Ivy Day In The Committee Room - Joyce James (читать книги без регистрации txt) 📗

Mr O'Connor laughed.

`So far as owing money goes... '

`Driving out of the Mansion House,' said Mr Henchy, `in all my vermin, with Jack here standing up behind me in a powdered wig — eh?'

`And make me your private secretary, John.'

`Yes. And I `ll make Father Keon my private chaplain. We'll have a family party.'

`Faith, Mr Henchy,' said the old man, `you'd keep up better style than some of them. I was talking one day to old Keegan, the porter. "And how do you like your new master, Pat?" says I to him. "You haven't much entertaining now," says I. "Entertaining!" says he. "He'd live on the smell of an oil-rag." And do you know what he told me? Now, I declare to God, I didn't believe him.'

`What?' said Mr Henchy and Mr O'Connor.

`He told me: "What do you think of a Lord Mayor of Dublin sending out for a pound of chops for his dinner? How's that for high living?" says he. "Wisha! wisha," says I. "A pound of chops," says he, "coming into the Mansion House." "Wisha!" says I, "what kind of people is going at all now?"'

At this point there was a knock at the door, and a boy put in his head.

`What is it?' said the old man.

`From the Black Eagle,' said the boy, walking in sideways and depositing a basket on the floor with a noise of shaken bottles.

The old man helped the boy to transfer the bottles from the basket to the table and counted the full tally. After the transfer the boy put his basket on his arm and asked:

`Any bottles?'

`What bottles?' said the old man.

`Won't you let us drink them first?' said Mr Henchy.

`I was told to ask for the bottles.'

`Come back tomorrow,' said the old man.

`Here, boy!' said Mr Henchy, `will you run over to O'Farrell's and ask him to lend us a corkscrew — for Mr Henchy, say. Tell him we wont keep it a minute. Leave the basket there.'

The boy went out and Mr Henchy began to rub his hands cheerfully, saying:

`Ah, well, he's not so bad after all. He's as good as his word, anyhow.'

`There's no tumblers,' said the old man.

`O, don't let that trouble you, Jack,' said Mr Henchy. `Many's the good man before now drank out of the bottle.'

`Anyway, it's better than nothing,' said Mr O'Connor.

`He's not a bad sort,' said Mr Henchy, `only Fanning has such a loan of him. He means well, you know, in his own tinpot way.'

The boy came back with the corkscrew. The old man opened three bottles and was handing back the corkscrew when Mr Henchy said to the boy:

`Would you like a drink, boy?'

`If you please, sir,' said the boy.

The old man opened another bottle grudgingly, and handed it to the boy.

`What age are you?' he asked.

`Seventeen,' said the boy.

As the old man said nothing further, the boy took the bottle, said: `Here's my best respects, sir, to Mr Henchy,' drank the contents, put the bottle back on the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Then he took up the corkscrew and went out of the door sideways, muttering some form of salutation.

`That's the way it begins,' said the old man.

`The thin edge of the wedge,' said Mr Henchy.

The old man distributed the three bottles which he had opened and the men drank from them simultaneously. After having drunk each placed his bottle on the mantelpiece within hand's reach and drew in a long breath of satisfaction.

`Well, I did a good day's work today,' said Mr Henchy, after a pause.

`That so, John?'

`Yes. I got him one or two sure things in Dawson Street, Crofton and myself. Between ourselves, you know, Crofton (he's a decent chap, of course), but he's not worth a damn as a canvasser. He hasn't a word to throw to a dog. He stands and looks at the people while I do the talking.'

Here two men entered the room. One of them was a very fat man, whose blue serge clothes seemed to be in danger of falling from his sloping figure. He had a big face which resembled a young ox's face in expression, Staring blue eyes and a grizzled moustache. The other man, who was much younger and frailer, had a thin, clean-shaven face. He wore a very high double collar and a wide-brimmed bowler hat.

`Hello, Crofton!' said Mr Henchy to the fat man. `Talk of the devil... '

`Where did the booze come from?' asked the young man. `Did the cow calve?'

`O, of course, Lyons spots the drink first thing!' said Mr O'Connor, laughing.

`Is that the way you chaps canvass,' said Mr Lyons, `and Crofton and I out in the cold and rain looking for votes?'

`Why, blast your soul,' said Mr Henchy, `I'd get more votes in five minutes than you two'd get in a week.'

`Open two bottles of stout, Jack,' said Mr O'Connor.

`How can I?' said the old man, `when there's no corkscrew?'

`Wait now, wait now!' said Mr Henchy, getting up quickly. `Did you ever see this little trick?'

He took two bottles from the table and, carrying them to the fire, put them on the hob. Then he sat down again by the fire and took another drink from his bottle. Mr Lyons sat on the edge of the table, pushed his hat towards the nape of his neck and began to swing his legs.

`Which is my bottle?' he asked.

`This, lad,' said Mr Henchy.

Mr Crofton sat down on a box and looked fixedly at the other bottle on the hob. He was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say; the second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him. He had been a canvasser for Wilkins, the Conservative, but when the Conservatives had withdrawn their man and, choosing the lesser of two evils, given their support to the Nationalist candidate, he had been engaged to work for Mr Tierney.

In a few minutes an apologetic `Pok!' was heard as the cork flew out of Mr Lyons' bottle. Mr Lyons jumped off the table, went to the fire, took his bottle and carried it back to the table.

`I was just telling them, Crofton,' said Mr Henchy, `that we got a good few votes today.'

`Who did you get?' asked Mr Lyons.

`Well, I got Parkes for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and I got Ward of Dawson Street. Fine old chap he is, too — regular old toff, old Conservative! "But isn't your candidate a Nationalist?" said he. "He's a respectable man," said I. "He's in favour of whatever will benefit this country. He's a big ratepayer," I said. "He has extensive house property in the city and three places of business, and isn't it to his own advantage to keep down the rates? He's a prominent and respected citizen," said I , "and a Poor Law Guardian, and he doesn't belong to any party, good, bad, or indifferent." That's the way to talk to 'em.'

`And what about the address to the King?' said Mr Lyons, after drinking and smacking his lips.

`Listen to me,' said Mr Henchy. `What we want in this country, as I said to old Ward, is capital. The King's coming here will mean an influx of money into this country. The citizens of Dublin will benefit by it. Look at all the factories down by the quays there, idle! Look at all the money there is in the country if we only worked the old industries, the mills, the ship-building yards and factories. It's capital we want.'

`But look here, John,' said Mr O'Connor. `Why should we welcome the King of England? Didn't Parnell himself... '

`Parnell,' said Mr Henchy, `is dead. Now, here's the way I look at it. Here's this chap come to the throne after his old mother keeping him out of it till the man was grey. He's a man of the world, and he means well by us. He's a jolly fine, decent fellow, if you ask me, and no damn nonsense about him. He just says to himself: "The old one never went to see these wild Irish. By Christ, I'll go myself and see what they're like." And are we going to insult the man when he comes over here on a friendly visit? Eh? Isn't that right, Crofton?'