“You’re time enough,” said the Major. “If you’re not more than half-an-hour late it’s time enough for any meeting that’s held in this town.”
“That’s true too,” said Father McCormack. “As a general rule that’s true enough. But I’ve known meetings that was over and done with before the time when they ought to be beginning. That would be when there might be something to be done at them that some of the members would be objecting to if they were there. I’ve known that happen, and I shouldn’t wonder if you’d been caught that way yourself before now.”
“So far as I know,” said the Major, “nothing of the sort has happened this time. There’s no reason why it should. When anything as silly as this statue business is on hand everybody is sure to be unanimously in favour of it.”
“That’s true enough. But where’s the rest of the committee?”
“Nobody has turned up so far, except myself,” said the Major.
“Well,” said Father McCormack, “I’m as well pleased. To tell you the truth, Major, I’m glad of the chance of a few minutes quiet talk with you while we have the place to ourselves. I thought it my duty, and you’ll understand me that I’m not casting reflections on you nor yet on the doctor, and I’d be sorry to say a word against Doyle, or for the matter of that against Thady Gallagher, though it would be better if he had more sense. But anyway, I thought it my duty to acquaint the bishop with what was going on.”
“The statue idea?” said the Major. “Well, what did he say? I don’t know your bishop personally, but I suppose a man could hardly be in his position if he was altogether a fool.”
“Believe me or not as you like,” said Father Mc-Cormack, “but when I got the bishop’s answer to my letter, it turned out that he knew no more than myself about General John Regan.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least. I don’t believe any one knows who he was.”
“What the bishop said was that it might look queer if I was to take no part in the proceedings when the Lord-Lieutenant was coming to unveil the statue.”