CHAPTER XI

Inflexible determination is one of the qualities which the truly great leader of men shares with the domestic pig; though in the case of the pig it is generally spoken of as obstinacy. But the leader?General, Prime Minister or Captain of Industry?is distinguished from the pig by a certain intellectual suppleness which makes his obstinacy a more effective though less showy thing. The pig, being determined to go his own way, has no better idea than to tug desperately against the rope which is tied round his ankle. He tugs unwaveringly up to the very last moment, but in the end he is beaten because his master, having at command stout sticks and other instruments of torture, is stronger than he is. It is n.o.ble and heroic of the pig to persist in refusing to recognise that merely tugging the opposite way is no use to him. The great commander is wiser and in reality no less n.o.ble. He realises very early that destiny, armed with whips and goads, has a rope round his leg. He tugs, but when he finds that the rope will not break and that the whip cuts cruelly, he stops tugging and goes about to outwit destiny. Pretending to yield to the pull of the rope, he succeeds at last in getting his own way. Thus a general, faced by a hostile army, securely entrenched on the opposite bank of a deep river, does not make more than one attempt to swim his men across in the face of a concentrated rifle fire. The pig would make several attempts, would go on trying until he had no soldiers left, because he would feel that the only thing really worth doing was to a.s.sert himself against the confident foe. But the general, when he has lost enough men to convince him of the impossibility of a frontal attack by swimming, stops trying it and adopts another plan. He sees not only the insolent flags which wave upon the opposite bank, but the far off end of the campaign. He is not less determined than the pig would be to chastise the foe which is thwarting him, but he sees that this can be done quite as effectually by occupying the enemy's capital as by the mere winning of a battle. He understands that it is good to sacrifice the immediate for the sake of the ultimate object. He gives up the idea of fighting his way across and sends out scouts to discover the source of the river. When he finds it he leaves part of his army to watch the enemy while the other part marches round the end of the river and enters the enemy's chief stronghold from the back. Thus he gains his object and establishes his character for determination without losing half his army.

Dr. Lucius O'Grady was a born leader of men. He discovered very soon that in the matter of the performance of "G.o.d Save the King" by the town band, fate had a rope round his leg and was likely to scourge him uncomfortably if he pulled against it. The introduction of variations into the tune proved to be a much more difficult matter than he had supposed. He worked hard for six hours on Major Kent's piano, and produced two versions of which he thought well, though neither of them completely satisfied him. He sent for Constable Moriarty and played them over to him. Moriarty sat and listened to the first.

"Would you know what that tune was, Moriarty?" said Dr. O'Grady.

"I would, of course. Anybody would. I don't say but there's bits in it that isn't right, but you have the tune safe enough."

"Would Thady Gallagher know it?"

"He would," said Moriarty, "and what's more he'd be lepping mad when he heard it. And you couldn't wonder. You wouldn't like it yourself, doctor, if somebody was to play a tune at you that you hated worse nor you hate the devil."

Dr. O'Grady was disappointed.

"Are you sure now," he said, "that he wouldn't be taken in by the variations? I don't know whether you quite realise the number of variations there are? Just listen to me again."

He played his composition through once more, touching the notes which gave the tune very softly, hammering hard at the long runs and fiery groups of semi-quavers which he had sandwiched in between the sc.r.a.ps of tune.

"I wouldn't say," said Moriarty, "that you've destroyed it altogether; though it's my opinion that it's better the way it was before you set your hand to it. But anyhow you needn't be uneasy. There isn't a man, woman or child that ever heard the tune but would know what you're aiming at."

Dr. O'Grady felt that Moriarty's judgment in the matter was too decisive and confident to be ignored.

"Very well," he said. "Now listen to this."

He played through the second of his two compositions.

"Now," he said, "what tune is that, Moriarty?"

Moriarty scratched his head and looked inquiringly at the doctor.

"Is it what tune is that that you're asking me?" he said.

"Exactly. What tune is it?"

"It's no tune at all," said Moriarty.

"Do you mean to say you don't recognise it?"

"I do not, and what's more n.o.body could. For there's no tune in it, only noise."

The doctor hesitated. Moriarty's opinion was in one respect quite satisfactory. Neither Gallagher nor anyone else in Ballymoy was likely to recognise the tune. It might, of course, fail to impress the Lord-Lieutenant as being quite the proper thing. But that was a difficulty which could be got over. The Lord-Lieutenant was not likely to listen very attentively, and if he were told definitely that the band was playing "G.o.d Save the King" he might possibly believe it.

"I'm thinking," said Dr. O'Grady, "of teaching that piece of music to the town band."

"It'll fail you to do that," said Moriarty.

"I don't see why."

"You can try it," said Moriarty, "but you'll not be able. Anything those fellows could play, I'd be able to whistle, and if it's what I couldn't whistle they'll not be able to play it."

"You could whistle that all right if you tried."

"I could not. Nor I couldn't play it on an ivy leaf, nor yet on a comb, and if I couldn't there's n.o.body else could. I'm not saying it isn't good music, doctor, for it may be. But there's neither beginning nor end of it, nor there isn't anything in the middle that a man would be able to catch hold of."

Dr. O'Grady shut the piano with a bang. Constable Moriarty rose from his seat.

"If there's nothing more you'll be wanting with me, doctor," he said, "it might be as well if I was getting back to the barrack. The sergeant's terrible particular these times. Mr. Gregg, the D.I., has him annoyed with finding fault here and there and everywhere. Not that I blame Mr. Gregg, for everybody knows he's a nice quiet kind of a man who'd ask for nothing only to be let alone. But that's what he can't get on account of Mr. Ford."

"Mr. Ford's a public nuisance," said Dr. O'Grady; "but I think we'll be able to get rid of him."

"It would be no great harm if he was dead," said Moriarty.

"The Lord-Lieutenant," said Dr. O'Grady, "is almost sure to promote him.

That kind of man who never can let other people's business alone, is just suited to Dublin Castle."

Moriarty got as far as the door of the room and then stopped.

"Will it be all right," he said, "about Mary Ellen? You'll remember, doctor, that I was speaking to you about her, the way she'd be given the chance of speaking to the Lord-Lieutenant."

"I'll settle about her at once," said Dr. O'Grady. "Did you say you were going straight back to the barrack?"

"I am," said Moriarty. "It'll be better for me if I do on account of the way Mr. Ford does be talking to??"

"Are you going so straight that you won't see Mary Ellen on the way?"

"It could be," said Moriarty, "that I might see her."

"Very well, then, do. And tell her to meet me at Mrs. Gregg's house at??" He glanced at his watch.

"Let me see, it's nearly half past two, and I'll have to spend a few minutes pacifying the Major. Suppose you tell her to meet me at Mrs.

Gregg's at a quarter past three. Will you be sure to give her that message?"

"I will," said Moriarty.

"And don't you keep the girl late now, Moriarty, with love making in the pig-stye or any nonsense of that kind."

"Is it likely I would?"

"It is very likely. But don't do it."

"It is not likely then, seeing as how I ought to be back in the barrack this minute on account of the way Mr. Gregg has the sergeant annoyed??"

"There's only one thing worse than keeping Mary Ellen late," said Dr.