The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 49, 9 December 1925, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By Charles J. Kickham.)

Chapter VI. —Sammy Sloan in the Priest’s Shrubbery—The Cooper’s Workshop—Rody Flynn and His Melancholy Crony—HoW Paddy Shannahan Defeated Hammy Cosgrove out of His Own —The Repeal Warden and Counsellor Doheny’s Speech —Mr. Robert O’Keeffe Desires Joe Cooney to Bring His Horse to the Forge, which Compels the Bailiff to Alter His Plans. It was known all over the village of Shannaclough that the Hon. Horatio himself had called upon Father Feehan the night before, accompanied by a tall gentleman with a long nose. It was further ascertained that after a discussion of nearly three hours’ duration between the parish priest and his two visitors —during which the embryo legislator shed tears and talked of his “poor mamma” long-nosed gentleman filled cheques to pay expenses and so forth, and the Hon. Horatio consented to repress his honorable ambition to “elevate himself and his country together,” until the general election, which Father Feehan, with an affectionate clasp of the hand, assured him was nearer than many people imagined. Father Clancy, the curate, remarked at breakfast that the youthful aspirant for parliamentary laurels would do well to employ the interval in the cultivation, of “Bindley Murray,” and a beard, a remark which, fortunately for the curate, Mrs. Shutery, the housekeeper, thought was intended as friendly and complimentary to the scion of the house of Allavogga, who had shaken hands with her very civilly and respectfully, when taking his leave the night before. All this, by some mysterious' agency, had been spread over the whale parish at an early hour in the forenoon. We know how the news was received by Martin Dwyer, of Cornglc i and his wealthy neighbor, Mr. Cor mack, of Rock view House. There was gUdnoss among the enfranchised everywhere; and, to a great extent, the non-electors sympathised with their “free and independent” neighbors. The owners of the two public-houses looked sullen ; but even they could not help feeding the influence of the general sunshine more or less. In fact the only really discontented person in Shannaclough that morning was Sammy Sloane, the bailiff, who had been conditionally retained in the Tory interest, ' and counted upon making a good thing out of the election, . ■ AAf ;

| For the Old Land (D ' A TALE OF FIFTY YEARS AGO.

Unlike the two publicans, however, Sammy Sloane wore a cheerful comfortable look, as with his stick under his arm, he was seen to walk quickly through the street, and, somewhat to the surprise of Rody Flynn, the cooper, turn into the priest's gate, 'which was but a short distance outside the village. The bailiff noiselessly opened ;the gate, observing that the' key had , been "left 'in the padlock, which was locked round one of the bars. He glanced furtively Up the avenue, which was quite.'overhung; by trees, whose thick foliage almost completely - shut out the sky. With a

laughing expression in his really good-humor*-ed face, the little bailiff walked quickly across the enclosurehalf-field, half shrubbery—on the right-hand side of the avenue, till he came to a fine lilac in full blossom close to the high ivied garden wall. Sammy Sloane put up his hand as if to pull a sprig of the lilac, looking furtively in every direction to see if anyone was observing him. Mr. Sloane was a man of taste, and his getting a nosegay to bring home* to his wife and children would have caused no surprise whatever; though, possibly, Father Feehan might say it was like Sammy Sloane’s audacity to come into his shrubbery uninvited and help himself to his lilacs. Mr. Sloane, however, did not help himself to a single sprig of the priest’s lilac because it happened that Father Feehan or anybody else was not looking at him. His real business in the priest’s shrubbery this morning was not to get a nosegay for his wife, though that would have done very well as a reason for his being there —if occasion required it. He sat down behind a holly bush, against the ivied garden wall, and, stretching out his short, stout legs, took off his hat and placed it between them. Taking a roll of papers from his breast-pocket, which was very deep, Mr. Sloane selected two from the lot, and returned the rest to his pocket. “Well,” said Sammy Sloane to himself in an argumentative sort of way, “if they let the election go on I could put them off for another six months. But people must live. And he is not a bit thankful, to me for sparing him so long. Now, if that was Murty Magrath had these,” he added, running his eyes over the contents of the two documents, in a way from which it could be' seen that Mr. Sloane was rather short-sighted“lf Murty had these, ’tis long ago it would be done, unless he was squared, I don’t think that a good system. There’s more lost than gained by it in the end. When a man gets the name of taking a bribe he’ll lose many a good job. Honesty is the best policyand to do things quiet.” : 1 In this virtuous frame of mind Mr. Sammy Sloane reclined at full length by the garden wall, resting his head against the ivy, and seeming to take great interest in the movements of a pair of golden wrens among the branches of the fir tree, . against the trunk of which he had placed - his ■ feet, the heel of one resting upon the toe of the other. While the baliff was watching the busy , little wrens with his half-shut, short-sighted eyes, : Mr. Robert O’Keeffe was slowly riding through the village, striking the neck of his handsome bay horse with his gloved hand, and followed by many admiring eyes, till he reached the priest’s gate, which he opened without dismounting, and was lost ; to all eyes in shady avenue, save the -shut ones that glahbeid for a moment from the golden wrens, as the rider passed from the sunlight

•V- into the -twilight into the trees. Among the - admiring eyes that followed the horseman as :/ he ■' rode through • the village were .two small,"/ > round ■ black ones that " belonged to Rody Flynn, the/cooper,-wh0,... resting upon —his /: - drawing-knife, and, pushing his brown paper back upon the poll of his round closereap back upon the poll delightedly— closecropped head, exclaimed delightedly—- ' / .“He’s;! a !; mighty handsome man. I never : /j| seen a purtier man, except one gentleman I Jj was acquainted with in the Queen’s Counlr ty.” Rody Flynn emphasised his words in <i a manner peculiar to himself, making a rheIj torical pause before the emphatic expression, */ ■: as if it had been trying to run away from || him, and ‘ he had -"to catch it, and drive it [/ with some force into its proper place with |i a jerk. And here let us confess, that with jj all due respect for-Rody Flynn, it is to this ij day an undecided question in our mind :| whether he did not sometimes— in fact often || and habitually— draw upon his imagination ! H in reference to what he had seen and known in the Queens County. No matter what the - subject under discussion might —no matp- -ter what the harrowing accident by flood I or field relatedno matter how enormous I the potato or turnip brought in for exhibi- | tion by the Scotch steward at the Castle — w ßody Flynn had seen something more extraordinary “in the Queen’s County.” This is a sore subject with us. We quite \\ entered into the-feelings of our old friend jj Father Walter Cleary (peace be with him) ij when one day, haying found Rody Flynn j| shaving the head of a poor man in typhus ■ ji fever, to whom Father Walter had been cal;'P , led to administer the Sacrament— said to jj us—“what an admirable character that Rody ■\ N Flynn is. He’s always doing work of charji N ity; his house is like a dispensary, and he’s p really very skilful. And there he .is now after I; shaving that poor man’s head, not deterred || by the danger, though he knows there is Jj danger. I’d rather than fifty pounds,” he ."jj continued, “that Rody Flynn didn’t see so many things in the Queen’s County. But I suppose,” Father Walter added with a‘sigh of resignation, “there’s no use in looking for | perfection in this world.” | It _ was Father Walter first gave the name I of “Dicky Sheil” to Rody Flynn’s canary, .... whose shrill volubility cowed even Terry Hanrahan’s thrush into silence, and sometimes drove Tom Doherty’s flute-throated Ij blackbird into fits of temporary insanity. j| But Rody, Flynn had seen one better sing- | ing bird even than his own Dicky Sheil, “in | the Queen’s County.” „ | “Did you ever hear Sheil?” Father Walter asked indignantly, as if he thought Rody * meant to disparage not the canary, but the •brilliant Richard Lalor himself.” i “1 did,’ Rody - replied, his little eyes \ sparkling yith delight. ; I - “In the Queen’s County, I suppose,” mut- ■ tered Father Walter with something like a 1 scowl. I “No, in Clonmel,” returned Rody Flynn lytriumphantly; “The time of General MatV thew’s election / / - - ;' j “Tell me something he said?” rejoined I 'Father Walter, dubiously. ; ; ! I !// “ ’Twasjthe last day of the v polling,” Rody / replied, laying down his mallet, and pushing

his paper cap back from his forehead. " “He™ was speaking from the balcony of Hea rue’s Hotel. j He was about my own size,” added ; Rody’ Flynn, looking upon his shapely legs encased in a r well-fitting "corduroy' breeches, 1 and light grey angola stockings, and then drawing himself up to his full height. “Tell us something he said,” Father Walter interrupted, almost morosely. “The polling was coming to a' close,” Rody Flynn went on, his round face radiant at the recollection of that exciting contest, when the “Gallant Forties” soon, alas! to be flung away like broken trooped - to the poll in the teeth of more deadly peril than soldier ever encountered upon the battlefield. “The polling was coming to a close; and it was known we had a successful majority. As Shell was speaking, a big Orange flag was hoisted over the club-house. ‘ They’re beat, they’re beat, says Sheil,’ I see they have hung out an Orange pocket handkerchief there beyond. Oh, friends, it is bedewed with many an orange tear.” “You did hear Sheil,” said Father Walter, fixing his eyes upon Rody Flynn, as if he would look through and through him, and satisfy himself as to the reality or otherwise of those Queen’s County experiences, which he regarded as the one shadow upon Rody Flynn’s character. “Yes,” said Rody, “and Doheny spoke after, and told the people not to mind Orange or Green, or any color, but to stand by their country and their religion.” “Don’t talk about Doheny,” said Father Walter. “He was the honestest man of ’em all,” retorted Rody Flynn, stoutly, “Sheil was a brilliant senator, as you say. He was a great man, too, while he stuck to O’Connell. Rut, after all, what was he but a—placehunter?” Father Walter felt the force of this, and was silent for a minute or two, of which “Dicky Sheil” took advantage to hurl a thrilling defiance at Tom Doherty’s blackbird, who immediately dropped cowering from his perch as if a hawk were poised above his head, and then fluttered round and round his wicker prison uttering discordant cries, and apparently bent upon dashing himself to pieces. “Well, here,” said Father Walter, as if posed by Rody’s last remark. “Do these razors, and come up early to-morrow to shave me. But don’t bother me about Doheny. And don’t tell me you have heard a better singing bird than “Dicky Sheid” — in the Queen’s County, or in any other county, for I don’t believe a word of it.” “ ’Tis surprising,” said Rody Flynn, when the priest had turned away from the door at which he had merely stopped on his way to the chapel, to leave his razors to he set. “ ’Tis surprising howprejudiced they are against Doheny.” “I remarked that,” returned his melan-choly-faced friend and crony,’ Davy Lacy, the ’ shoemaker, '"who," with "‘his long-tailed body-coat hanging loosely over his shoulders/" leant upon the half-door, his lack-lustre eyes fixed upon the top of a poplar tree behind Mr. Amby Armstrong’s house. That tree ' seemed to possess some extraordinary fascina-

tion for -Davy Lacy. He was - leaning over Body Flynn’s half-door one calm summer evening when the first fluttering leaf of the poplar that peeped above the red tiles of; the quaint^old - house caught is eye, ‘ and while he was puzzling his brains to gueSs' whether that fluttering little object was a bird or what else it might —Nell, the cobbler, rushed .down the street excitedly, and announced to Davy Lacy that a son and heir had just been born to him. , Ever after Davy Lacy seemed to recognise some mysterious connection between that tree find his firstborn, whom he invariably spoke of as “that lad of mine” —and watched its growth with an interest that seemed to have no small share of awe and wonder mingled with it, as, year after year, the poplar tree rose higher and higher over the red tiles. When he took part in the conversation in Rody Flynn’s workshop— which was but seldom and Ij ab—Davy Lacy seemed to address himself to the top of the poplar tree. Whenever he did take his bony hand from his lank cheek, and his shirt sleeves from the halfdoor, it was to fix a questioning and ] reproachful stare upon somebody ; and the stare was all the more intensely melancholy as well as questioning and reproachful when he himself had said, or was about to say, something very amusing. C 5 } | The contrast between the good-humored, plump, and rounded little cooper, and; the lean, angular, and sad-faced shoemaker, iwas very striking. Yet there must have been some bond of sympathy that drew: them to each other. Davy appeared to spend nearly all his unemployed hours resting upon Body’s half-door. and Rcdy’s chubby face always hi ightened up when his melancholy friend appeared hitching his blue body-coat—-the sleeves of which he never put his arms except on Sundays—upon his shoulders, and silently took up his position with his elbow upon the half-door, and his hand under his chin. H. “Sure I remember,” said Davy Lacy, in reply to Rody Flynn’s last remark, and appearing to address himself, not to Rody,-but to the poplar tree—“l remember that speech INL. eeny read that made John Nowlan rush out of the door here, and knock down that lad o’ mine, who came to call me home to take Mr. Dwyer’s measure., He was .so ragin’ mad he didn’t mind the boy, though I thought every bone in his body was broke.!’ ; “I remember,” returned . Rod.v Flynn, laughing, “I told that story to Mr. Armstrong while I was shaving him the evening after, and he laughed heartily . He said showed how much people are influenced by prejudice.” Rody Flynn had a habit of giving the ipsissima verba of those he quoted, which possibly may account for the rather long pauses in unusual places in his sentences, and the unexpected emphasis upon words to which we have before referred. “Mr. Armstrong said it was a mostamusing I instance of powerful influence that prejudiceexercises over judgment/ I knew another instance of the same kind,’* said Rody Flynn, “in the Queen’s County” “That lad o’ mine had reason to remember it, !•' Davy ’Lacy interrupted, turning round and fixing a severely reproachful glance Upon

his friend’s beaming countenance. - Body, however, on this occasion contented himself C. j with /a v silent and inward; enjoyment of the “‘other instance” in the Queen’s County. •7 | At least we hope so. We earnestly hope that • - Tether instance” did come under Body P. notice in the Queen’s County or 7 else, and that keeping the fun all to himself was not the result of any temporary derangement of the inventive faculty, j But while Body Flynn, to the apparent as- ?•„ tonishment and disgust of the melancholy shoemaker, is chuckling over Avhat happened

(we hope) in the Queen’s County, we shall tell the story S about I Counsellor J Doheny’s speech, which story Mr. Armstrong since we left him has had a “good time” with Nannie and Nellie in the orchard, quite unconscious of Mrs. Cormack’s binocular considered so amusing that Body Flynn thought more than once it would be necessary to let the lather dry on his left cheek, certain muscles of which became so unruly that there seemed to be danger in passing the well-stropped razor over them. (To be continued.)