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I remained in haughty silence. I feared I should burst into screams of laughter if I attempted speech. Miss Springle had evaded us at the last minute, and could be seen once more by Mr. Dodd's side as we drove past the shooters again on the road. A meek woman, sister of Mr. McCormack, a Mrs. Broun by name, who had quietly stood by her husband and had not been in any one's way, now caught Mrs.
"I was afraid you weren't," said Dr. O'Grady. "Father McCormack and Doyle insisted that you were. But I knew that His Excellency must be a much older man. They couldn't very well make anybody of your age Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, though I daresay you'd do very well, and deserve the honour quite as much as lots of people that get it."
"There's something in that," said Father McCormack. "I'm not well up in statues, but I've seen a few in my time, and all I can say is that unless Doyle's nephew is a great deal better at the job than most of the fellows that makes them, nobody would know, unless they were told, who their statue's meant to be like." "My nephew's a good sculptor," said Doyle.
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.
"He wouldn't come without he had something of the sort," said Father McCormack. "That's sure." "Therefore," said Dr. O'Grady, "the statue is a necessary part of our expenses in getting the pier. So is the illuminated address. So is the bouquet.
He began by sending Doyle to Father McCormack. Doyle, foreseeing a possible profit for himself, did his best to persuade Father McCormack to take the chair. Father McCormack, who was a fat man and therefore good-natured, did not want to refuse Doyle. But Father McCormack was not a free agent. Behind him, somewhere, was a bishop, reputed to be austere, certainly domineering.
"Mrs. Gregg says " said Mary Ellen. Then she paused, looked at Dr. O'Grady, looked at Doyle, and finally took courage after a glance at Father McCormack. "She says, is there to be white stockings?" "Certainly not," said Dr. O'Grady. "White stockings would be entirely out of place. If we're dressing you as an Irish colleen, Mary Ellen, we'll do it properly. Go and tell Mrs.
"You're a bit early, Major," said Doyle. "But if you'll step into the commercial room you won't have long to wait. Thady and I have to cross the street on a matter of business but we'll be back in less than five minutes. The doctor might be here any time and I see Father McCormack coming along from the presbytery." Doyle was unduly optimistic. He was not back in five minutes.
It played The Rosary, done as a solo on the cornet; and over and over again it sang, with the thickest, sirupiest sentiment that John McCormack at his best is capable of, "Just a little love, a li ttle kiss, Just an hour that holds a world of bliss, Eyes that tremble like the stars above me, And the little word that says you love me."
"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.
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