“A general,” said Dr. O’Grady, “Irish extraction. Born in Ballymoy. Rose to great eminence in Bolivia. Finally secured the liberty of the Republic.”
“Father McCormack seems to think,” said the Major, “that he was some kind of anti-clerical socialist.”
“I said he might be,” said Father McCormack. “I didn’t say he was, for I don’t know a ha’porth about him. All I said was that if he turned out to be that kind of a man it wouldn’t suit me to be putting up statues to him. The Bishop wouldn’t like it.”
“My impression is———” said Dr. O’Grady. “Mind, I don’t say I’m perfectly certain of it, but my impression is that he built a cathedral before he died. Anyhow I never heard or read a single word against his character as a religious man. He may have been a little——” Dr. O’Grady winked slowly. “You know the kind of thing I mean, Father McCormack, when he was young. Most military men are, more or less. I expect now that the Major could tell us some queer stories about the sort of thing that goes on——”
“No, I couldn’t,” said the Major.
“In garrison towns,” said Dr. O’Grady persuasively, “and of course it’s worse on active service. Come now, Major, I’m not asking you to give yourself away, but you could——”
“No, I couldn’t,” said the Major firmly.
“What you mean is that you wouldn’t,” said Dr. O’Grady. “Not while Father McCormack is listening to you anyhow. And you may take my word for it that the old General was just the same. He may have been a bit of a lad in his early days——”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” said Father McCormack. “I wouldn’t mind that if it was twice as much, so long——”
“But he’d never have said anything really disrespectful in the presence of a clergyman of any denomination. Whatever his faults were—and he had faults, of course—he wasn’t that kind of man. So you needn’t hesitate about taking the chair at the meeting, Father McCormack. I defy the most particular bishop that ever wore a purple stock to find out anything really bad about the General.”