“He told me to get along out of that,” said Gallagher.
“It’s likely he’d heard the news. He’d never have said the like of that to you, Thady, if he hadn’t been upset about something.”
“What’ll we do at all?” said Doyle. “There’s the statue to be paid for and the dress for Mary Ellen and the luncheon. It’s ruined we’ll be, for where will we get the money?”
“I had my mind made up,” said Gallagher, “to speak out plain to the doctor about the tune the band’s to play. I had my mind made up to tell him straight what I thought of him. And to tell him what I thought of the whole of you.”
“Be quiet, Thady,” said Father McCormack. “Don’t you know——”
“There’s more than you will want to speak plain to the doctor,” said Doyle in sudden anger. “It’s him that’s got us into the trouble we’re in. It’s him that ought to be made to pay up what’ll have to be paid; only he can’t do it, for he owes more this minute than ever he’ll pay. Tell me now, Thady, what you said to him. Tell me the language you used. It’ll be some satisfaction to me to hear the words you said to the doctor.”
“I said nothing,” said Gallagher. “Is it likely I’d speak the way I meant to a man with an open razor in his hand? I’d have had my throat cut if I’d said a word.”
Mrs. Gregg rode hurriedly into the market square on her bicycle, while Gallagher was making his confession. She wore a delicate and flimsy pink silk skirt, entirely unsuited for cycling. A very large hat, adorned with a wreath of pink roses, had been forced to the back of her head by the speed at which she rode, and was held there with much strain by two large pins. She had only one glove, and several hooks at the back of the upper part of her dress were unfastened. No one could doubt that Mrs. Gregg had left home before she was quite ready. No one could doubt that she had come into Ballymoy as fast as she could. She dismounted in front of Father McCormack and panted. She said “Oh” three times, and each time was prevented saying anything else by lack of breath. Then she caught sight of Major Kent, who was coming out of the hotel yard after stabling his pony. She let her bicycle fall at the feet of Father McCormack, and ran to the Major.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh! my husband—just told me—a telegram—isn’t it frightful? What are we to do?”
“I’m rather glad myself,” said the Major, “but everybody else is making a fuss.”