“What sort of a fellow is that at all?” said Thady hoarsely. “A pint of porter, now,” said Doyle, “or a drop of spirits. You want it this minute, and you’ll want it more before, you’re through with the job that you have on hand.” He led the way into the bar and provided Thady with a satisfying draught. Thady emptied the tumbler without drawing breath. Then he took his pipe from his pocket and lit it. “Mr. Doyle,” he said, “you’re a man I’ve a liking for and always had. What’s more, you’re a man I respect, and it isn’t everyone that I would say that to.” “The same to you,” said Doyle, “and may you live long to enjoy it. Will you have another drop?” “I don’t mind if I do,” said Thady. Doyle filled up the empty tumbler. As he did so Gallagher spoke with serious deliberation. “Seeing that you’re a man I’ve every confidence in, I’d be glad if you’d tell me this. Who was General John Regan? For I never heard tell of him.” “It’ll be better for you, Thady, to know something about him be the same more or less, before the gentleman within has finished his dinner. He’ll be asking questions of you the whole of the rest of the day.” “Let him ask.” “And you’ll have to be answering him, for he’ll not rest contented without you do.” “There’s no Regans here,” said Gallagher, “and what’s more there never was.” “There’s no statue anyway,” said Doyle, “nor there won’t be.” “I don’t know that there’d be any harm in a statue,” said Gallagher. “What has me bothered is who the General was.” “There’ll be no statue,” said Doyle. “It’s all very well to be talking, but the rates is too high already without an extra penny in the pound for a statue that nobody wants.” “I wouldn’t be in favour of a statue myself,” said Gallagher, “unless, of course, the gentleman was to pay for it himself, and he might.” “Of course if he was to pay for it, it would be different. By the look of the motor-car he came in I’d say he’d plenty of money.” The idea that Mr. Billing could pay for a statue was a pleasant one, and it was always possible that he might do so. He appeared to be very anxious that there should be a statue. “There’s some men,” said Doyle hopefully, “that has no sense in the way they spend what money they’ve got.” Mr. Gallagher admitted with a sigh that there are such men. He himself had no money, or very little. If, as he hoped, he succeeded in becoming a Member of Parliament, he would have money, large quantities of it, a full £400 a year. He would have more sense than to spend any of it in erecting statues. Doyle, on the other hand, had money. He lent it freely, at a high rate of interest, to the other inhabitants of Ballymoy. This was his idea of the proper use of money. To spend it on works of public utility or sentimental value, struck him as very foolish. “I’d be glad, all the same,” said Gallagher, “if I knew who the General was that he’s talking about.”