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Lovaway succeeded at last in breaking in on the smooth flow of chatty reminiscences. But when he did speak he spoke strongly. As with most gentle and timid men, his language was almost violent when he had screwed himself up to the point of speaking at all. The two policemen listened to all he said with the utmost good humour. Indeed, the sergeant supported him.
"I've seen the like before," she said, leering up into Lovaway's face. "I've seen worse. I've seen a strong man tying himself into knots with the way they had him held, and there's no cure for it only " Lovaway caught sight of Sergeant Rahilly. In his first rush to reach the stricken child he had left the sergeant behind. The sergeant was a heavy man who moved with dignity.
Lovaway, hatless and wearing a pair of slippers on his feet, was running up the street towards the barrack. His first case, a serious one, calling for instant attention, had come to him unexpectedly. Opposite Flanagan's shop he was stopped by Mrs. Doolan. She laid a skinny, wrinkled, and very dirty hand on his arm. Her shawl fell back from her head, showing a few thin wisps of grey hair.
Finnegan, "he's a good, quiet kind of a boy, and if he hasn't too much sense there's many another has less." "That's what I think," said Dr. Lovaway. Jimmy stopped blowing the fire and looked round suddenly. "Sure, I know well you're wanting to put me away," he said. "It's for your own good," said the sergeant. "It'll do him no harm anyway," said Finnegan, "if so be he's not kept there."
Finnegan spread a somewhat dirty tablecloth on a still dirtier table and laid out cups and saucers on it. Dr. Lovaway was puzzled. The boy at the fire might be, probably was, mentally deficient. He was not a case for an asylum. He was certainly not likely to become violent or to do any harm either to himself or anyone else. It was not clear why Mrs.
"A Study of the Remarkable Increase of Lunacy in Rural Connaught." The title looked well. It would, he felt, certainly attract the attention of the editor of The British Medical Journal. But Dr. Lovaway did not like it. It was not for the editor of The British Medical Journal, or indeed, for a scientific public that he wanted to write. He started fresh on a new sheet of paper.
Michael" she turned to her husband who stood behind her "let Patsy Doolan be putting the mare into the shed, and let you be helping him. Come in now, doctor, and take an air of the fire. I'll wet a cup of tea for you, so I will." Dr. Lovaway passed through a low door into the cottage. His eyes gradually became accustomed to the gloom inside and to the turf smoke which filled the room.
Patsy Doolan's mare was subdued in temper; so docile, indeed, that she allowed Jimmy to put her between the shafts. She made no attempt to stand on her hind legs, and did not shy even at a young pig which bolted across the road in front of her. Dr. Lovaway could sit on his side of the car without holding on.
"You hear what the doctor's saying to you, Constable Malone," he said. "I do, surely," said the constable. "Well, I hope you'll attend to it," said the sergeant, "and let there be no more of the sort of work that the doctor's complaining of." "But I mean you too, sergeant," said Dr. Lovaway. "You're just as much to blame as the constable. Indeed more, for you're his superior officer."
Lovaway a sufficient reason for incarcerating Jimmy in an asylum. "But is he violent?" he repeated. "Is he dangerous to himself or others?" "He never was the same as other boys," said the constable, "and the way of it with fellows like that is what you wouldn't know. He might be quiet enough to-day and be slaughtering all before him to-morrow. And what Mrs.
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