"But I forbid it!" it said sharply. "Until I'm up and about and able to be givin' her in marriage as her grandfather ought to be doin'! Ye'll wait the few days till I'm able! Understand?"
"Yes, sir," said the president. Meekness seemed called for.
"Then begone!" snapped Sean O'Donohue. Then he added sternly: "Remember—no shenanigans!"
The solicitor general watched them depart on a wedding journey to a cottage in Ballyhanninch, which was on Donegal Peninsular, fronting on the Emmett Sea. He waved, like the assembled populace. But when they were out of sight he said darkly to the chief justice and the Chancellor of the Exchequer:
"I didn't have the heart to bring it up before, but there's the devil of a problem buildin' up against the time he comes back."
"Which problem?" asked the Chancellor of the Exchequer, warily.
"It's the sn ... the porcupine killers," said the solicitor general. "Things look bad for them. They're out of work. Even Timothy. There's no dinies to speak of for them to earn a livin' by killin'. It's technological unemployment. They earned their way faithful, doin' work they knew an' loved. Now they're jobless. There's no work for them. What's to be done? Put 'em on re [remainder of text is missing]
There was a pause. The solicitor general said firmly:
"I mean it! They've a claim on us! A claim of the highest order! They can't starve, it's sure! But would you have them have to hold mass meetin's and set up picket lines and the like, to get justice done them?"
"Ah," said the chief justice. "Some way will turn up to handle the matter. Like Sean O'Donohue was sayin' to me yesterday, at the very bottom of a bottle, we Erse can always depend on St. Patrick to take care of things!"