“We’d better have it quite ready. Get a screwdriver, will you, and a hammer.”
The address turned out to be very large indeed and most magnificently coloured. In the top left-hand corner was a small photograph of the market square of Ballymoy, without the statue. In the right-hand Corner was a picture, supplied by Mr. Aloysius Doyle, of the statue itself. In the bottom left-hand corner was a photograph of the Viceregal Lodge in the Phoenix Park, and opposite it a portrait of the Lord-Lieutenant in his state robes. The whole left-hand side of the address was occupied by an immensely complicated design made up of spirals, serpents, and trumpet pattern ornaments, which twisted in and out of each other in a way most bewildering to the eye. This was supposed to represent the manner in which ancient Irish artists made the letter “t,” when they were not in a hurry. “T” is the first letter of the word “to” with which the actual address began. The words “Excellency,” “Lord,” and “Lieutenant” were similarly honoured with capital letters of Celtic design, but inferior size. “Ireland,” which came on a line to itself, was blazoned in red and green, on a background of dull gold, laid on smoothly, and afterwards dinted here and there with some instrument which must have resembled a blunt pin. The rest of the letter-press was done in crooked, angular characters, very ornamental to look at, but most difficult to read.
“It’s a good address, so it is,” said Doyle, “and worth the money, though, mind you, it was a big lot we gave for it. A cheaper one would have done well enough.”
“I call it cheap at the price,” said Dr. O’Grady. “I’d no idea you could get so much for £4. Now what about the bouquet?”
“I have it in a jug of water,” said Doyle, “under the counter of the bar. I thought it would be better in water the way it would be fresh.”
“Quite right. But be sure you wipe the stalks before you give it to Mrs. Gregg. It doesn’t so much matter about Lady Chesterton. She must be pretty well accustomed to handling damp bouquets. But I’d be sorry to spoil Mrs. Gregg’s new gloves. She’s sure to have new gloves. By the way, what’s being done about getting Mary Ellen ready? That girl can’t be trusted to dress herself.”
“Mrs. Gregg is putting the clothes on her this minute,” said Doyle, “above in the best bedroom. She said she’d do it early so as she’d have time after to go home and dress herself.”
“There’s been no trouble with Moriarty, I suppose? I told you about the way he threatened me, didn’t I?”
“He hasn’t said a word to me, but he’s a fellow I wouldn’t trust further than I can see him, and he’s had an ugly look about him this three days, like as if he had some mischief in his mind.”
“I wouldn’t trust him either,” said Dr. O’Grady; “but I don’t see what he could do. He wouldn’t venture to meddle with the statue, would he? Tangle up the strings we have tied to the sheet or anything of that sort?”