“If the tune’s what you say it is,” said Gallagher, “it’ll not be played in Ballymoy to-day nor any other day. I’ll put the fear of God into young Kerrigan before he’s an hour older.” Moriarty grinned again. It seemed that, with the aid of Gallagher, he was going to hit Dr. O’Grady on a vital spot. He understood that great importance was attached to the performance of “Rule, Brittania” by the band. Gallagher walked across to young Kerrigan. “I know now,” he said, “what the tune is you’re meaning to play.” “If you know that,” said Kerrigan, “you know more than I do.” “None of your lies now. Constable Moriarty is after telling me the name of the tune.” “If you know it,” said Kerrigan, “maybe you’ll tell me. Not that I care what the name of it is, for it’s a good tune, name or no name.” “You will care,” said Gallagher. “You will care before the day is out.” “Why don’t you tell me the name of it, then? if so be you know it.” “You know well why I don’t tell you. It’s because I wouldn’t defile my lips with the name of it, because I wouldn’t say the words that would be a disgrace to any Irishman.” “You’re mighty particular,” said young Kerrigan. “It would have to be a pretty bad name that’s on the tune if it’s worse than what you said many a time.” Gallagher was not in a mood to submit calmly to taunts of this kind. He knew that he was perfectly right in refusing to pronounce the name of the tune. He was convinced that young Kerrigan knew and was able to talk as he did only because he was dead to all sense of decency or shame. “Let me tell you this,” he said, “and it’s my last word. If that tune’s played in Ballymoy to-day it’ll be the worse for you, and the worse for your father, and the worse for all belonging to you. Let you not play that tune or the grass will be growing on the step outside your father’s shop before any decent Nationalist will go into it to buy a bit of meat. Them that makes their living off the people will have to mind themselves that they don’t outrage the convictions of the people.” This was an awful threat, and it cowed young Kerrigan a good deal. He did not believe that Gallagher was capable of having it carried out to the last extremity. The grass would not actually grow on his father’s doorstep, because the people of the west of Ireland, though swift and passionate in resentment, find a difficulty in keeping up a personal quarrel long enough to permit of the growth of grass. But a great deal of temporary inconvenience might be caused by a boycott initiated by Gallagher and taken up by the local branch of the League. Young Kerrigan was shaken. “You’d better speak to the doctor about it,” he said. “It’s his tune and not mine.” “I will speak to the doctor,” said Gallagher. “I’ll speak to him in a way he won’t like. I was thinking all along he was up to some mischief with that tune; but I didn’t know how bad it was till Moriarty was talking to me this morning. Where is the doctor?”