Mr. Flanagan and Sergeant Rahilly were trustworthy men. In a good cause they were prompt and energetic. Flanagan warned the other publicans in the town that they must not supply the new doctor with any whisky. He spoke seriously to John Conerney the butcher.
“Good meat, now, Johnny. The best you have, next to what joints you might be supplying to the priest or myself. He has a delicate stomach, the man that’s coming, and a bit of braxy mutton might be the death of him.”
He spoke to Paddy Doolan and told him that his old mother would be wanted to attend on the new doctor and must be ready whenever she was called for.
“Any old ancient story she might know,” he said, “about the rath beyond on the hill, or the way they shot the bailiff on the bog in the bad times, or about it’s not being lucky to meet a red-haired woman in the morning, anything at all that would be suitable she’ll be expected to tell. And if she does what she’s bid there’ll be a drop of porter for her in my house whenever she likes to call for it.”
Sergeant Rahilly talked in a serious but vague way to everyone he met about the importance of treating Dr. Lovaway well, and the trouble which would follow any attempt to rob or ill-use him.
Before Dr. Lovaway arrived his reputation was established in Dunailin. It was generally believed that he was a dipsomaniac, sent to the west of Ireland to be cured. It was said that he was very rich and had already ordered huge quantities of meat from Johnny Conerney. He was certainly of unsound mind: Mr. Flanagan’s hints about fairies settled that point. He was also a man of immense influence in Government circles, perhaps a near relation of the Lord-Lieutenant: Sergeant Rahilly’s way of speaking convinced everyone of that. The people were, naturally, greatly interested in their new doctor, and were prepared to give him a hearty welcome.
His arrival was a little disappointing. He drove from the station at Derrymore on Paddy Doolan’s car, and had only a small portmanteau with him. He was expected to come in a motor of his own with a vanload of furniture behind him. His appearance was also disappointing. He was a young man. He looked so very young that a stranger might have guessed his age at eighteen. He wore large, round spectacles, and had pink, chubby cheeks. In one respect only did he come up to popular expectation. He was plainly a young man of feeble intellect, for he allowed Paddy Doolan to overcharge him in the grossest way.
“Thanks be to God,” said Sergeant Rahilly to Mr. Flanagan, “it’s seldom anyone’s sick in this place. I wouldn’t like to be trusting the likes of that young fellow very far. But what odds? We’ve got to do the best we can for him, and my family’s healthy, anyway.”
Fate has a nasty trick of hitting us just where we feel most secure. The sergeant himself was a healthy man. His wife did not know what it was to be ill. Molly, his twelve-year old daughter, was as sturdy a child as any in the town. But Molly had an active mind and an enterprising character. On the afternoon of Doctor Lovaway’s arrival, her mother, father, and most other people being fully occupied, she made her way round the back of the village, climbed the wall of the doctor’s garden and established herself in an apple tree. She took six other children with her. There was an abundant crop of apples, but they were not nearly ripe. Molly ate until she could eat no more. The other children, all of them younger than Molly, stuffed themselves joyfully with the hard green fruit.
At eight o’clock that evening Molly complained of pains. Her mother put her to bed. At half-past eight Molly’s pains were considerably worse and she began to shriek. Mrs. Ra-hilly, a good deal agitated by the violence of the child’s yells, told the sergeant to go for the doctor. Sergeant Rahilly laid down his newspaper and his pipe. He went slowly down the street towards the doctor’s house. He was surprised to hear shrieks, not unlike Molly’s, in various houses as he passed. Mrs. Conerney, the butcher’s wife, rushed out of her door and told the sergeant that her little boy, a child of nine, was dying in frightful agony.