Hyacinth recognised and appreciated Dr. Henry’s kindness. He even tried to bring himself to consider the offer seriously and carefully, but it was no use. He could not conceive himself as likely to be either useful or happy amid the hustling commercialism of the Manchester streets or the staid proprieties of an Anglican vicarage. After he had spent about a week in his new lodging, Father Moran called on him. The priest sat beside the fire for more than an hour chatting in a desultory manner. He drank tea and smoked, and it was not until he rose to go that the real object of his visit appeared. ‘I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing, Mr. Conneally, and maybe I’ve no right to ask.’ ‘I wouldn’t have the least objection to telling you,’ said Hyacinth, ‘if I knew myself; but I haven’t my mind made up.’ The priest put down his hat again, and settled himself with his back to the fire and his hands in his pockets. Hyacinth sat down, and during the pause which followed contemplated the wonderful number and variety of the stains on the black waistcoat in front of him. ‘Then you’ve given up the idea of finishing your divinity course?’ said the priest. ‘I’m not blaming you in the least. There’s men that studying suits, and there’s men that it doesn’t. I never was much of a one for books myself.’ He sighed heavily, perhaps at the recollection of his own struggles with the mysteries of theology in his Maynooth student days. Then he walked over and closed the door, returned, drew a chair close to Hyacinth, and spoke in the tone of a man who imparts an important secret. ‘Did you hear that Thady Durkan’s giving up the fishing? Since he broke his arm he declares he’ll never step aboard the boat again. You know the St. Bridget. She’s not one of the biggest boats, but she’s a very lucky one. She made over five hundred pounds last year, besides the share the Board took. She was built at Baltimore, and the Board spent over two hundred pounds on her, nets and gear and all. There’s only one year more of instalments to pay off the price of her, and Thady has the rest of the men bought out. There’s nobody owns a stick or a net or a sail of her except himself, barring, of course, what’s due to the Board.’ Hyacinth was sufficiently acquainted with the system on which the Congested Districts Board provides the Connaught fishermen with boats and nets to understand Father Moran’s rather involved statement of Durkan’s financial position. He did not yet grasp why all this information should have been conveyed to him in such a solemn and mysterious tone. ‘You might have the _St. Bridget_,’ said the priest, ‘for one hundred and fifty pounds down.’ He paused to let the full glory of the situation lay hold upon Hyacinth. Perhaps he expected an outburst of delight and surprise, but none came.