Part 18 (1/2)
d.a.m.n it, can't we Irish play fair?”
”That's all very fine,” said Mr. Lyons. ”But look at the case of Parnell now.”
”In the name of G.o.d,” said Mr. Henchy, ”where's the a.n.a.logy between the two cases?”
”What I mean,” said Mr. Lyons, ”is we have our ideals. Why, now, would we welcome a man like that? Do you think now after what he did Parnell was a fit man to lead us? And why, then, would we do it for Edward the Seventh?”
”This is Parnell's anniversary,” said Mr. O'Connor, ”and don't let us stir up any bad blood. We all respect him now that he's dead and gone--even the Conservatives,” he added, turning to Mr. Crofton.
Pok! The tardy cork flew out of Mr. Crofton's bottle. Mr. Crofton got up from his box and went to the fire. As he returned with his capture he said in a deep voice:
”Our side of the house respects him, because he was a gentleman.”
”Right you are, Crofton!” said Mr. Henchy fiercely. ”He was the only man that could keep that bag of cats in order. 'Down, ye dogs! Lie down, ye curs!' That's the way he treated them. Come in, Joe! Come in!” he called out, catching sight of Mr. Hynes in the doorway.
Mr. Hynes came in slowly.
”Open another bottle of stout, Jack,” said Mr. Henchy. ”O, I forgot there's no corkscrew! Here, show me one here and I'll put it at the fire.”
The old man handed him another bottle and he placed it on the hob.
”Sit down, Joe,” said Mr. O'Connor, ”we're just talking about the Chief.”
”Ay, ay!” said Mr. Henchy.
Mr. Hynes sat on the side of the table near Mr. Lyons but said nothing.
”There's one of them, anyhow,” said Mr. Henchy, ”that didn't renege him.
By G.o.d, I'll say for you, Joe! No, by G.o.d, you stuck to him like a man!”
”O, Joe,” said Mr. O'Connor suddenly. ”Give us that thing you wrote--do you remember? Have you got it on you?”
”O, ay!” said Mr. Henchy. ”Give us that. Did you ever hear that, Crofton? Listen to this now: splendid thing.”
”Go on,” said Mr. O'Connor. ”Fire away, Joe.”
Mr. Hynes did not seem to remember at once the piece to which they were alluding, but, after reflecting a while, he said:
”O, that thing is it.... Sure, that's old now.”
”Out with it, man!” said Mr. O'Connor.
”'Sh, 'sh,” said Mr. Henchy. ”Now, Joe!”
Mr. Hynes hesitated a little longer. Then amid the silence he took off his hat, laid it on the table and stood up. He seemed to be rehearsing the piece in his mind. After a rather long pause he announced:
THE DEATH OF PARNELL 6th October, 1891
He cleared his throat once or twice and then began to recite:
He is dead. Our Uncrowned King is dead.
O, Erin, mourn with grief and woe For he lies dead whom the fell gang Of modern hypocrites laid low.
He lies slain by the coward hounds He raised to glory from the mire; And Erin's hopes and Erin's dreams Perish upon her monarch's pyre.