“The ordering of the bouquet,” said Dr. O’Grady, “to be left to the same sub-committee which has charge of the address.” “And it to be sent to the hotel here,” said Father McCormack, “on the morning of the ceremony, so as it will be fresh. Are you all agreed on that, gentlemen? What’s the next business, doctor?” “The next business is the statue.” “What’s the date of the Lord-Lieutenant’s visit?” said the Major. “Thursday week,” said Dr. O’Grady. “That’s ten days from to-day,” said the Major. “We may just as well go home at once as sit here talking to each other. There’s no time to get a statue.” “We’ll do our business before we stir,” said Dr. O’Grady. “What’s the use of saying things like that?” said the Major. “You know jolly well, O’Grady, that you can’t get a statue in ten days. The thing’s impossible. It takes a year at least to make a statue of any size. You can’t go into a shop and buy a statue, as if it were a hat or an umbrella.” “There’s a good deal in what the Major says,” said Father McCormack. “I’m inclined to agree with him. I remember well when they were putting up the monument to Parnell in Dublin it took them years before they had it finished.” “It’s a good job for everybody concerned,” said the Major, “that we’re brought up short. We’d simply have made ourselves publicly ridiculous if we’d gone on with this business.” The Major, Dr. O’Grady, and Doyle, spoke when they did speak, in an easy conversational tone without rising from their chairs. But this was not Gallagher’s idea of the proper way of conducting public business. He believed that important discussions ought to be carried on with dignity. When he spoke he stood up and addressed the committee as if he were taking part in a political demonstration, using appropriate gestures to emphasize his words. The difficulty about the statue gave him a great opportunity. “I stand here to-day,” he said, “as the representative of the people of this locality, and what I’m going to say now I’d say if the police spies of Dublin Castle was standing round me taking down the words I utter.” Young Kerrigan had been obliged to stop practising “Rule, Britannia” on the cornet in order to eat his dinner. When he had satisfied his appetite and soothed his nerves with a pipe of tobacco he set to work at the tune again. The hour’s rest had not helped him in any way. He made exactly the same mistake as he had been making all the morning. It happened that he took up his cornet again shortly before Gallagher began his speech in which he declared himself a representative of the people of the locality. The noise of the music floated through the open window of the committee room. It had a slightly exasperating effect on Gallagher, but he went on speaking.