Of Captain Albert Quinn he said:
‘I’ve heard of him, and a nice kind of a boy he seems to have been. I suppose he fought when he got there. He’s just the sort that would be splendid at the fighting. Well, God is good, and I suppose it’s to do the fighting for the rest of us that He makes the likes of Captain Quinn. Did you hear that they wanted to make him a member of Parliament? Well, they did. Nothing less would please them. But what good would that be, when he couldn’t set foot in the country for fear of being arrested?’
Later on he was moved to laughter.
‘To think of your going on the road with a bag full of blankets and shawls! I never heard of such a thing, and all the grand notions your head was full of! Why didn’t you come my way? I’d have made Rafferty give you an order. I’d have bought the makings of a frieze coat from you myself—I would, indeed.’
Afterwards he became grave again.
‘I won’t let you say the hard word about the nuns, Mr. Conneally. Don’t do it, now. There’s plenty of good convents up and down through the country—more than ever you’ll know of, being the black Protestant you are. And the ones that ruined your business—supposing they did ruin it, and I’ve only your word for that—what right have you to be blaming them? They were trying to turn an honest penny by an honest trade, and that’s just what you and your friend Mr. Quinn were doing yourselves.’
Hyacinth, conscious of a failure in good taste, shifted his ground, only to be interrupted again.
‘Oh, you may abuse the Congested Districts Board to your heart’s content. I never could see what the Government made all the Boards for unless it was to keep the people out of mischief. As long as there is a Board of any kind about the country every blackguard will be so busy throwing stones at it that he won’t have time nor inclination left to annoy decent people. And I’ll say this for the Congested Districts Board: they mean well. Indeed they do; not a doubt of it. There’s one good thing they did, anyway, if there isn’t another, and that’s when they came to Carrowkeel and bought the big Curragh Farm that never supported a Christian, but two herds and some bullocks ever since the famine clearances. They fetched the people down off the mountains and put them on it. Wasn’t that a good thing, now? Sure, all Government Boards do more wrong than right. It’s the nature of that sort of confederation. But it’s all the more thankful we ought to be when once in a while they do something useful.’
Hyacinth came to tell of the choice which Canon Beecher offered him, and dwelt with tragic emphasis on his own decision. The priest listened, a smile on his lips, a look of pity which belied the smile in his eyes.
‘So you thought Ireland would be lost altogether unless you wrote articles for Miss Goold in the Croppy? It’s no small opinion you have of yourself, Hyacinth Conneally. And you thought you’d save your soul by going to preach the Gospel to the English people? Was that it, now?’