“Oh, yes, there were, several. I’ve finished them off.”
“But,” said Sir Timothy, “it’s only just the hour for beginning.”
“Excuse me, it’s 2 p.m.”
“12 noon,” said Sir Timothy.
“2 p.m.,” repeated Mr. Courtney.
Sir Timothy took out his watch. The hands were together at the hour of 12. He showed it to Mr. Courtney, who grinned. Sir Timothy scowled at him and turned fiercely to a police sergeant who stood by.
“Sergeant,” he said, “what time is it?”
It is not the function of the Irish police to decide great questions of State. Their business is to enforce what the higher powers, for the time being, wish the law to be. In case of any uncertainty about which power is the higher, the police occupy the uncomfortable position of neutrals. The sergeant was not quite sure whether Sir Timothy or Mr. Courtney were the more influential man. He answered cautiously.
“There’s some,” he said, “who do be saying that it’s one o’clock at the present time. There’s others—and I’m not saying they’re wrong—who are of opinion that it’s half-past twelve, or about that. There’s them—and some of the most respectable people is with them there—that says it’s 2 p.m. If I was to be put on my oath this minute, I’d find it mortal hard to say what time it was.”
“By Act of Parliament,” said Mr. Courtney, “its 2 p.m.”