Father Sweeny glared, speechless, at his tormentor for an instant; then, rinding the Big Doctor unmoved "in the furnace of his look," he fell back on his pillows.
"Lock the door!" he commanded angrily. He pushed a letter into the Doctor's hand. "Read that!"
"Hullo! The Major! What's he got to say to you, Father Tim?"
"Read it, I tell you!"
Dr. Mangan did so, with attention, and read it a second time before he replaced it in its envelope and handed it back to the priest.
"That's a nice letter!" said Father Sweeny, with a snort that he believed to be a laugh. "What d'ye think of that now, you that are so fond of Protestants!"
"I think the man is justified," said the Doctor, stoutly. "There's no such great hurry, and anyhow, his authority is at an end. He couldn't give you as much as'd sod a lark now——"
"Nor he wouldn't if he could!" broke in Father Sweeny. "And there is hurry, and great hurry! How will I build my chapel without the land to put it on? Will you tell me that?"
"Ah, you haven't the money gathered yet. The delay isn't worth exciting yourself about!" said the Doctor, soothingly. Father Tim amused him, and he liked him, being well aware that if his temper was hot, his heart was correspondingly warm. "You'll see the young chap will give you the site as soon as look at you."
"And how do I know the young chap will be any easier than the old one? Isn't he there at Mount Music all day and every day, at their tea-parties and their dinner-parties? Won't they have him married up to one of the daughters before you can look around? He may call himself a Catholic, but them English Catholics—COME IN!"