He began by sending Doyle to Father McCormack. Doyle, foreseeing a possible profit for himself, did his best to persuade Father McCormack to take the chair. Father McCormack, who was a fat man and therefore good-natured, did not want to refuse Doyle. But Father McCormack was not a free agent. Behind him, somewhere, was a bishop, reputed to be austere, certainly domineering. Father McCormack was very much afraid of the bishop, therefore he hesitated. The most that Doyle could secure, after a long interview, was the promise of a definite answer the next day. Father McCormack made use of the twenty-four hours’ grace he had secured by calling on Major Kent. The Major was a Protestant, with strong anti-Papal convictions, and therefore was not, it might have been supposed, a good man to advise a priest on a delicate question of ecclesiastical etiquette. But the Major was eminently respectable, and his outlook upon life was staidly conservative. Father McCormack felt that if Major Kent thoroughly approved of the erection of a statue to General John Regan it was likely to be quite a proper thing to do. “I’m not sure,” said Father McCormack, “whether it will suit me to take the chair at this meeting the doctor’s getting up or not. I’m not sure, I say. Can you tell me now, Major Kent, who’s this American gentleman they’re all talking about?” “I don’t know anything about him,” said the Major, “but I’m bound to say he looks like a Protestant. I don’t know whether that will make any difference to you or not.” “From the little I’ve seen of him—just across the street from the window of the Presbytery—I’d say you were right about his religion, but I needn’t tell you, Major Kent, that I’m not a bigoted man. It wouldn’t stop me taking the chair if he was a Protestant. It wouldn’t stop me if he was a Presbyterian, and I can’t say more than that. You know very well that I’d just as soon be sitting on a committee alongside of a Protestant as any ordinary kind of man. I’m not one that would let religion interfere too much.” “He seems quite respectable,” said the Major. “He’s been here three days now, and I never saw him drunk.” “It’s not that either that’s troubling me,” said Father McCormack. “There’s many a man gets drunk when he can, and I’d be the last to make too much out of that.” “I can’t tell you any more about him,” said the Major, “for that’s all I know, except that he appears to be rich.” “The difficulty I’m in is on account of the bishop. He’s getting to be mighty particular. I don’t say he’s wrong, mind you; only there it is. But sure, if no one in the place has anything to say against the American gentleman it’s likely he’ll turn out to be all right. But what about the fellow they want to put up the statue to?” “General John Regan,” said the Major. “What about him? I never heard tell of him before.” “For the matter of that, nor did I.” “Who was he at all?”