ford is delighted. But you'll be able to do something, won't you?"

"The first thing to be done," said Dr. O'Grady, "is to stop those children pulling the clothes off Mary Ellen. Would you mind, Mrs. Gregg, just running over and setting her shawl straight? Fix it with a pin. It's horrid the way it is."

Mrs. Gregg went over to Mary Ellen. She was deeply interested in the girl's costume, and she still cherished a hope that Dr. O'Grady might manage somehow, even without the Lord-Lieutenant, to arrange for a ceremonial unveiling of the statue.

"Well, O'Grady," said Major Kent maliciously. "I suppose we may as well take down that statue. It's no particular use where it is, and it doesn't seem likely to help you to plunder the public funds."

"There will have to be slight alteration in our plans," said Dr. O'Grady, "but I don't see any reason for postponing the unveiling of the statue."

"Do you know that the Lord-Lieutenant's not coming?" said Father McCormack.

"I had a telegram from his private secretary," said Dr. O'Grady. "I must say I think he might have let us know a little sooner. I was out early and I didn't get the message till an hour ago. Where's Doyle?"

"Doyle's making Thady Gallagher drunk in the hotel," said the Major.

"Good," said Dr. O'Grady. "That's much the best thing to do with Thady. But I wish he'd be quick about it, for I want to speak to him."

"Here he is coming now," said Father McCormack.

Doyle, who had himself taken half a glass of whisky, approached Dr. O'Grady with great courage and determination.

"If the Lord-Lieutenant isn't coming," he said, "and I can see by the look of you that you know he's not, who's going to pay for the statue and the rest of the foolishness you're after buying? That's what I'd like to know."

"Don't you fret about that, Doyle," said Dr. O'Grady. "That will be all right."

"How can it?" said Doyle. "If the Lord-Lieutenant doesn't come, and he won't, who's going to give us the money?"

"Leave that entirely in my hands," said Dr. O'Grady. "It'll be perfectly all right."

"That's what you're always saying," said Doyle sulkily. "'It'll be all right. It'll be all right.' Haven't you been saying it to me for the last two years? 'All right,' says you, and, 'It's all right,' whenever the money you owe me is mentioned."

"More shame for you then, Doyle, for mentioning it so often. I wouldn't say 'All right' or anything else about it if you didn't force me to."

"I'm dead sick of your 'All rights' anyway," said Doyle.

"Be quiet now," said Father McCormack. "Isn't the doctor doing the best he can for you? Is it his fault that the Lord-Lieutenant isn't here?"

"If you'll only stop growling, Doyle, and co-operate with me in bringing off the day's entertainment successfully——"

"Surely to goodness, O'Grady, you're not going on with the statue farce?"

"Of course I am. The only chance we have now of getting the money——"

"It's a damned poor chance," said Doyle.

"On the contrary," said Dr. O'Grady, "it's a remarkably good chance. Don't you see that if we unveil the statue successfully, in spite of the way, the really scandalous way, the Lord-Lieutenant has treated us——"

"I wash my hands of the whole business," said the Major.

"You can wash them afterwards," said Dr. O'Grady, "but at present you'll stand in with the rest of us. After the way the Lord-Lieutenant has treated us over the statue he'll have to give us a rattling good pier. He won't be able to refuse. Oh, hang it! Here's Mrs. Gregg again."

Mrs. Gregg had settled Mary Ellen's shawl. She had spoken sternly, with an authority borrowed from her husband's official position, to Sergeant Colgan. She was filled with curiosity and excitement.

"Someone must get her out of this," said Dr. O'Grady. "I can't settle things with her babbling at me.

"If there was a chance that she'd be wanting a drink," said Doyle, "but them ones wouldn't."

"Mrs. Gregg," said Dr. O'Grady, "excuse my mentioning it; but there are three hooks in the back of your blouse that aren't fastened. It's an awfully nice blouse, but as you have it on at present it's rather—rather—well degage."

"I started in such a hurry," said Mrs. Gregg. "The moment I heard——"

"If you go into the hotel," said Dr. O'Grady, "you'll find a looking-glass. You'll be able to inspect the bouquet too. It's in a jug of water under the counter in——— You take her, Father McCormack, and find the bouquet for her."

Father McCormack was not listening. He was looking at a large motor-car which had just drawn up at the far end of the street, leading into the square.

"It's him after all," he said.

"It's who?" said Dr. O'Grady, turning round.

The crowd which was pressing round the statue began to edge away from it. Men were standing on tiptoe, straining their necks to see over their fellows' heads. Everybody began to move towards the motorcar. A loud cheer burst from the people nearest to it.

"It's him sure enough," said Father McCormack.

"It's the Lord-Lieutenant," said Doyle excitedly. "Bedamn, but this is great! We'll be all right now."

"It can't possibly be the Lord-Lieutenant," said Dr. O'Grady. "He'd never change his mind twice in the same morning."

A tall man, very well dressed in a long frock-coat and a shiny silk hat, stood up in the motor. The crowd cheered again with tumultuous enthusiasm.

"It must be the Lord-Lieutenant," said Mrs. Gregg ecstatically. "Oh, will someone please hook up my blouse?"

"There's nobody else it could be," said Doyle. "Come on now, till we go to meet him. Come on, Father. Come you, Major. Doctor, will you go first? It's you knows the proper way to speak to the likes of him."

But Father McCormack had a strong sense of his own dignity, and was convinced that the Church had a right to precedence on all ceremonial occasions. He walked, hat in hand, towards the stranger in the motorcar. The people divided to let him pass. Major Kent and Doyle followed him. Dr. O'Grady stood still. Mrs. Gregg ran over to Mary Ellen and begged her to hook up the back of the degage blouse. Young Kerrigan mustered the town band. The members had strayed a little through the crowd, but at the summons of their leader they gathered in a circle. Kerrigan looked eagerly at Dr. O'Grady awaiting the signal to strike up "Rule Britannia." Dr. O'Grady, unable to make himself heard through the cheering of the people, signalled a frantic negative. The stranger stepped out of his motor-car. Father McCormack, bowing low, advanced to meet him.

"It is my proud and pleasant duty," he said, "to welcome your Excellency to Ballymoy, and to assure you——"

"I want to see a gentleman called O'Grady," said the stranger, "a Dr. O'Grady."

"He's here, your Excellency," said Father McCormack, "and there isn't a man in Ballymoy who'll be more pleased to see your Excellency than he will."

"I'm not His Excellency. My name is Blakeney, Lord Alfred Blakeney. I'm aide-de-camp to the Lord-Lieutenant, and I particularly want to see Dr. O'Grady."



CHAPTER XIX

Lord Alfred Blakeney walked up the street and crossed the square with great dignity. He made no acknowledgment whatever of the cheers with which the people greeted him. They still thought that he was the Lord-Lieutenant, and, expectant of benefits of some sort, they shouted their best. He glanced at the veiled statue, but turned his eyes away from it immediately, as if it were something obscene or otherwise disgusting. He took no notice of Mary Ellen, though she smiled at him. Father McCormack and Doyle followed him, crestfallen. Major Kent, who seemed greatly pleased, also followed him. Half way across the square Lord Alfred Blakeney turned round and asked which was Dr. O'Grady. Father McCormack pointed him out with deprecating eagerness, much as a schoolboy with inferior sense of honour when himself in danger of punishment, points out to the master the real culprit. Lord Alfred Blakeney's forehead wrinkled in a frown. His lips closed firmly. His whole face wore an expression of dignified severity, very terrible to contemplate. Dr. O'Grady seemed entirely unmoved.