"He just says that. You know how he is."
"What're they celebrating, Martha?"
"Young Ronald's leaving—for pre-space training. It's a going-away affair." They paused in the doorway. The small priest smiled in at Donegal and nodded. He set his black bag on the floor inside, winked solemnly at the patient.
"I'll leave you two alone," said Martha. She closed the door and her footsteps wandered off down the hall.
Donegal and the young priest eyed each other warily.
"You look like hell, Donegal," the padre offered jovially. "Feeling nasty?"
"Skip the small talk. Let's get this routine over with."
The priest humphed thoughtfully, sauntered across to the bed, gazed down at the old man disinterestedly. "What's the matter? Don't want the 'routine'? Rather play it tough?"
"What's the difference?" he growled. "Hurry up and get out. I want to hear the beast blast off."
"You won't be able to," said the priest, glancing at the window, now closed again. "That's quite a racket next door."