“There now,” said Dr. O’Grady to Lord Alfred Blakeney, “I told you there really was a statue under that sheet. Next time I say something to you I hope you’ll believe it.”
He held up his hand, and young Kerrigan, who was watching for the signal, began to play at once. The tune he chose was an attractive one which had achieved some popularity in a Dublin pantomime the year before. Mrs. Gregg glanced dubiously at Dr. O’Grady, and then walked towards the statue with the bouquet in her hand. When she had gone five or six yards she stopped and looked round to see what had happened to Major Kent. He was hanging back, but the piteous appeal in her eyes moved him. He scowled ferociously at the doctor, and then with clenched teeth and closely pressed lips joined Mrs. Gregg. Everybody cheered. The Major, in spite of being a landlord, was very popular in the neighbourhood. The cheers made him still more uncomfortable. He frowned with embarrassment and anger. Mrs. Gregg laid her hand on his arm. Still frowning, he led her forward, very much as if he were taking her in to dinner. Mrs. Gregg was frightened and nervous. She had only the vaguest idea of what she was expected to do. When she reached the base of the statue she curtseyed deeply. The people cheered frantically. Major Kent dropped her arm and hurried away. He was a gentleman of an old-fashioned kind, and, partly perhaps because he had never married, was very chivalrous towards women. But Mrs. Gregg’s curtsey and the cheers which followed it were too much for him. His position had become intolerable. Mrs. Gregg, suddenly deserted by her escort, dropped the bouquet and fled. Sergeant Colgan picked it up and laid it solemnly at the foot of the statue. Young Kerrigan, stimulated by the cheers, worked the band up to a fortissimo performance of his tune.
Dr. O’Grady held his hat in his hand. He signalled frantically to Father McCormack. He took off his hat, whispering to Major Kent as he did so. The Major, who was utterly bewildered, and not at all sure what was happening, took off his hat. Several other bystanders, supposing that it must be right to stand bare-headed before a newly unveiled statue, took off theirs: Lord Alfred Blakeney looked round him doubtfully. Most of the people near him had their hats in their hands. He took off his.
The unusually loud noise made by the band reached Thady Gallagher in the bar of the hotel. He stopped abruptly in the middle of a speech which he was making to Mr. Billing. After a moment’s hesitation he rushed to the door of the hotel. The sight of the people, standing bare-headed and silent while the band played, convinced him that Dr. O’Grady was in the act of perpetrating a treacherous trick upon the sincerely patriotic but unsuspecting inhabitants of Ballymoy. Standing at the door of the hotel he shouted and waved his arms. Mr. Billing stood behind him looking on with an expression of serious interest. Nobody could hear what Gallagher said. But Father McCormack and Doyle, fearing that he would succeed in making himself audible, hurried towards him. Doyle seized him by the arm, Gallagher shook him off angrily.
“It shall never be said,” he shouted, “that I stood silent while an insult was heaped upon Ballymoy and the cause of Nationalism in Ireland.”
“Whisht, now whisht,” said Father McCormack. “Sure there’s nothing to be angry about.”
“There is what would make any man angry, any man that has the welfare of Ireland at heart. That tune——”
“It isn’t that tune at all,” said Father McCormack. “It’s another one altogether.”
“It’s not another,” said Gallagher, “but it’s the one I mean. Didn’t Constable Moriarty say it was?”
“Oughtn’t you to listen to his reverence,” said Doyle, “more than to Moriarty? But if you won’t do that, can’t you hear the tune for yourself?”