“It was only this morning,” said Sergeant Colgan hopefully, “that Kerrigan killed a sheep.”
Mary Ellen crossed the street towards Kerrigan’s shop. Constable Moriarty winked at her as she passed. Mary Ellen was a good girl. She took no notice of the wink. The sergeant, unfortunately, did.
“Come along out of this, Constable Moriarty,” he said. “Have you no duties to perform that you can afford to be standing there all day making faces at Mary Ellen? Come along now if you don’t want me to report you.”
Sergeant Colgan, though Gallagher insinuated evil things about him, was a man with a strict sense of propriety. He must have wanted very much to hear something more about Doyle’s guest, but he marched off up the street followed by Moriarty. Doyle and Gallagher watched them until they were out of sight. Then Gallagher spoke again.
“If he isn’t the Lord-Lieutenant,” he said, “and if he isn’t the Chief Secretary, will you tell me who he is?”
“It’s my opinion,” said Doyle, “that he’s a Yank.”
“I don’t know that I’ve much of an opinion of Yanks,” said Gallagher. “It’s in my mind that the country would be better if there was fewer of them came back to us. What I say is this: What good are they? What do they do, only upset the minds of the people, teaching them to be disrespectful to the clergy and to use language the like of which decent people ought not to use?”
“It’s my opinion that he is a Yank anyway,” said Doyle.
Mary Ellen returned from Kerrigan’s shop. She carried a small parcel, wrapped in newspaper. It contained two chops for Mr. Billing’s dinner.
“Mary Ellen,” said Doyle, “is it your opinion that the gentleman within is a Yank?”