Doyle, Father McCormack and Gallagher followed Mrs. Gregg. Father McCormack, who was a chivalrous man even when agitated, picked up her bicycle and brought it with him.
“Is it true, ma’am,” said Doyle, “what we’re after hearing?”
“It’s quite true,” said Mrs. Gregg. “My husband had a telegram. So had Mr. Ford. And Mrs. Ford is so pleased. Oh, it’s too much! But where’s Dr. O’Grady?”
“Everybody is asking that,” said the Major. “My own impression is that he’s bolted.”
“If only Dr. O’Grady were here,” said Mrs. Gregg, “he might do something.”
“There’s one thing the doctor won’t do,” said Gallagher, “Lord-Lieutenant or no Lord-Lieutenant, he’ll not have the town band playing the tune that he’s after teaching young Kerrigan.”
“Doyle,” said Major Kent, “do you think you could get Thady Gallagher out of this? He’s becoming a nuisance. Nobody’s temper will stand a Home Rule speech at the present moment.”
“Thady,” said Doyle, persuasively, “a drop of something to drink is what will suit you. The inside of your throat is dried up the same as if you’d been eating lime on account of the rage that’s in you.”
Doyle was himself no less perplexed than everyone else. He was more acutely sensitive than anyone to the danger of financial disaster. But he was a man of cool judgment even in a crisis. He saw that Gallagher’s presence was highly inconvenient.
“A bottle of porter, Thady,” he said, “or maybe two, would do you good.”