“The world,” said Constable Cole, “is full of trouble, any way you look at it.”
“Does Father Moroney know he’s gone?” asked Jimmy.
“I’m thinking he must,” said the sergeant; “he could hardly miss hearing the way the creature was going on in the street, crying all sorts.”
“He’ll be apt to be raising a subscription for her,” said Jimmy, “to put her over until such time as Patsy sends home the trifle he has for her.”
“I’ll give something towards it myself,” said the sergeant, “and I’ll see that the men in the barrack contributes.”
Jimmy O’Loughlin was not to be outdone in generosity by the members of the constabulary.
“I have the pound by me,” he said, “that I’d promised Patsy Devlin, the poor boy, for the sports. I hadn’t it paid over to him, thanks be to God. I’d be thankful to you, sergeant, if you’d take it and hand it on to Father Moroney. It’s no more than due to the woman, seeing that her husband could have had it if he’d thought of taking it, and I’ll add another five shillings to it from myself.”
He handed the whole sum over to Sergeant Farrelly, who put it in his pocket.
“He was always a bit of a lad, that Patsy Devlin,” said Constable Cole.
“He might be a bit foolish at times,” said Jimmy; “but there was no harm in him.”