“Ah yes, I thought you were. No matter, though; nothing startling to report.” Seeing Father Conroy lower, he hurried on, “I was just thinking, Tom, we ought to get some classes started here for the Young Farmers. All that stuff – liver fluke and so on – it’s not really getting through, now, is it?”

“Getting through to what?”

“What?” Farrell looked startled. “Oh, yes. Oh, I think, Tom, that the Young Farmers are coming along well. I’m going to suggest they change their meeting to this night every week. They can get a grant for a television set to watch the program down in the Hall. They could have great discussions afterward.”

“Yes, the Young Farmers!” Most of them in their forties and fifties, unmarried, lazy, selfish as sin. They could put on a great show of enthusiasm at their meetings, as long as Farrell was present. As soon as he was gone, out came the cards, and the hands of poker or pontoon were dealt out. Sometimes the games lasted till morning. “A bomb under them, that’s what they want.”

“Ah, now, Tom, you’re being hard on them; there’s great stuff in those fellows. More discussions are what they need to get them thinking for themselves.”

“Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it...”

“That’s right, Tom. I think it’s a good thing.”

“...to have a few more of us sitting around on our arses.”

“I don’t think...” Father Farrell hastily picked up the poker and began to stir the fire, to hide his reddening cheeks. “I don’t think that’s quite fair, Father.”

“Never mind,” Father Conroy said brusquely. “You’re saying the first Mass on Sunday, then. What about Evening Devotions?”

“I’ll take them.”

“Right. Don’t forget to mention confessions on Thursday for the first Friday.”

“I know.”

“You’d better enter it in the book, just in case. Also, the collection for the baptistry: they’re still putting nothing in the box. Give them a few words about that.”

Farrell said nothing. His eyes turned defiantly toward the television screen, over Father Conroy’s shoulder.

“The collection,” prompted Father Conroy.

“If you think it’s important, of course I’ll mention it, Father.”

“What do you mean, if I think it’s important?”

“I mean...” He took up the poker again and raked away.

He was spunky, but not quite spunky enough to face Father Conroy head on. “...in this day and age, I’m inclined to agree with the people about that project.”

“In what way, may I ask?”

“That it’s not all that important. Surely to God, we’ve enough spent on concrete blocks; it’s not there the spirit is.”

“Are you trying to lecture me?”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to say that I don’t think you have enough respect for... for certain things that count.”

“Such as?”