The next day at five o’clock I walked into the solicitor’s office. Himself was there. A chastened, saddened Himself. An older, dirtier Himself; but a free man.
The solicitor was laughing. His success had exhilarated him. “Take him home and feed him!” he said.
“Where’s O’Grady?”
“He’s on the way.”
“Go home and tell Mrs. O’Grady, and get a bath.”
“You keep out of sight of the Castle now,” said the solicitor. “Look me up again. I didn’t hope for much success, I can tell you. I thought it would be a court-martial. When I was at the Castle I got in touch with somebody over the telephone, who said, ‘Ask your client if he knows anything of the I.R.A.’”
We departed home.
Mrs. Slaney was in the hall to greet us. She wrung Himself by the hand.
“What an experience!” she exclaimed. “Now you will be able to write about what happens every day to our splendid young Irishmen.”