Father Conroy had sworn never to give the man his vote. Yet, several times when he was tempted to vote for some harmless alternative, he found he could not pass the name, Conroy, on the ballot paper. All he could do was spoil his vote – a small gesture, which had as little effect on the fortunes of the country as his “Don’t take me for granted” had had on the fortunes of the Conroy clan.

*

“Don’t take me for granted.” He said it obstinately, as if he were saying it for the first time.

The old man was not listening. With his face composed into its most solemn, public lines, he was gazing at... What could it be? The old standard lamp in the corner?

“What is it?” asked Father Conroy brusquely.

“I’m just admiring your lamp, Father. Fine piece of brass. Don’t often see them now, except in the odd big house.” He pressed himself forward, about to get up, the old auctioneer waiting to be asked his opinion on an interesting lot.

“An interesting lot, I suppose?”

“Yes.” He subsided immediately. “What size bulb is that you have in it?”

Father Conroy shrugged.

“Looks forty-watt. It’s not enough, Father. You’d need, I’d say, a hundred-watt at least, for fear you’d strain the old eyes. Look at me, now, never wore glasses in my life, never had a day’s trouble with the sight, thanks be to God. That’s one thing I never stinted on, Father. It’s not worth it, putting in a forty-watt where you’d need a hundred-watt.”

Father Conroy stared into the middle distance and said nothing, until at last the hundred-watt man began the long operation of putting away his pipe and tobacco.

“That was a very pleasant audience you gave me, Father, after all.” He reached out, smiling, for his hat and gloves. He had the edge, all right. But what had he wanted? Surely he hadn’t come about the pony? Or Jimmy? Or just for a casual snoop around?

He leaned forward, exaggerating the difficulty of getting up. “It’s a long time, Father, since we had you at a family wedding.”

“There haven’t been any to go to.”

“That’s true.” He was on his feet at last. “Ah, well, if Frank had only given his mind to it.”

“For God’s sake, how could he have brought a woman in there, to Rosnagree?”

“Ah, now, Father, you’re very hard on your poor mother. You always were.”

Was it true? Father Conroy had no wish even to consider the question. Flippantly he said, “Well, it’s too late now.”