“Ah, sure, I remember now, your silver!” said O’Hara. “So that was the fellow!” And then, when he saw the Canon’s anger, he hastened to make the peace. “D’you know what you’ll do, Tom?” Cood-humoredly, he laid his big hand on Father Conroy’s shoulder. “To pay off this old score once and for all? You make over that famous pony of yours to the Canon!”

“What d’ye mean, make over?” Father Conroy asked sharply.

“Well, sure, whenever you’re making your will.”

Father Conroy glared. “I’m not going to make my will. Why should I make a will?”

The priests looked at him. They had never seen him lose his temper before; though his tongue could be rough enough, he had always seemed prepared to take as good as he got. Now they did not know what to say to him.

The Canon was tapping his way out of the room. “Good-bye, Canon,” someone called, and in a moment there was a flurry of farewells. Father O’Hara was left alone with Father Conroy.

“Sorry, Tom,” he said. Father Conroy was silent, looking after the others. “Why don’t you give Doc Murtagh a call?”

“Murtagh? What for?”

“Well, you’re not looking—”

“Look, Phil, if I had anything wrong with me, I’d go to Cullen.”

“But Cullen?” Father O’Hara was a little slow on the uptake.

“Yes, for a ladleful of that stew he makes for his dogs.”

“Oh, yes! Well!” He laughed it off dutifully. “Good-bye, Tom.”

“Good-bye.”

“And... look after yourself.”

Outside the door, Father Cullen was waiting uneasily. He pulled out his wallet as Father Conroy approached. “Look, Tom, I wish you’d take this.”

“No, I’d rather...”

“Go on, damn it.” He pushed the two notes into Father Conroy’s breast pocket. “For your trouble,” he muttered. “The petrol, the whole morning gone.” And as Father Conroy dug angrily for the money, he added, “There’s plenty more where it came from.”

Father Conroy paused, fingers still in his breast pocket. “Tomás, is it?”

“Yes, the son. He wasn’t able to come, but he cabled the needful to the Canon, who passed it on to me.”

“Where is he, Bat, tell us?”

“Well, the way it is, Tom...” Bat rubbed doubtfully at the small bald patch on the top of his head, “I don’t rightly know about that.”

“You don’t know about what?”

“I don’t know if I can tell you. The Canon, y’see—”

“Forget it, for Christ’s sake, forget it,” said Father Conroy and moved quickly away.