When the pipe was filled, James fussed with it, as if it were about to explode any moment. Even when it was going well, he took it out of his mouth and looked at it, as if he suspected it of disagreeing with him – an agent, perhaps, of the opposition party. During the silence, Kate came in to pour him a half-tumbler of whiskey. As she bent anxiously to put more coal on the fire, she nudged Father Conroy and whispered, “Let ye be talking, anyway.”

They sparked into conversation at last, almost immediately into an argument about the road workers and the council.

“No,” said James, “I’m not ashamed, not one bit. Get this into your head, boy! The day of the tar bucket and the shovelful of chippings is gone for good. I’m older than you. Isn’t it strange now how well I can move with the times?”

When the argument grew heated, Kate came hurrying into the room and, drawing back the curtain from the window, murmured, “Isn’t it a lovely view from this window? It’s one of the nice things about this house.”

“Who’s going to be traveling your superhighways?” Father Conroy demanded, echoing a phrase from a recent council meeting. “Your golden miles and your platinum half-miles?”

“I will, for one. And you will, for another. And what about the tourists? They’re used to the best.”

“Oh, God,” groaned Father Conroy. “You’d sell us for the tourists.”

“There’s that little birch up on the hill,” sighed Kate. “I think she’s putting out leaves already.”

Father Conroy stood up to go. He went in some ill humor, glaring at Mikie, who, nodding by the fire, wakened with a snort. Jimmy was in the yard, hanging around. Who were they all waiting for? What was James’s visit in aid of? Father Conroy was tempted to wait, but he suddenly hadn’t got the energy to be curious.

In spite of his protests, James accompanied him as far as his car. Even to go that distance, James had to clap on his black hat, for fear of being called to a funeral – as the Gospel says: “And he that is in the field, let him not go back to take his Anthony Eden.”

They paused a moment by the car. James kicked casually at the front wheel.

“Time you got yourself a few remolds, Father; you haven’t much left there.”

“They’ll do me a while yet.”

“Oh, no,” the Anthony Eden nodded earnestly. “’Tis never worth it. Next time you’re in Castlemore, let ye go into Shea’s garage and tell him I sent you. You’ll get a good cut, I promise you.”

Father Conroy fished out his keys in silence and got in.

“Mind you, Father” – James kicked out at the whole car now – “you got good service out of her.”

“I’ve no complaints.”