Father and son walked on, and not a word passed between them till they came to Michael Quinn's public-house. "Did you get three pounds apiece for the pigs, father?"
"I did, and three pounds five."
"We might have a drink out of that."
It seemed to Peter that the men inside were laughing at him or at the lemonade he was drinking, and, seeing among them one who had been interfering with him all day, he told him he would put him out of the house, and he would have done it if Mrs. Quinn had not told him that no one put a man out of her house without her leave.
"Do you hear that, Peter Phelan?"
"If you can't best them at the fair," said his father, "it will be little good for you to put them out of the public-house afterwards."
And on that Peter swore he would never go to a fair again, and they walked on until they came to the priest's house.
"It was bad for me when I listened to you and James. If I hadn't I might have been in Maynooth now."
"Now, didn't you come home talking of the polis?"
"Wasn't that after?"