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Updated: June 4, 2025
You'd want to knock about a bit in the world. Have you never been anywhere even for a trip?" "I've been to the Isle of Man," said Little Chandler. Ignatius Gallaher laughed. "The Isle of Man!" he said. "Go to London or Paris: Paris, for choice. That'd do you good." "Have you seen Paris?" "I should think I have! I've knocked about there a little."
Dan Gallaher held the hames of a set of harness in his hand as he spoke and critically examined the leather of the traces. It was good leather, sound and well preserved. Old MacManaway while alive liked sound things and took good care of his property. "An honester man never lived," Dan repeated "And I'm not saying that because the old man and me agreed together, for we didn't."
Hogan told me you had... tasted the joys of connubial bliss. Two years ago, wasn't it?" Little Chandler blushed and smiled. "Yes," he said. "I was married last May twelve months." "I hope it's not too late in the day to offer my best wishes," said Ignatius Gallaher. "I didn't know your address or I'd have done so at the time." He extended his hand, which Little Chandler took.
He chose the darkest and narrowest streets and, as he walked boldly forward, the silence that was spread about his footsteps troubled him, the wandering, silent figures troubled him; and at times a sound of low fugitive laughter made him tremble like a leaf. He turned to the right towards Capel Street. Ignatius Gallaher on the London Press! Who would have thought it possible eight years before?
"Well?" said the stranger who, by-the-by, had called himself Gallaher, in very anxious tones, "Well you don't seem in a hurry, nor yet particularly pleased what is it?" "A cat!" I gasped. "A cat and a cat in mid-air!" The stranger swore. "D it!" he cried, dashing his fist on the table with such force that the match-box flew a dozen or so feet up the room "Cuss! the infernal thing!
Was it too late for him to try to live bravely like Gallaher? Could he go to London? There was the furniture still to be paid for. If he could only write a book and get it published, that might open the way for him. A volume of Byron's poems lay before him on the table.
No one in all the Ulster border land ever held the principle of the Orange Society more firmly or opposed any form of Home Rule more bitterly than old MacManaway. And Dan Gallaher was a Roman Catholic and a Nationalist of the extremest kind.
At ten o'clock that evening Dan Gallaher and James McNiece sat together in the private room behind the bar of Sam Twining's public-house. The house was neutral ground used by Orangemen and Nationalists alike, a convenient arrangement, indeed a necessary arrangement, for there was no other public-house nearer than Curraghfin.
"And to clinch the bargain," said Little Chandler, "we'll just have one more now." Ignatius Gallaher took out a large gold watch and looked a it. "Is it to be the last?" he said. "Because you know, I have an a.p." "O, yes, positively," said Little Chandler.
But nobody denied him talent. There was always a certain... something in Ignatius Gallaher that impressed you in spite of yourself. Even when he was out at elbows and at his wits' end for money he kept up a bold face. "Where's my considering cap?" That was Ignatius Gallaher all out; and, damn it, you couldn't but admire him for it. Little Chandler quickened his pace.
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