“What is it?” he said.
“It’s an illuminated address. We intended to present it to the Lord-Lieutenant, but of course we can’t when he isn’t here. You’re to take it, and hand it over to him next time you see him.”
He pushed the address into Lord Alfred’s arms as he spoke.
Many men would have made some resistance, would have put their hands into their pockets, perhaps, and so forced Dr. O’Grady either to hold the frame himself or drop it on the ground. But Lord Alfred Blakeney had been aide-de-camp to the Lord-Lieutenant for several years. He knew something of the spirit which must animate all viceroys. It is their business to commend themselves, their office and the party which appoints them to the people over whom they reign. In private a Lord-Lieutenant with a sense of humour—no good Lord-Lieutenant ought to have a sense of humour—may mock at the things he has to do, but in public, however absurd the position in which he finds himself, he must remain gravely suave. His aides-de-camp must never under any circumstances do anything which could possibly cause offence to any part of the community. Dr. O’Grady was certainly a very important and influential part of the community of Ballymoy. Lord Alfred allowed the illuminated address to be pushed into his arms. He attempted no more than a mild protest.
“Can’t I lay it down somewhere?” he said. “It’s so huge.”
“Better not. If you do it’s sure to be forgotten, and then we’ll have to forward it by post, which will involve us in a lot of extra expense.”
“But it’s so absurd to be lugging a great picture frame about in my arms all day, and I can’t carry it any other way. It’s too big.”
Dr. O’Grady, having made over the address to Lord Alfred, was not inclined to listen to any complaints about its size. He took off his hat and stepped forward towards the statue.
“Ladies and gentlemen——” he said.
The few people who could see Dr. O’Grady stopped talking in order to hear what he was going to say.