Ford you'd have had it."

"If I thought that??" said Gallagher.

"Come along over now to the committee," said Doyle, "and we'll have the statue just in derision of him."

"It isn't the statue that I'm objecting to," said Gallagher, "nor it isn't the notion of a new pier. You know that, Doyle."

"I do, of course."

"And if it's the wish of the people of this locality that there should be a statue??"

"It is the wish," said Doyle. "Didn't you say yourself that the people was unanimous about it after the meeting in the market square?"

Gallagher rose from his chair and pushed his papers back on the table.

He crushed his soft hat down on the back of his head and turned to the door.

"Come on," he said.

"I knew well," said Doyle, "that you'd do whatever was right in the latter end. And as for the tune that was troubling you, it's even money that the band will never play it. Father McCormack was telling me yesterday that the big drum's broke on them on account of one of the boys giving it a kind of a slit with the point of a knife. The band will hardly ever be able to play that tune or any other tune when they haven't got a big drum."

CHAPTER XIII

Major Kent pa.s.sed through the narrow hall of the hotel, went up a flight of stairs and entered the commercial room. Mary Ellen was on her hands and knees under the table which stood in the middle of the room. She was collecting the corks which had offended Doyle's eye. There were more than three of them. She had four in her left hand, and was stretching out to grasp two more when the Major entered the room. As soon as she saw him she abandoned the pursuit of the corks, crept out from underneath the table, and stood looking at the Major. She expected him to order a drink of some sort. Most people who entered Doyle's commercial room ordered drinks. The Major was slightly embarra.s.sed. Mary Ellen evidently expected him to say something to her, and he did not know what to say. He did not want a drink, and he could not think of any subject of conversation likely to interest a tousled girl who had just been crawling about the floor on her hands and knees. At last he said "Good morning." Mary Ellen gaped at him and then smiled. The Major, recollecting that it was half-past one o'clock, and therefore no longer morning, said that it was a fine evening. Mary Ellen's smile broadened.

The Major expressed a polite hope that she was quite well. He thought of shaking hands with her, and wished that he had brought a pair of gloves with him, Mary Ellen's hands were certainly dirty and they looked hot.

But he was not obliged to shake hands. Mary Ellen realised that he was a kind of man new to her, one who did not want a drink. She left the room, came back again almost at once for the broom which she had forgotten, and then left decisively, slamming the door.

The Major crossed the room and looked out of the window. He saw Doyle and Gallagher go into Kerrigan's shop, and wondered vaguely what they wanted there. He saw Constable Moriarty telling a story, evidently of a humorous kind, to Sergeant Colgan, at the door of the police barrack.

The story?he judged from Moriarty's gestures?had something to do with Doyle and Gallagher. He wondered, without much real interest, what the story was. There was nothing else of an exciting kind to be seen from the window. The Major turned and walked to the opposite corner of the room. He stood in front of a small square mahogany table. On it was a stuffed fox in a gla.s.s case. The Major looked at it carefully from several points of view. It was a very ordinary fox, and appeared to have been stuffed a long time. Moths had eaten the fur off its back in several places, and one of its eyes, which were made of bright brown beads, was hanging from the socket by a thread. The gla.s.s of the case was exceedingly dusty. The Major, finding the fox dull and rather disgusting, left it and went over to the fireplace. Over the chimney piece hung a portrait of a very self-satisfied priest who looked as if he had just dined well. A gold Latin cross, attached to a black ribbon watch guard, rested gracefully on the large stomach of the man. The stomach struck the Major as one which was usually distended to its utmost capacity. The portrait was remarkable for that fuzziness of outline which seems to be inevitable in enlarged photographs. The frame was a very handsome one, elaborately carved and gilt.

Next the picture of the priest, unframed and attached to the wall with tacks, was a large coloured supplement, taken from an American paper.

It presented a famous boxer stripped to the waist in the act of shaking hands with a dejected-looking opponent. Underneath his large picture was a list of the boxer's most famous conflicts, with date and a note of the number of rounds which each victim had survived. Round the central picture were twelve small ones, in which the hero appeared in the act of felling other fighters, not so heroic or less muscular. The Major, who had done some boxing in his day, looked at the picture with critical interest. Then Father McCormack entered the room.

"I'm in good time after all," he said. "I was afraid, maybe, the meeting might be over when I saw Doyle and Thady Gallagher going into the office of the Connacht Eagle after leaving Kerrigan's shop."

"You're time enough," said the Major. "If you're not more than half-an-hour late it's time enough for any meeting that's held in this town."

"That's true too," said Father McCormack. "As a general rule that's true enough. But I've known meetings that was over and done with before the time when they ought to be beginning. That would be when there might be something to be done at them that some of the members would be objecting to if they were there. I've known that happen, and I shouldn't wonder if you'd been caught that way yourself before now."

"So far as I know," said the Major, "nothing of the sort has happened this time. There's no reason why it should. When anything as silly as this statue business is on hand everybody is sure to be unanimously in favour of it."

"That's true enough. But where's the rest of the committee?"

"n.o.body has turned up so far, except myself," said the Major.

"Well," said Father McCormack, "I'm as well pleased. To tell you the truth, Major, I'm glad of the chance of a few minutes quiet talk with you while we have the place to ourselves. I thought it my duty, and you'll understand me that I'm not casting reflections on you nor yet on the doctor, and I'd be sorry to say a word against Doyle, or for the matter of that against Thady Gallagher, though it would be better if he had more sense. But anyway, I thought it my duty to acquaint the bishop with what was going on."

"The statue idea?" said the Major. "Well, what did he say? I don't know your bishop personally, but I suppose a man could hardly be in his position if he was altogether a fool."

"Believe me or not as you like," said Father Mc-Cormack, "but when I got the bishop's answer to my letter, it turned out that he knew no more than myself about General John Regan."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least. I don't believe any one knows who he was."

"What the bishop said was that it might look queer if I was to take no part in the proceedings when the Lord-Lieutenant was coming to unveil the statue."

"That puts you in a safe position anyhow," said the Major. "If it turns out afterwards that there is anything fishy about the General, the bishop and the Lord-Lieutenant will have to share the blame between them."

"What I want to know from you," said Father Mc-Cormack, "is this: Is the Lord-Lieutenant coming or is he not?"

"I've only got the doctor's word for it. He says he is."

"The doctor's a fine man, and there's not many things he'd set his hand to but he'd carry them through at the latter end. But the Lord-Lieutenant! The Lord-Lieutenant is?well now, do you think it likely that the Lord-Lieutenant is coming down here?"

"It's not the least likely," said the Major, "but there's nothing about this whole business that is. It isn't likely in my opinion that there was such a person as General John Regan. It wasn't likely beforehand that we'd subscribe to put up a statue to him. I don't see that the Lord-Lieutenant is any more unlikely than lots of other things that have happened."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," said Father McCormack.

He and Major Kent were standing together at the window while they talked. Neither of them noticed that Mary Ellen had come into the room.

She stood for some time near the door, hoping that either the Major or Father McCormack would look round. Neither of them did, so she sidled slowly into the room and stood beside the stuffed fox. She was a very well mannered girl, and most unwilling to interrupt an earnest, possibly an important conversation. When Father McCormack made his last remark she felt that her chance had come. It was evident from the tone in which he spoke, that he and the Major had reached a more or less satisfactory conclusion of their business, She coughed, and then tapped lightly with her knuckles on the gla.s.s case of the stuffed fox. Both Father McCormack and the Major looked round.

"There's a lady below," said Mary Ellen.

"A lady!" said Major Kent. "Surely to goodness we're not going to have women on this committee. Things are bad enough without that."

"Who is she?" said Father Mctormack.

"It's Mrs. Gregg," said Mary Ellen, "and it's the doctor she's asking for."

"The doctor's not here," said Father McCormack. "Can't you see that for yourself?"

"If it's Mrs. Gregg," said the Major, "you'd better show her up. You can't leave her standing by herself in the hall till the doctor chooses to come. I wish to goodness he would come. I can't think why he isn't here. This is his show entirely."

Mrs. Gregg came into the room while the Major was speaking. She looked agitated and, in spite of the fact that she had been waiting downstairs for nearly ten minutes, was almost breathless.

"Oh, Major Kent," she said, "where's Dr. O'Grady? Such a dreadful thing has happened. I don't know what to do. Just fancy?Mrs. Ford has written to me??"

"There's no use appealing to me," said the Major. "I can't do anything with Mrs. Ford. She and I are hardly on speaking terms. It's not my fault?at least I don't think it is?but you must see Mrs. Gregg, that I can't interfere about any letter she may have written to you."

Mrs. Gregg shook hands with Father McCormack, but her head was turned away from him as she did so. She had little hope that he could interfere effectually to settle the difficulty created by Mrs. Ford.

"Dr. O'Grady said that I??"

The Major interrupted her.

"You'd far better wait till the doctor comes," he said. "He'll be here in a minute."