“There!” said Dr. O’Grady to Sergeant Colgan. “That comes of not speaking out promptly. The photograph is taken now and whatever remark it was that you or Moriarty made will be entirely wasted.”
“It’s a pity, so it is,” said the sergeant, “for what Constable Moriarty was after saying——”
“What the sergeant said,” said Moriarty, “is that he’d be glad if the gentleman would take him along with the barrack.”
“It’s not often,” said the sergeant, “that we have anyone taking photographs round in these parts, and Constable Moriarty would have been pleased to be took on account of being able to send the photo after to a young lady that he is acquainted with up in Dublin.”
“There’s no young lady up in Dublin,” said Moriarty sulkily.
Dr. O’Grady was a man of quick sympathy and a kind heart. He realised at once that both Sergeant Colgan and Constable Moriarty wanted to have their photographs taken.
“Go over to the door of the barrack,” he said, “and arrange yourselves in such a way as to look as ornamental as possible. I’ll try to get the gentleman to take another photograph.”
Mr. Billing had slipped his dark slide into his pocket, and was unscrewing his camera from its stand. Dr. O’Grady called to him.
“I’m afraid,” he said, “that you got your photograph wrong.”
“Mistake about the house,” said Mr. Billing. “Well, it can’t be helped. Which is the right one?”