Ivy Day In The Committee Room

`Tell me,' he said across the fire, `what brings our friend in here? What does he want?'

`'Usha, poor Joel' 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 candle-light, 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 cheek-bones. 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 is he 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—'

`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.