CHAPTER XVII
According to the official programme—so described by Dr. O’Grady—the Lord-Lieutenant and Lady Chesterton were to arrive in Ballymoy by motor-car at half-past twelve o’clock. There might be two motor-cars. That depended on the number of aides-de-camp and of the suite which the Lord-Lieutenant brought. There would certainly be one, and Doyle had the coach-house in his back-yard emptied and carefully cleaned to serve for the garage. Everything in the town was ready before half-past ten. The statue had been erected on its pedestal the day before and excited general admiration. Even Major Kent admitted that it was a striking work of art which would be an ornament to the town. The deceased Deputy-Lieutenant was dressed in flowing robes which resembled those worn by judges. He held a large roll, intended to represent parchment, in his left hand. This, Dr. O’Grady said, might very well be taken for the original draft of the Bolivian Constitution. His right hand pointed upwards with extended forefinger. In the case of the Deputy-Lieutenant, who was almost certainly a strong Unionist, this may have symbolised an appeal to the higher powers—the House of Lords, or even the King—to refuse consent to a Home Rule Bill. When the statue ceased to be a Deputy-Lieutenant and became General John Regan the attitude was taken to express his confidence in the heavenly nature of the national liberty which he had won for Bolivia. This was the explanation of the uplifted forefinger which Dr. O’Grady offered to Thady Gallagher. But Gallagher was curiously sulky and suspicious. He seemed unimpressed.
Doyle’s nephew came down to Ballymoy and personally superintended the fixing of the statue on its pedestal. He complained that the cement supplied for the purpose by his uncle was of very inferior quality, and expressed grave doubts about the stability of the structure. Dr. O’Grady did not seem very anxious. He hinted that the people of Ballymoy would be quite satisfied if the statue stood for twenty-four hours. The weather was exceptionally fine and calm. There was no reason—if the unveiling were carefully done—why Doyle’s cement should be subjected to any strain whatever.
At nine o’clock on the morning of the Lord-Lieutenant’s visit, Dr. O’Grady, with the help of Doyle and two labourers, who had three step-ladders, veiled the statue. They draped it from the head to the bottom of the pedestal in a large sheet of blay calico of a light yellowish colour. This was carefully done, and an elaborate arrangement of string was made, leading out from the statue to the place where the Lord-Lieutenant was to stand. Dr. O’Grady satisfied himself by a series of experiments that the apparatus would work. At a single pull at the end of the string the whole sheet fluttered to the ground and exposed the Deputy-Lieutenant to public view.
It was ten o’clock before these arrangements were completed and the step-ladders taken away. Dr. O’Grady went into the barrack and warned Sergeant Colgan that he would be held personally responsible if any curious wayfarer pulled the string before the proper time. Sergeant Colgan at once ordered Moriarty to mount guard over the statue. Dr. O’Grady went over to the hotel and inspected the luncheon table. He had laid it himself the night before, so he felt fairly confident that everything was as it should be; but he was not inclined to run any risks. It was just possible that Doyle, acting on advice from somebody else, might have altered the position of the spoons and forks during the night.
“It’ll be after lunch,” said Dr. O’Grady, “that we’ll introduce the subject of a pier.”
“Then or sooner,” said Doyle.
“Hints will have been given before that,” said Dr. O’Grady. “Father McCormack has promised to touch on the undeveloped condition of our fishing industry when he’s making his introductory remarks previous to the unveiling of the statue. If I get half a chance, I mean to point out what excellent stones there are in that old mill of yours. The matter is distinctly alluded to at the end of the illuminated address, but I’m afraid they’re not likely to read that till they get back to Dublin, if then. I suppose, by the way, the address has arrived all right?”
“It has,” said Doyle, “but I haven’t it unpacked yet. It’s in a case.”