“Who is it?” “Mr Fogarty.” “O, come in! come in!” A pale oval face came forward into the light. The arch of its fair trailing moustache was repeated in the fair eyebrows looped above pleasantly astonished eyes. Mr Fogarty was a modest grocer. He had failed in business in a licensed house in the city because his financial condition had constrained him to tie himself to second-class distillers and brewers. He had opened a small shop on Glasnevin Road where, he flattered himself, his manners would ingratiate him with the housewives of the district. He bore himself with a certain grace, complimented little children and spoke with a neat enunciation. He was not without culture. Mr Fogarty brought a gift with him, a half-pint of special whisky. He inquired politely for Mr Kernan, placed his gift on the table and sat down with the company on equal terms. Mr Kernan appreciated the gift all the more since he was aware that there was a small account for groceries unsettled between him and Mr Fogarty. He said: “I wouldn’t doubt you, old man. Open that, Jack, will you?” Mr Power again officiated. Glasses were rinsed and five small measures of whisky were poured out. This new influence enlivened the conversation. Mr Fogarty, sitting on a small area of the chair, was specially interested. “Pope Leo XIII.,” said Mr Cunningham, “was one of the lights of the age. His great idea, you know, was the union of the Latin and Greek Churches. That was the aim of his life.” “I often heard he was one of the most intellectual men in Europe,” said Mr Power. “I mean, apart from his being Pope.” “So he was,” said Mr Cunningham, “if not _the_ most so. His motto, you know, as Pope, was _Lux upon Lux—Light upon Light_.” “No, no,” said Mr Fogarty eagerly. “I think you’re wrong there. It was _Lux in Tenebris_, I think—_Light in Darkness_.” “O yes,” said Mr M’Coy, “_Tenebrae_.” “Allow me,” said Mr Cunningham positively, “it was _Lux upon Lux_. And Pius IX. his predecessor’s motto was _Crux upon Crux_—that is, _Cross upon Cross_—to show the difference between their two pontificates.” The inference was allowed. Mr Cunningham continued. “Pope Leo, you know, was a great scholar and a poet.” “He had a strong face,” said Mr Kernan. “Yes,” said Mr Cunningham. “He wrote Latin poetry.” “Is that so?” said Mr Fogarty. Mr M’Coy tasted his whisky contentedly and shook his head with a double intention, saying: “That’s no joke, I can tell you.” “We didn’t learn that, Tom,” said Mr Power, following Mr M’Coy’s example, “when we went to the penny-a-week school.” “There was many a good man went to the penny-a-week school with a sod of turf under his oxter,” said Mr Kernan sententiously. “The old system was the best: plain honest education. None of your modern trumpery....” “Quite right,” said Mr Power. “No superfluities,” said Mr Fogarty. He enunciated the word and then drank gravely.