OLD
JACK
raked the cinders
together
with
a
piece
of
cardboard
and
spread
them
judiciously
over
the whitening
dome
of
coals.
When
the
dome
was
thinly covered
his
face lapsed
into
darkness
but,
as
he
set
himself
to
fan
the
fire
again,
his
crouching
shadow
ascended the
opposite
wall
and
his
face
slowly
re-emerged
into
light.
It
was
an
old
man's face,
very
bony
and
hairy. The
moist
blue eyes blinked
at
the
fire
and
the
moist
mouth
fell
open
at
times, munching
once
or
twice
mechanically
when
it
closed.
When
the cinders had caught
he
laid the
piece
of
cardboard against the wall, sighed
and
said: "That's
better
now, Mr. O'Connor." Mr. O'Connor,
a
grey-haired
young
man,
whose
face
was
disfigured
by
many
blotches
and
pimples, had
just
brought the
tobacco
for
a
cigarette
into
a
shapely
cylinder
but
when
spoken
to
he
undid
his
handiwork
meditatively.
Then
he
began
to
roll
the
tobacco
again
meditatively
and
after
a
moment's
thought
decided
to
lick the paper. "Did Mr. Tierney
say
when
he'd
be
back?"
he
asked
in
a
husky
falsetto. "He didn't say." Mr. O'Connor
put
his
cigarette
into
his
mouth
and
began
search
his
pockets.
He
took
out
a
pack
of
thin
pasteboard cards. "I'll
get
you
a
match," said the
old
man. "Never mind, this'll do," said Mr. O'Connor.
He
selected
one
of
the cards
and
read
what
was
printed
on
it: Mr. Richard J. Tierney, P.L.G., respectfully solicits the favour
of
your vote
and
influence
at
the coming
election
in
the Royal
Exchange
Ward. Mr. O'Connor had been engaged
by
Tierney's agent
to
canvass
one
part
of
the
ward
but,
as
the
weather
was
inclement
and
his
boots
let
in
the wet,
he
spent
a
great
part
of
the
day
sitting
by
the
fire
in
the
Committee
Room
in
Wicklow
Street
with
Jack, the
old
caretaker.
They
had been sitting
thus
since
the
short
day
had grown dark.
It
was
the
sixth
of
October,
dismal
and
cold
out
of
doors. Mr. O'Connor tore
a
strip
off
the
card
and,
lighting
it,
lit
his
cigarette.
As
he
did
so
the
flame
lit
up
a
leaf
of
dark glossy
ivy
the lapel
of
his
coat. The
old
man
watched
him
attentively
and
then, taking
up
the
piece
of
cardboard again, began
to
fan
the
fire
slowly
while
his
companion
smoked. "Ah, yes,"
he
said, continuing, "it's
hard
to
know
what
way
to
bring
up
children.
Now
who'd
think
he'd
turn
out
like
that! I sent
him
to
the Christian Brothers
and
I done
what
I
could
for
him,
and
there
he
goes boosing about. I tried
to
make
him
someway decent."
He
replaced the cardboard wearily. "Only I'm an
old
man
now
I'd
change
his
tune
for
him. I'd
take
the
stick
to
his
back
and
beat
him
while
I
could
stand
over
him—as I done
many
a
time
before. The mother,
you
know,
she
cocks
him
up
with
this
and
that...." "That's
what
ruins children," said Mr. O'Connor. "To
be
sure
it
is," said the
old
man. "And
little
thanks
you
get
for
it,
only
impudence.
He
takes th'upper
hand
of
me
whenever
he
sees I've
a
sup
taken. What's the
world
coming
to
when
sons speaks
that
way
to
their
father?" "What
age
is
he?" said Mr. O'Connor. "Nineteen," said the
old
man. "Why don't
you
put
him
to
something?" "Sure, amn't I
never
done
at
the
drunken
bowsy
ever
since
he
left
school? 'I won't
keep
you,' I says. 'You
must
get
a
job
for
yourself.' But, sure, it's
worse
whenever
he
gets
a
job;
he
drinks
it
all." Mr. O'Connor shook
his
head
in
sympathy,
and
the
old
man
fell
silent, gazing
into
the fire. Someone opened the
door
of
the
room
and
called out: "Hello!
Is
this
a
Freemasons' meeting?" "Who's that?" said the
old
man. "What
are
you
doing
in
the dark?" asked
a
voice. "Is
that
you, Hynes?" asked Mr. O'Connor. "Yes.
What
are
you
doing
in
the dark?" said Mr. Hynes. advancing
into
the
light
of
the fire.
He
was
a
tall,
slender
young
man
with
a
light
brown moustache.
Imminent
little
drops
of
rain
hung
at
the brim
of
his
hat
and
the collar
of
his
jacket-coat
was
turned up. "Well, Mat,"
he
said
to
Mr. O'Connor, "how goes it?" Mr. O'Connor shook
his
head. The
old
man
left
the
hearth
and,
after
stumbling
about
the
room
returned
with
two
candlesticks
which
he
thrust
one
after
the
other
into
the
fire
and
carried
to
the table.
A
denuded
room
came
into
view
and
the
fire
lost all its cheerful colour. The walls
of
the
room
were
bare
except
for
a
copy
of
an
election
address.
In
the
middle
of
the
room
was
a
small table
on
which
papers
were
heaped. Mr. Hynes leaned against the mantelpiece
and
asked: "Has
he
paid
you
yet?" "Not yet," said Mr. O'Connor. "I
hope
to
God
he'll not
leave
us
in
the lurch tonight." Mr. Hynes laughed. "O, he'll
pay
you.
Never
fear,"
he
said. "I
hope
he'll
look
smart
about
it
if
he
means
business," said Mr. O'Connor. "What
do
you
think, Jack?" said Mr. Hynes satirically
to
the
old
man. The
old
man
returned
to
his
seat
by
the fire, saying: "It isn't but
he
has it, anyway. Not
like
the
other
tinker." "What
other
tinker?" said Mr. Hynes. "Colgan," said the
old
man
scornfully. "It
is
because
Colgan's
a
working-man
you
say
that? What's the
difference
between
a
good
honest
bricklayer
and
a
publican—eh? Hasn't the working-man
as
good
a
right
to
be
in
the
Corporation
as
anyone
else—ay,
and
a
better
right
than
those
shoneens
that
are
always
hat
in
hand
before
any
fellow
with
a
handle
to
his
name? Isn't
that
so, Mat?" said Mr. Hynes, addressing Mr. O'Connor. "I
think
you're right," said Mr. O'Connor. "One
man
is
a
plain
honest
man
with
no hunker-sliding
about
him.
He
goes
in
to
represent
the labour classes.
This
fellow
you're working
for
only
wants
to
get
some
job
or
other." "Of course, the working-classes should
be
represented," said the
old
man. "The working-man," said Mr. Hynes, "gets all kicks
and
no halfpence. But it's labour produces everything. The working-man
is
not looking
for
fat
jobs
for
his
sons
and
nephews
and
cousins. The working-man
is
not going
to
drag
the honour
of
Dublin
in
the
mud
to
please
a
German monarch." "How's that?" said the
old
man. "Don't
you
know
they
want
to
present
an
address
of
welcome
to
Edward
Rex
if
he
comes here
next
year?
What
do
we
want
kowtowing
to
a
foreign
king?" "Our
man
won't vote
for
the address," said Mr. O'Connor. "He goes
in
on
the Nationalist ticket." "Won't he?" said Mr. Hynes. "Wait
till
you
see
whether
he
will
or
not. I
know
him.
Is
it
Tricky Dicky Tierney?" "By God!
perhaps
you're right, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor. "Anyway, I
wish
he'd
turn
up
with
the spondulics." The
three
men
fell
silent. The
old
man
began
to
rake
more
cinders together. Mr. Hynes took
off
his
hat, shook
it
and
then
turned
down
the collar
of
his
coat, displaying,
as
he
did
so, an
ivy
leaf
in
the lapel. "If
this
man
was
alive,"
he
said, pointing
to
the leaf, "we'd
have
no talk
of
an
address
of
welcome." "That's true," said Mr. O'Connor. "Musha,
God
be
with
them
times!" said the
old
man. "There
was
some
life
in
it
then." The
room
was
silent
again.
Then
a
bustling
little
man
with
a
snuffling
nose
and
very
cold ears pushed
in
the door.
He
walked
over
quickly
to
the fire, rubbing
his
hands
as
if
he
intended
to
produce
a
spark
from
them. "No money, boys,"
he
said. "Sit
down
here, Mr. Henchy," said the
old
man,
offering
him
his
chair. "O, don't stir, Jack, don't stir," said Mr. Henchy
He
nodded curtly
to
Mr. Hynes
and
sat
down
on
the chair
which
the
old
man
vacated. "Did
you
serve Aungier Street?"
he
asked Mr. O'Connor. "Yes," said Mr. O'Connor,
beginning
to
search
his
pockets
for
memoranda. "Did
you
call
on
Grimes?" "I did." "Well?
How
does
he
stand?" "He wouldn't promise.
He
said: 'I won't
tell
anyone
what
way
I'm going
to
vote.' But I
think
he'll
be
all right." "Why so?" "He asked
me
who
the nominators were;
and
I told him. I mentioned Father Burke's name. I
think
it'll
be
all right." Mr. Henchy began
to
snuffle
and
to
rub
his
hands
over
the
fire
at
a
terrific
speed.
Then
he
said: "For the
love
of
God, Jack,
bring
us
a
bit
of
coal. There
must
be
some
left." The
old
man
went
out
of
the room. "It's no go," said Mr. Henchy, shaking
his
head. "I asked the
little
shoeboy, but
he
said: 'Oh, now, Mr. Henchy,
when
I
see
work
going
on
properly I won't
forget
you,
you
may
be
sure.'
Mean
little
tinker! 'Usha,
how
could
he
be
anything
else?" "What
did
I
tell
you, Mat?" said Mr. Hynes. "Tricky Dicky Tierney." "O, he's
as
tricky
as
they
make
'em," said Mr. Henchy. "He hasn't got
those
little
pigs' eyes
for
nothing.
Blast
his
soul! Couldn't
he
pay
up
like
a
man
instead
of: 'O, now, Mr. Henchy, I
must
speak
to
Mr. Fanning.... I've spent
a
lot
of
money'?
Mean
little
school-boy
of
hell! I
suppose
he
forgets the
time
his
little
old
father kept the hand-me-down shop
in
Mary's Lane." "But
is
that
a
fact?" asked Mr. O'Connor. "God, yes," said Mr. Henchy. "Did
you
never
hear
that?
And
the men used
to
go
in
on
Sunday
morning
before the houses
were
open
to
buy
a
waistcoat
or
a
trousers—moya! But Tricky Dicky's
little
old
father
always
had
a
tricky
little
black
bottle
up
in
a
corner.
Do
you
mind
now? That's that. That's
where
he
first
saw
the light." The
old
man
returned
with
a
few
lumps
of
coal
which
he
placed here
and
there
on
the fire. "Thats
a
nice
how-do-you-do," said Mr. O'Connor. "How does
he
expect
us
to
work
for
him
if
he
won't
stump
up?" "I can't
help
it," said Mr. Henchy. "I
expect
to
find the bailiffs
in
the
hall
when
I
go
home." Mr. Hynes laughed and, shoving
himself
away
from
the mantelpiece
with
the
aid
of
his
shoulders,
made
ready
to
leave. "It'll
be
all
right
when
King
Eddie comes,"
he
said. "Well boys, I'm
off
for
the present.
See
you
later. 'Bye, 'bye."
He
went
out
of
the
room
slowly.
Neither
Mr. Henchy
nor
the
old
man
said anything, but,
just
as
the
door
was
closing, Mr. O'Connor,
who
had been staring moodily
into
the fire, called
out
suddenly: "'Bye, Joe." Mr. Henchy waited
a
few
moments
and
then
nodded
in
the
direction
of
the door. "Tell me,"
he
said
across
the fire, "what brings
our
friend
in
here?
What
does
he
want?" "'Usha,
poor
Joe!" said Mr. O'Connor, throwing the
end
of
his
cigarette
into
the fire, "he's
hard
up,
like
the
rest
of
us." Mr. Henchy snuffled vigorously
and
spat
so
copiously
that
he
nearly
put
out
the fire,
which
uttered
a
hissing protest. "To
tell
you
my
private
and
candid
opinion,"
he
said, "I
think
he's
a
man
from
the
other
camp. He's
a
spy
of
Colgan's,
if
you
ask
me.
Just
go
round
and
try
and
find
out
how
they're getting on.
They
won't suspect you.
Do
you
twig?" "Ah,
poor
Joe
is
a
decent
skin," said Mr. O'Connor. "His father
was
a
decent, respectable man," Mr. Henchy admitted. "Poor
old
Larry Hynes!
Many
a
good
turn
he
did
in
his
day! But I'm
greatly
afraid
our
friend
is
not
nineteen
carat.
Damn
it, I
can
understand
a
fellow
being
hard
up, but
what
I can't
understand
is
a
fellow
sponging. Couldn't
he
have
some
spark
of
manhood
about
him?" "He doesn't
get
a
warm
welcome
from
me
when
he
comes," said the
old
man. "Let
him
work
for
his
own
side
and
not
come
spying
around
here." "I don't know," said Mr. O'Connor dubiously,
as
he
took
out
cigarette-papers
and
tobacco. "I
think
Joe Hynes
is
a
straight man. He's
a
clever
chap, too,
with
the pen.
Do
you
remember
that
thing
he
wrote...?" "Some
of
these
hillsiders
and
fenians
are
a
bit
too
clever
if
you
ask
me," said Mr. Henchy. "Do
you
know
what
my
private
and
candid
opinion
is
about
some
of
those
little
jokers? I
believe
half
of
them
are
in
the
pay
of
the Castle." "There's no knowing," said the
old
man. "O, but I
know
it
for
a
fact," said Mr. Henchy. "They're Castle hacks.... I don't
say
Hynes.... No,
damn
it, I
think
he's
a
stroke
above
that.... But there's
a
certain
little
nobleman
with
a
cock-eye—you
know
the
patriot
I'm alluding to?" Mr. O'Connor nodded. "There's
a
lineal
descendant
of
Major
Sirr
for
you
if
you
like! O, the heart's blood
of
a
patriot! That's
a
fellow
now
that'd
sell
his
country
for
fourpence—ay—and
go
down
on
his
bended knees
and
thank
the
Almighty
Christ
he
had
a
country
to
sell." There
was
a
knock
at
the door. "Come in!" said Mr. Henchy.
A
person
resembling
a
poor
clergyman
or
a
poor
actor
appeared
in
the doorway.
His
black
clothes
were
tightly buttoned
on
his
short
body
and
it
was
impossible
to
say
whether
he
wore
a
clergyman's collar
or
a
layman's,
because
the collar
of
his
shabby
frock-coat, the uncovered buttons
of
which
reflected the candlelight,
was
turned
up
about
his
neck.
He
wore
a
round
hat
of
hard
black
felt.
His
face, shining
with
raindrops, had the
appearance
of
damp
yellow
cheese save
where
two
rosy
spots indicated the cheekbones.
He
opened
his
very
long
mouth
suddenly
to
express disappointment
and
at
the
same
time
opened
wide
his
very
bright
blue eyes
to
express pleasure
and
surprise. "O Father Keon!" said Mr. Henchy, jumping
up
from
his
chair. "Is
that
you?
Come
in!" "O, no, no, no!" said Father Keon quickly, pursing
his
lips
as
if
he
were
addressing
a
child. "Won't
you
come
in
and
sit
down?" "No, no, no!" said Father Keon, speaking
in
a
discreet, indulgent, velvety voice. "Don't
let
me
disturb
you
now! I'm
just
looking
for
Mr. Fanning...." "He's round
at
the
Black
Eagle," said Mr. Henchy. "But won't
you
come
in
and
sit
down
a
minute?" "No, no,
thank
you.
It
was
just
a
little
business
matter," said Father Keon. "Thank you, indeed."
He
retreated
from
the doorway
and
Mr. Henchy, seizing
one
of
the candlesticks, went
to
the
door
to
light
him
downstairs. "O, don't trouble, I beg!" "No, but the stairs
is
so
dark." "No, no, I
can
see....
Thank
you, indeed." "Are
you
right
now?" "All right, thanks.... Thanks." Mr. Henchy returned
with
the
candlestick
and
put
it
on
the table.
He
sat
down
again
at
the fire. There
was
silence
for
a
few
moments. "Tell me, John," said Mr. O'Connor,
lighting
his
cigarette
with
another
pasteboard card. "Hm?" "What
he
is
exactly?" "Ask
me
an easier one," said Mr. Henchy. "Fanning
and
himself
seem
to
me
very
thick. They're
often
in
Kavanagh's together.
Is
he
a
priest
at
all?" "Mmmyes, I
believe
so.... I
think
he's
what
you
call
a
black
sheep.
We
haven't
many
of
them,
thank
God! but
we
have
a
few.... He's an unfortunate
man
of
some
kind...." "And
how
does
he
knock
it
out?" asked Mr. O'Connor. "That's
another
mystery." "Is
he
attached
to
any
chapel
or
church
or
institution
or——s" "No," said Mr. Henchy, "I
think
he's travelling
on
his
own
account....
God
forgive
me,"
he
added, "I
thought
he
was
the
dozen
of
stout." "Is there
any
chance
of
a
drink
itself?" asked Mr. O'Connor. "I'm
dry
too," said the
old
man. "I asked
that
little
shoeboy
three
times," said Mr. Henchy, "would
he
send
up
a
dozen
of
stout. I asked
him
again
now, but
he
was
leaning
on
the
counter
in
his
shirt-sleeves having
a
deep
goster
with
Alderman
Cowley." "Why didn't
you
remind him?" said Mr. O'Connor. "Well, I couldn't
go
over
while
he
was
talking
to
Alderman
Cowley. I
just
waited
till
I caught
his
eye,
and
said: 'About
that
little
matter
I
was
speaking
to
you
about....' 'That'll
be
all right, Mr. H.,'
he
said. Yerra,
sure
the
little
hop-o'-my-thumb has forgotten all
about
it." "There's
some
deal
on
in
that
quarter," said Mr. O'Connor thoughtfully. "I
saw
the
three
of
them
hard
at
it
yesterday
at
Suffolk
Street
corner." "I
think
I
know
the
little
game
they're at," said Mr. Henchy. "You
must
owe
the
City
Fathers
money
nowadays
if
you
want
to
be
made
Lord Mayor.
Then
they'll
make
you
Lord Mayor.
By
God! I'm thinking seriously
of
becoming
a
City
Father myself.
What
do
you
think? Would I
do
for
the job?" Mr. O'Connor laughed. "So
far
as
owing
money
goes...." "Driving
out
of
the
Mansion
House," said Mr. Henchy, "in all my vermin,
with
Jack
here standing
up
behind
me
in
a
powdered wig—eh?" "And
make
me
your
private
secretary, John." "Yes.
And
I'll
make
Father Keon my
private
chaplain. We'll
have
a
family
party." "Faith, Mr. Henchy," said the
old
man, "you'd
keep
up
better
style
than
some
of
them. I
was
talking
one
day
to
old
Keegan, the porter. 'And
how
do
you
like
your
new
master, Pat?' says I
to
him. 'You haven't
much
entertaining now,' says I. 'Entertaining!' says he. 'He'd
live
on
the
smell
of
an oil-rag.'
And
do
you
know
what
he
told me? Now, I
declare
to
God
I didn't
believe
him." "What?" said Mr. Henchy
and
Mr. O'Connor. "He told me: 'What
do
you
think
of
a
Lord
Mayor
of
Dublin sending
out
for
a
pound
of
chops
for
his
dinner? How's
that
for
high living?' says he. 'Wisha! wisha,' says I. 'A
pound
of
chops,' says he, 'coming
into
the
Mansion
House.' 'Wisha!' says I, 'what
kind
of
people
is
going
at
all now?'"
At
this
point
there
was
a
knock
at
the door,
and
a
boy
put
in
his
head. "What
is
it?" said the
old
man. "From the
Black
Eagle," said the boy, walking
in
sideways
and
depositing
a
basket
on
the
floor
with
a
noise
of
shaken bottles. The
old
man
helped the
boy
to
transfer the bottles
from
the
basket
to
the table
and
counted the
full
tally.
After
the transfer the
boy
put
his
basket
on
his
arm
and
asked: "Any bottles?" "What bottles?" said the
old
man. "Won't
you
let
us
drink
them
first?" said Mr. Henchy. "I
was
told
to
ask
for
the bottles." "Come
back
tomorrow," said the
old
man. "Here, boy!" said Mr. Henchy, "will
you
run
over
to
O'Farrell's
and
ask
him
to
lend
us
a
corkscrew—for Mr. Henchy, say.
Tell
him
we
won't
keep
it
a
minute.
Leave
the
basket
there." The
boy
went
out
and
Mr. Henchy began
to
rub
his
hands cheerfully, saying: "Ah, well, he's not
so
bad
after
all. He's
as
good
as
his
word, anyhow." "There's no tumblers," said the
old
man. "O, don't
let
that
trouble
you, Jack," said Mr. Henchy. "Many's the
good
man
before
now
drank
out
of
the bottle." "Anyway, it's
better
than
nothing," said Mr. O'Connor. "He's not
a
bad
sort," said Mr. Henchy, "only Fanning has
such
a
loan
of
him.
He
means
well,
you
know,
in
his
own
tinpot way." The
boy
came
back
with
the corkscrew. The
old
man
opened
three
bottles
and
was
handing
back
the corkscrew
when
Mr. Henchy said
to
the boy: "Would
you
like
a
drink, boy?" "If
you
please, sir," said the boy. The
old
man
opened
another
bottle grudgingly,
and
handed
it
to
the boy. "What
age
are
you?"
he
asked. "Seventeen," said the boy.
As
the
old
man
said
nothing
further, the
boy
took the bottle
and
said: "Here's my
best
respects, sir,"
to
Mr. Henchy, drank the contents,
put
the bottle
back
on
the table
and
wiped
his
mouth
with
his
sleeve.
Then
he
took
up
the corkscrew
and
went
out
of
the
door
sideways, muttering
some
form
of
salutation. "That's the
way
it
begins," said the
old
man. "The
thin
edge
of
the wedge," said Mr. Henchy. The
old
man
distributed the
three
bottles
which
he
had opened
and
the men drank
from
them
simultaneously.
After
having
drunk
each
placed
his
bottle
on
the mantelpiece within hand's reach
and
drew
in
a
long
breath
of
satisfaction. "Well, I
did
a
good
day's
work
today," said Mr. Henchy,
after
a
pause. "That so, John?" "Yes. I got
him
one
or
two
sure
things
in
Dawson Street, Crofton
and
myself.
Between
ourselves,
you
know, Crofton (he's
a
decent
chap,
of
course), but he's not
worth
a
damn
as
a
canvasser.
He
hasn't
a
word
to
throw
to
a
dog.
He
stands
and
looks
at
the
people
while
I
do
the talking." Here
two
men entered the room.
One
of
them
was
a
very
fat
man
whose
blue
serge
clothes
seemed
to
be
in
danger
of
falling
from
his
sloping figure.
He
had
a
big
face
which
resembled
a
young
ox's face
in
expression, staring blue eyes
and
a
grizzled
moustache. The
other
man,
who
was
much
younger
and
frailer, had
a
thin, clean-shaven face.
He
wore
a
very
high
double
collar
and
a
wide-brimmed
bowler
hat. "Hello, Crofton!" said Mr. Henchy
to
the
fat
man. "Talk
of
the devil..." "Where
did
the boose
come
from?" asked the
young
man. "Did the
cow
calve?" "O,
of
course, Lyons spots the
drink
first thing!" said Mr. O'Connor, laughing. "Is
that
the
way
you
chaps canvass," said Mr. Lyons, "and Crofton
and
I
out
in
the cold
and
rain
looking
for
votes?" "Why,
blast
your soul," said Mr. Henchy, "I'd
get
more
votes
in
five
minutes
than
you
two'd
get
in
a
week." "Open
two
bottles
of
stout, Jack," said Mr. O'Connor. "How
can
I?" said the
old
man, "when there's no corkscrew?" "Wait now,
wait
now!" said Mr. Henchy, getting
up
quickly. "Did
you
ever
see
this
little
trick?"
He
took
two
bottles
from
the table and, carrying
them
to
the fire,
put
them
on
the hob.
Then
he
sat
down
again
by
the
fire
and
took
another
drink
from
his
bottle. Mr. Lyons sat
on
the
edge
of
the table, pushed
his
hat
towards
the
nape
of
his
neck
and
began
to
swing
his
legs. "Which
is
my bottle?"
he
asked. "This lad," said Mr. Henchy. Mr. Crofton sat
down
on
a
box
and
looked fixedly
at
the
other
bottle
on
the hob.
He
was
silent
for
two
reasons. The first reason,
sufficient
in
itself,
was
that
he
had
nothing
to
say; the
second
reason
was
that
he
considered
his
companions beneath him.
He
had been
a
canvasser
for
Wilkins, the Conservative, but
when
the Conservatives had withdrawn
their
man
and, choosing the lesser
of
two
evils,
given
their
support
to
the Nationalist candidate,
he
had been engaged
to
work
for
Mr. Tiemey.
In
a
few
minutes
an
apologetic
"Pok!"
was
heard
as
the cork flew
out
of
Mr. Lyons' bottle. Mr. Lyons jumped
off
the table, went
to
the fire, took
his
bottle
and
carried
it
back
to
the table. "I
was
just
telling them, Crofton," said Mr. Henchy, "that
we
got
a
good
few
votes today." "Who
did
you
get?" asked Mr. Lyons. "Well, I got Parkes
for
one,
and
I got Atkinson
for
two,
and
got
Ward
of
Dawson Street.
Fine
old
chap
he
is, too—regular
old
toff,
old
Conservative! 'But isn't your
candidate
a
Nationalist?' said he. 'He's
a
respectable man,' said I. 'He's
in
favour
of
whatever
will
benefit
this
country. He's
a
big
ratepayer,' I said. 'He has
extensive
house
property
in
the
city
and
three
places
of
business
and
isn't
it
to
his
own
advantage
to
keep
down
the rates? He's
a
prominent
and
respected citizen,' said I, 'and
a
Poor
Law
Guardian,
and
he
doesn't
belong
to
any
party, good, bad,
or
indifferent.' That's the
way
to
talk
to
'em." "And
what
about
the
address
to
the King?" said Mr. Lyons,
after
drinking
and
smacking
his
lips. "Listen
to
me," said Mr. Henchy. "What
we
want
in
this
country,
as
I said
to
old
Ward,
is
capital. The King's coming here
will
mean
an
influx
of
money
into
this
country. The citizens
of
Dublin
will
benefit
by
it.
Look
at
all the factories
down
by
the quays there, idle!
Look
at
all the
money
there
is
in
the
country
if
we
only
worked the
old
industries, the mills, the ship-building yards
and
factories. It's
capital
we
want." "But
look
here, John," said Mr. O'Connor. "Why should
we
welcome
the
King
of
England? Didn't Parnell himself..." "Parnell," said Mr. Henchy, "is dead. Now, here's the
way
I
look
at
it. Here's
this
chap
come
to
the
throne
after
his
old
mother keeping
him
out
of
it
till
the
man
was
grey. He's
a
man
of
the world,
and
he
means
well
by
us. He's
a
jolly
fine
decent
fellow,
if
you
ask
me,
and
no
damn
nonsense
about
him.
He
just
says
to
himself: 'The
old
one
never
went
to
see
these
wild Irish.
By
Christ, I'll
go
myself
and
see
what
they're like.'
And
are
we
going
to
insult
the
man
when
he
comes
over
here
on
a
friendly
visit? Eh? Isn't
that
right, Crofton?" Mr. Crofton nodded
his
head. "But
after
all now," said Mr. Lyons argumentatively, "King Edward's life,
you
know,
is
not the very..." "Let bygones
be
bygones," said Mr. Henchy. "I
admire
the
man
personally. He's
just
an
ordinary
knockabout
like
you
and
me. He's
fond
of
his
glass
of
grog
and
he's
a
bit
of
a
rake, perhaps,
and
he's
a
good
sportsman.
Damn
it, can't
we
Irish
play
fair?" "That's all
very
fine," said Mr. Lyons. "But
look
at
the
case
of
Parnell now." "In the
name
of
God," said Mr. Henchy, "where's the
analogy
between
the
two
cases?" "What I mean," said Mr. Lyons, "is
we
have
our
ideals. Why, now, would
we
welcome
a
man
like
that?
Do
you
think
now
after
what
he
did
Parnell
was
a
fit
man
to
lead us?
And
why, then, would
we
do
it
for
Edward the Seventh?" "This
is
Parnell's anniversary," said Mr. O'Connor, "and don't
let
us
stir
up
any
bad
blood.
We
all
respect
him
now
that
he's
dead
and
gone—even the Conservatives,"
he
added, turning
to
Mr. Crofton. Pok! The
tardy
cork flew
out
of
Mr. Crofton's bottle. Mr. Crofton got
up
from
his
box
and
went
to
the fire.
As
he
returned
with
his
capture
he
said
in
a
deep
voice: "Our
side
of
the
house
respects him,
because
he
was
a
gentleman." "Right
you
are, Crofton!" said Mr. Henchy fiercely. "He
was
the
only
man
that
could
keep
that
bag
of
cats
in
order. 'Down,
ye
dogs!
Lie
down,
ye
curs!' That's the
way
he
treated them.
Come
in, Joe!
Come
in!"
he
called out, catching sight
of
Mr. Hynes
in
the doorway. Mr. Hynes came
in
slowly. "Open
another
bottle
of
stout, Jack," said Mr. Henchy. "O, I forgot there's no corkscrew! Here,
show
me
one
here
and
I'll
put
it
at
the fire." The
old
man
handed
him
another
bottle
and
he
placed
it
on
the hob. "Sit down, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor, "we're
just
talking
about
the Chief." "Ay, ay!" said Mr. Henchy. Mr. Hynes sat
on
the
side
of
the table
near
Mr. Lyons but said nothing. "There's
one
of
them, anyhow," said Mr. Henchy, "that didn't
renege
him.
By
God, I'll
say
for
you, Joe! No,
by
God,
you
stuck
to
him
like
a
man!" "O, Joe," said Mr. O'Connor suddenly. "Give
us
that
thing
you
wrote—do
you
remember?
Have
you
got
it
on
you?" "O, ay!" said Mr. Henchy. "Give
us
that.
Did
you
ever
hear
that, Crofton?
Listen
to
this
now:
splendid
thing." "Go on," said Mr. O'Connor. "Fire away, Joe." Mr. Hynes
did
not
seem
to
remember
at
once
the
piece
to
which
they
were
alluding, but,
after
reflecting
a
while,
he
said: "O,
that
thing
is
it.... Sure, that's
old
now." "Out
with
it, man!" said Mr. O'Connor. "'Sh, 'sh," said Mr. Henchy. "Now, Joe!" Mr. Hynes hesitated
a
little
longer.
Then
amid
the silence
he
took
off
his
hat, laid
it
on
the table
and
stood up.
He
seemed
to
be
rehearsing the
piece
in
his
mind.
After
a
rather
long
pause
he
announced:
He
cleared
his
throat
once
or
twice
and
then
began
to
recite: Mr. Hynes sat
down
again
on
the table.
When
he
had finished
his
recitation
there
was
a
silence
and
then
a
burst
of
clapping:
even
Mr. Lyons clapped. The
applause
continued
for
a
little
time.
When
it
had ceased all the auditors drank
from
their
bottles
in
silence. Pok! The cork flew
out
of
Mr. Hynes' bottle, but Mr. Hynes remained sitting flushed
and
bare-headed
on
the table.
He
did
not
seem
to
have
heard the invitation. "Good man, Joe!" said Mr. O'Connor, taking
out
his
cigarette
papers
and
pouch
the
better
to
hide
his
emotion. "What
do
you
think
of
that, Crofton?" cried Mr. Henchy. "Isn't
that
fine? What?" Mr. Crofton said
that
it
was
a
very
fine
piece
of
writing.