Many men would have made some resistance, would have put their hands into their pockets, perhaps, and so forced Dr. O’Grady either to hold the frame himself or drop it on the ground. But Lord Alfred Blakeney had been aide-de-camp to the Lord-Lieutenant for several years. He knew something of the spirit which must animate all viceroys. It is their business to commend themselves, their office and the party which appoints them to the people over whom they reign. In private a Lord-Lieutenant with a sense of humour—no good Lord-Lieutenant ought to have a sense of humour—may mock at the things he has to do, but in public, however absurd the position in which he finds himself, he must remain gravely suave. His aides-de-camp must never under any circumstances do anything which could possibly cause offence to any part of the community. Dr. O’Grady was certainly a very important and influential part of the community of Ballymoy. Lord Alfred allowed the illuminated address to be pushed into his arms. He attempted no more than a mild protest. “Can’t I lay it down somewhere?” he said. “It’s so huge.” “Better not. If you do it’s sure to be forgotten, and then we’ll have to forward it by post, which will involve us in a lot of extra expense.” “But it’s so absurd to be lugging a great picture frame about in my arms all day, and I can’t carry it any other way. It’s too big.” Dr. O’Grady, having made over the address to Lord Alfred, was not inclined to listen to any complaints about its size. He took off his hat and stepped forward towards the statue. “Ladies and gentlemen——” he said. The few people who could see Dr. O’Grady stopped talking in order to hear what he was going to say. “Ladies and gentlemen——” he said again. This time, the nearer people having stopped talking, his voice carried further than it did at his first attempt. Very many more people turned round and began to listen. “Ladies and gentlemen——” he said. This third beginning secured him a large audience. Nearly half the people in the square were listening to him. He felt justified in going on with his speech. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “we are now going to proceed with the unveiling of the statue of General John Regan. Mary Ellen, whom most of you know——” He paused and the crowd cheered. A crowd nearly always cheers anyone who is mentioned by name in a speech, unless it is quite plain that the speaker means to be abusive. “Mary Ellen,” said Dr. O’Grady, “who is the nearest living relative of the great General, will perform the ceremony. Now, Mary Ellen,” he went on, in a lower tone, “pull the string. Father McCormack, give her the string. She doesn’t seem able to find it.” Father McCormack handed the end of the string to Mary Ellen. She chucked at it in a timid, doubtful way. Nothing happened. “Pull harder,” said Dr. O’Grady.