“Have a word with Shea – he’ll give you a good trade-in. But be sure to tell him I sent you.”

In other words, make sure of Shea’s vote!

“There’s plenty of wear in her yet,” Father Conroy muttered. He started up the engine, but James was leaning on the window, preventing him from driving off.

“Speaking as one of the family, Father, and as someone like yourself who has to maintain a certain position in the county, I beg to differ with you. Now, I know you may think that these things are not noticed, but I say they are and that if you want the proper respect which is due to our class of people—”

“This car will see me out.”

James’s hat rose a little higher on his head, as it did at any intimation of mortality, particularly one referring to a constituent. He leaned forward and whispered, “My God, Thomas, are ye all right?”

“Of course I am. Why the hell shouldn’t I be?”

“You’re not your old self, at all, at all. You need a tonic or something.” He still held tight to the window. “I’m feeling in great form myself these days. D’ye know why, Thomas?”

Father Conroy revved the engine, but at last had to ask: “Why?”

“Because I made my will. Yes.” He stretched his arms out slowly, as if he were going to fly, then yawned luxuriously. “The best tonic you ever had. It’s like a load off your shoulders; you wouldn’t believe it. Of course, I’ll be bad news with some people. I left nothing to the church, bar a few quid for Masses. It’s my private opinion it has enough stacked away already, in spite of appearances.”

Father Conroy shrugged carelessly, refusing to be risen.

“No, mine is all going into further production. It’s going to the youth! And thank God” – he lifted his arms, pointing to the cowshed and the sound of milk pouring into a churn – “the Conroys have the youth to leave it to. D’ye know, Thomas,” he murmured persuasively, reaching for the window, “anyone should make a will.”

But Father Conroy had seen his chance. Before James could regain possession of the window, he released the clutch, and the car leaped forward and made its getaway as if it knew, faithful old doggy, that the bads were about, sixguns cocked, black hats rising out of ambush. All the way back through the fields it held to the shortest path and even gallantly took to the grass where the path could be shortened still further.