But Father Conroy had turned his back and was heading toward the gate. He did not stop until he stood by the car, about to get in. Suffering Jesus, he asked himself, did you ever hear the like? What in God’s name are they teaching them these days? And yet, under his indignation, he was uneasy; he had never lost his temper with Farrell before, though the brat had baited him further than this. He had a feeling that he had lost a round.

After a moment or two he turned, and with his head bent a little, almost contritely, he retraced his steps. Farrell was still flushed, but Father Conroy caught his friend extinguishing a smile. So they thought it was funny! Well, he’d show them.

“I’m going to be away for the day,” he told Farrell. “Look after things, will you?”

The two exchanged a quick look. Consternation, was it? They had probably planned to sneak off for a game of golf in the afternoon, taking for granted he’d be there as usual, holding the fort. “You weren’t going out, were you?”

Farrell shook his head.

“All right, then.” Even the approval sounded schoolmasterish when he spoke to Farrell. He looked from one to the other of them, their young faces downcast. You’re a brute, Conroy, he told himself; look what you’ve done, spoiled the day on them. He waited for the parting words which would restore good humor, give them, all three of them, a boost. But instead an idea came to mind, so promising of comedy that he couldn’t resist it. Now, he told himself in one of his catch phrases, might I do it, Pat.

“D’ye know, Bobbie, there’s a little job you could be doing for me.”

“Yes, Tom?” said Farrell warily.

“There’s an old fellow called Hennessy lives up there at the far side of the Bohernascorna Gap.” He saw Farrell begin to shake his head, “No, you wouldn’t know him, I’m sure. He’s a character, a very pious old man, a real saint. I was going to call in to see him this morning so would you...”

“All right, I’ll try and get ’round to him.”

“And bring your friend too,” Father Conroy went on generously. “It will be an experience for you, Dickie, to find such,” he took a deep breath, “real, Old World, Catholic, Irish piety here in our midst.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Sure, ’twill give ye a boost anyway.” And he turned to leave the field, in reasonably good order.

“What’s his problem, Father?” asked Dickie.

Problem? Watch and Pray with a problem? He laughed. “Oh, he just likes an oul’ chat.” And when he saw they weren’t satisfied with that, he added, “I don’t think he has any problem that the rosary won’t solve. You just tell him that.”

Chapter 3