“Look here, Moriarty,” said Dr. O’Grady. “If you think I’m going to stand here to be bullied by you in the public street you’re greatly mistaken. Why don’t you go and patrol somewhere?”
“I’ll not have Mary Ellen play-acting before the Lord-Lieutenant, so now you know, doctor.”
“There’s no play-acting to be done,” said Dr. O’Grady. “We haven’t even had time to get up a pageant. I wish we had. You’d look splendid as a Roman Emperor trampling on a conquered people. I’m not sure that I wouldn’t get you up as an Assyrian bull. The expression of your face is just right this minute.”
“Mary Ellen’s an orphan girl,” said Moriarty, “with no father to look after her, and what’s more I’m thinking of marrying her myself. So it’s as well for you to understand, doctor, that I’ll not have her character took from her. It’s not the first time you’ve tried that same, but it had better be the last.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Moriarty. There’s nobody injuring the girl’s character except, maybe, yourself. Doyle tells me you’re never out of the back-yard of the hotel.”
“You put it out that she was married to young Kerrigan.”
“That was Thady Gallagher,” said Dr. O’Grady, “and it didn’t do her a bit of harm. Nobody except Mr. Billing believed it.”
“I don’t mind that so much now,” said Moriarty, “though I don’t deny I was angry at the time, but what I won’t have is Mary Ellen dressed up to be an ancient Irish colleen. It’s not respectful to the girl.”
“You told me the other day that you want the Lord-Lieutenant to make you a sergeant. Did you mean that when you said it, or did you not?”
“It’s no way to make a sergeant of me to be dressing up Mary Ellen.”