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 dÉgagÉ.”

“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 dÉgagÉ 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.”