“There’s more than you will want to speak plain to the doctor,” said Doyle in sudden anger. “It’s him that’s got us into the trouble we’re in. It’s him that ought to be made to pay up what’ll have to be paid; only he can’t do it, for he owes more this minute than ever he’ll pay. Tell me now, Thady, what you said to him. Tell me the language you used. It’ll be some satisfaction to me to hear the words you said to the doctor.” “I said nothing,” said Gallagher. “Is it likely I’d speak the way I meant to a man with an open razor in his hand? I’d have had my throat cut if I’d said a word.” Mrs. Gregg rode hurriedly into the market square on her bicycle, while Gallagher was making his confession. She wore a delicate and flimsy pink silk skirt, entirely unsuited for cycling. A very large hat, adorned with a wreath of pink roses, had been forced to the back of her head by the speed at which she rode, and was held there with much strain by two large pins. She had only one glove, and several hooks at the back of the upper part of her dress were unfastened. No one could doubt that Mrs. Gregg had left home before she was quite ready. No one could doubt that she had come into Ballymoy as fast as she could. She dismounted in front of Father McCormack and panted. She said “Oh” three times, and each time was prevented saying anything else by lack of breath. Then she caught sight of Major Kent, who was coming out of the hotel yard after stabling his pony. She let her bicycle fall at the feet of Father McCormack, and ran to the Major. “Oh,” she said. “Oh! my husband—just told me—a telegram—isn’t it frightful? What are we to do?” “I’m rather glad myself,” said the Major, “but everybody else is making a fuss.” Doyle, Father McCormack and Gallagher followed Mrs. Gregg. Father McCormack, who was a chivalrous man even when agitated, picked up her bicycle and brought it with him. “Is it true, ma’am,” said Doyle, “what we’re after hearing?” “It’s quite true,” said Mrs. Gregg. “My husband had a telegram. So had Mr. Ford. And Mrs. Ford is so pleased. Oh, it’s too much! But where’s Dr. O’Grady?” “Everybody is asking that,” said the Major. “My own impression is that he’s bolted.” “If only Dr. O’Grady were here,” said Mrs. Gregg, “he might do something.” “There’s one thing the doctor won’t do,” said Gallagher, “Lord-Lieutenant or no Lord-Lieutenant, he’ll not have the town band playing the tune that he’s after teaching young Kerrigan.” “Doyle,” said Major Kent, “do you think you could get Thady Gallagher out of this? He’s becoming a nuisance. Nobody’s temper will stand a Home Rule speech at the present moment.” “Thady,” said Doyle, persuasively, “a drop of something to drink is what will suit you. The inside of your throat is dried up the same as if you’d been eating lime on account of the rage that’s in you.”