When Standish McNeill started talking to his friend Felix O’Dowd as they walked at a leisurely pace towards the town of Castlegregory on a June morning, what he said was: “The world is a wonderful place when you come to think about it, an’ Ireland is a wonderful place an’ so is America, an’ though there are lots of places like each other there’s no place like Ballysantamalo. When there’s not sunshine there, there’s moonshine an’ the handsomest women in the world live there, an’ nowhere else except in Ireland or the churchyards could you find such decent people.”
“Decency,” said Felix, “when you’re poor is extravagance, and bad example when you’re rich.”
“And why?” said Standish.
“Well,” said Felix, “because the poor imitate the rich an’ the rich give to the poor an’ when the poor give to each other they have nothing of their own.”
“That’s communism you’re talking,” said Standish. “an’ that always comes from education an’ enlightenment. Sure if the poor weren’t dacent they’d be rich an’ if the rich were dacent they’d be poor an’ if everyone had a conscience they’d be less millionaires.”
“’Tis a poor bird that can’t pick for himself.”
“But suppose a bird had a broken wing an’ couldn’t fly to where the pickings were?” said Felix.
“Well, then bring the pickings to him. That would be charity.”
“But charity is decency and wisdom is holding your tongue when you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If the people of Ballysantamalo are so decent, how is it that there are so many bachelors there? Do you think it right to have all the young women worrying their heads off reading trashy novels an’ doin’ all sorts of silly things like fixin’ their hair in a way that was never intended by nature an’ doin’ so for years an’ years an’ havin’ nothin’ in the end but the trouble of it all.”