O’Farrelly sat silent. It was unfortunately quite possible that the members of the football club had pawned the instruments, intending, of course, to redeem them when the club funds permitted.
“I’m sorry for you,” said Hinde. “It’s awkward for you losing your drums and things just now, with this demonstration of yours advertised all over the place. You’ll hardly be able to hold the demonstration, will you?”
“The demonstration will be held,” said O’Farrelly firmly.
“Not without a band, surely. Hang it all, O’Farrelly, a demonstration is no kind of use without a band. It wouldn’t be a demonstration. You know that as well as I do.”
O’Farrelly was painfully aware that a demonstration without a band is a poor business. He rose sadly and said good night. Hinde felt sorry for him.
“If the police had any instruments,” he said, “I’d lend them to you. But we haven’t a band of our own here. There aren’t enough of us.”
This assurance, though it was of no actual use, cheered O’Farrelly. It occurred to him that though the police had no band instruments to lend it might be possible to borrow elsewhere. The Loyal True-Blue Invincibles, for instance, had a very fine band, well supplied in every way, particularly with big drums. O’Farrelly thought the situation over and then called on Jimmy McLoughlin, the blacksmith, who was the secretary of the Orange Lodge.
“Jimmy,” said O’Farrelly, “we’re in trouble about the demonstration that’s to be held next Tuesday.”
“It’d be better for you,” said Jimmy, “if that demonstration was never held. For let me tell you this: the Lodge boys has their minds made up to have no Papist rebels demonstrating here.”
“It isn’t you, nor your Orange Lodge nor all the damned Protestants in Ireland would be fit to stop us,” said O’Farrelly.