“All right,” McEvilly said quickly; “Come up to the platform, and Father Farrell will take your names.”

Oh, you clever bugger, thought Father Conroy; you’ve got them where you want them. And it was so simple. All these years I’ve been sitting here, and I could have done it, I could have had them organized just like that. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I even think of it?

While Farrell took over the organization of the committee, McEvilly slumped down in his chair. This was only one meeting of many; it came after one, before another, with long journeys between, across an emptying countryside, finding his way in the dark to obscure parishes where the rot had set in. What drove him, forced him to sit, head resting on his fingertips, dominating crowds of strangers with the force of his will? Father Conroy stared at him, as if his pose would reveal an answer.

Jimmy had risen to propose the vote of thanks. He had an inattentive audience. The people were excited, eager to get outside to discuss all that had happened, but Jimmy was not to lose his opportunity.

“I’m not going to propose a vote of thanks. I don’t see why I should.” He paused to let that silence them. “I’m not going to thank anyone, even Father McEvilly for all the miles he’s come tonight.”

Father Farrell was staring down the hall, tapping his hand on the table in agitation. This was terrible, an insult to the guest, the great McEvilly. There was an embarrassed murmur from the crowd. Father McEvilly smiled to himself, the only one to see what was coming.

“This meeting should never have taken place. It’s a reflection on all of ye that ye should have to come together tonight to save the parish of Kilbride. What have ye been doing here all these years?”

Father Conroy kept his head down. Jimmy’s getting at me, he thought. I’m the one who was in charge. He means, what was I doing? Head still lowered, he glanced around. No one looked at him, yet they must have noticed the gibe. Were they avoiding him, careful not to involve themselves until the charge was pressed home?

Jimmy pulled slyly at his cheek and smiled; he had all the attention he wanted. He wasn’t blaming anyone in particular, he said, he hadn’t been doing all he should have been doing himself, in his own parish. However, if a certain course were adopted – with the support of the people, of course – he would, please God, have the opportunity to devote himself to the interests of not only Kilbride but of every parish in the county which was in the same predicament.

Here we go, groaned Father Conroy; break for the commercial. And indeed, Jimmy did pause to let the whispers throughout the room break into a burst of applause.