12 - Ivy Day in the Committee Room

But as he set himself to fan the fire again, his crouching shadow ascended the opposite wall, and his face slowly re emerged into light. It was an old man's face, very bony and hairy. The moist blue eyes blinked at the fire, and the moist mouth fell open at times, munching once or twice mechanically. When it closed. When the cinders had caught, he laid the piece of cardboard against the wall, sighed, and said, that's better now, mister O'Connor.

Mister O'Connor, a gray haired young man whose face was disfigured by many blotches and pimples, had just brought the tobacco for a cigarette into a shapely cylinder, but when spoken to he undid his handiwork meditatively. Then he began to roll the tobacco again meditatively, and after a moment's thought, decided to lick the paper. Did mister Tierney say when he'd be back, he asked, in a sky falsetto. He didn't say. Mister O'Connor put his cigarette into his mouth

and began to search his pockets. He took out a pack of thin pasteboard cards. I'll get you a match, said the old man. Never mind, this'll do, said mister O'Connor. He selected one of the cards and read what was printed on it. Municipal Elections, Royal Exchange Ward, Mister Richard J. Tyraney p l G. Respectfully solicits the favor of your vote and influence at the coming election in the Royal

Exchange Ward. Mister O'Connor had been engaged by Tyranney's agent to canvass one part of the ward, but as the weather was inclement and his boots led in the wet, he spent a great part of the day sitting by the fire in the committee room on Wicklow Street with Jack, the old caretaker they had been sitting thus since the short day had grown dark. It was the sixth of October, dismal and cold. Out of doors, mister O'Connor tore his trip off the card and, lighting it, lit his cigarette.

As he did so, the flame lit up a leaf of dark glossy ivy the lapel of his coat. The old man watched him attentively, and then, taking up the piece of cardboard again, began to fan the fire slowly while his companion smoked. Ah, yes, he said, continuing, it's hard to know what way to bring up children. Now, who'd think he'd turn out like that? I sent him to the Christian brothers, and I had done what I could him, and then he goes boozing about. I tried

to make him some way decent. He replaced the cardboard wearily. Only I'm an old man now. I change his tune for him. I take the stick to his back and beat him while I could stand over him, as I had done many a time before. The mother, you know, she cooks him this and that. That's what ruins children, said mister O'Connor. To be sure, it is, said the old man, and many things should get for it. Only impudence. He takes the upper hand of me whenever he sees

I've a supp taken. What's the world coming to? When sons speak that way to their fathers? What age is? He said? Mister O'Connor nineteen, said the old man, Why don't you put him to something? Sure, amped I never done at the drunken bowsy ever since he left school. I won't keep you. I says, you must get a job for yourself. But sure, it's worse. Whenever he gets a job, he drinks it all. Mister O'Connor shook his head in sympathy, and the old man fell silent, gazing

into the fire. Someone opened the door of the room and called out, Hello, Is this a freemason's meeting? Who's that? Said the old man? What are you doing in the dark, asked a voice. Is that you Hines, asked mister O'Connor. Yes, what are you doing in the dark? Said mister Hines, advancing into the light of the fire. He was a tall, slender young man with a light brown mustache. Imminent. Little drops of rain hung at the brim of his hat, and the collar of his jacket coat was turned up well.

Matt he says to mister O'Connor, how goes it? Mister O'Connor shook his head. The old man left the hearth, and, after stumbling about the room, returned with two candlesticks, which he thrust one after the other into the fire and carried to the table. A denuded room came into view, and the fire lost all its cheerful color. The walls of the room were bare except for a copy of an election address. In the middle of the room was

a small table on which papers were heaped. Mister Hines leaned against the mantelpiece and asked, has he paid you yet? Not yet, said mister O'Connor. I hope to God he'll not leave us in the lurch tonight. Mister Hines laughed, Oh, he'll pay you. Never fear, he said. I hope he'll look smart about it if he means business, said mister O'Connor. What do you think, Jack, said mister Hines satirically to the old man. The old man returned to his seat by the fire, saying it isn't but he has it anyway,

not like the other tinker. What other tinker, said, mister Hines. Colgan said the old man scornfully? Is it because Colgan's a working man? You say that? What's the difference between a good, honest bricklayer and a publican? Eh? Hasn't the working man as good a right to be in the corporation as any one else? Ay? And a better right than those shoeings that are always had in hand before any fellow with a handle to his name. Isn't that so, matt,

said mister Hines, addressing mister connor. I think you're right, said mister O'Connor. One man is a plain, honest man, with no hunker sliding about him. He goes in to represent the labor classes. This fellow you're working for only once some job or other. Of course, the working classes should be represented, said the old man. The working man, said mister Hines, gets all kicks and no halfpence, but

its labor produces everything. The working man is not for looking for fat jobs for his sons and nephews and cousins. The working man is not going to drag the honor of Dublin in the mud to please a German monarch. How's that? Said the old man. Don't you know they want to present an address of welcome to Edward Rex. If he comes here next year, what do you want cowtowing to a foreign king. Our man won't vote for the address, said mister O'Connor. He goes in on the

nationalist's ticket, won't he said mister Hines. Wait till you see whether he will or not. I know him. Is it tricky? Dicky Tyrney? By God? Perhaps you're right, Joe, said mister O'Connor. Anyway, I wish he'd turn up with the spondulicks. The three men fell silent. The old man began to rake more cinders together. Mister Hines took off his hat, shook it, and then turned down the collar of his coat, displaying as he did, an ivy leaf

in the lapel. If this man was alive, he said, pointing to the leaf, we'd have no talk of an address of welcome. That's true, said mister O'Connor. Musha, God be with them times, said the old man. There was some life in it. Then the room was silent again. Then a bustling little man with a snuffling nose and a very cold ear as pushed in the door. He walked over quickly to the fire, rubbing his hands as

if he intended to produce a spark from them. No money, boys, he said, sit down here, mister Henchy, said the old man, offering his chair. Oh don't stir, Jack, don't stir, said mister Henchy. He nodded curtly to mister Hines and sat down on the chair which the old man vacated. Did you serve on Gear Street, he said to mister O'Connor. Yes, said mister O'Connor, beginning to search his pockets for memoranda. Did you call on Grimes? I did? Well? How does

he stand? He wouldn't promise. He said, I won't tell any one what way I'm going to vote, but I think you'll be all right. Why so he asked me who the nominators were, and I told him I mentioned Father Burke's name. I think it'll be all right. Mister Henchy began to snuffle and to rub his hands over the fire at a terrific speed. Then he said, for the love of God, Jack, bring us a bit of coal. There must be some left. The old man went out of the room. It's no go, said mister Henchey, shaking

his head. I asked the little shoe boy, but he said Oh now, mister Henchy, when I see work going on properly, I won't forget you. You may be sure, mean little tinker Usha, How could he be anything else? What did I tell you, Matt, said mister Hines. Tricky Dicky Tyranny, he's as tricky as they make em, said mister Henchey. He hasn't got those little pig's eyes for nothing. Blast his soul. Couldn't he pay up like a man instead of Oh now, mister Henchey, I must speak to

mister Fanning. I've got lots of money, mean little schoolboy of Hell. I hope he forgets the time his little old father kept the hand me down shop in Mary's Lane. But is that a fact, asked mister O'Connor. God yes, said mister Henchey. Did you never hear that? And the men used to go in on Sunday morning before the houses were opened, to buy a waistcoat or a trouser's moya. But Tricky Dicky's little old father always had a tricky little black bottle up in a corner. Do you mind now?

That's that? That's where he first saw the light. The old man returned with a few lumps of coal which he placed here and there on the fire. That's a nice how ye do, said mister O'Connor. How does he expect us to work for him if he won't stump up? I can't help it, said mister Henchey. I expect to find the bailiffs in the hall when I go home. Mister Hines laughed, and, shoving himself away from the mantelpiece with the aid of his shoulders, made ready to leave.

It'll be all right when King Eddie comes. He said, Well, boys, I'm off for the present, see you later. Bye bye. He went out of the room slowly. Neither mister Henchy nor the old man said anything, But just as the door was closing, mister O'Connor, who had been staring moodily in the fire, called out suddenly by Joe. Mister Henchy waited a few minutes, and then nodded in the direction of the door. Tell me, he says, across the fire.

What brings our friend in here? What does he want? Usha, poor Joe, said mister O'Connor, throwing the end of his cigarette into the fire. He's hard up like the rest of us, mister Henchy snuffled, vigorously and spat so copiously that he nearly put out the fire, which uttered a hissing protest. I'll tell you my private and candid opinion, he said. I think he's a man from the other camp. He's a spy of Colgan's. If he asks me just go around and try and find out how they're getting on.

They won't suspect you, do you, twig Ah. Poor Joe is a decent skin, said mister O'Connor. His father was a decent, respectable man. Mister Henchy admitted, poor old Larry Hines many a good turn he did in his day. But I'm greatly afraid our friend is not nineteen carrot damn it. I can understand a fellow being hard up, but what I can't understand is a fellow's sponging. Couldn't he have some spark of manhood about him? He doesn't get a warm welcome for me when he comes, said

the old man. Let him work for his side and not come spying around here. I don't know, said mister O'Connor dubiously, as he took out cigarette papers and tobacco. I think Joe Hines is a straight man. He's a clever chap too with the pen. Do you remember that thing he wrote? Some of these Hillsiders and Fenians are a bit too clever. If he asks me, said mister Henchy, do you know what my private and candid opinion is about some of those little jokers. I believe half of

them are in the pay of the castle. There's no knowing, said the old man. Oh but I know it for a fact, said mister Henchy. They're castle hacks. I don't say Hines, No, damn it. I think he's a stroke above that. But there's a certain little nobleman with a cock eye, you know, the patriot I'm alluding to. Mister O'Connor nodded. There's a lineal descent of major, sir, if

you like, Oh the heart's blood of a patriot. That fellow, now that haud sell his country for fourpence ay, and go down on his bended knee and think the almighty cris he had a country to sell. There was a knock at the door, Come in, said mister Henshy. A person resembling a poor clergyman or a poor actor appeared

in the doorway. His black clothes were tightly buttoned, on his short body, and it was impossible to say whether he wore a clergyman's collar or a layman's because the collar of his shabby frock coat and the uncovered buttons of which reflected the candle light, was turned up above his head. He wore a round hat of hard black felt. His face, shining with rain drops, had the appearance of damp yellow cheese, save where two rosy spots indicated the

cheek bones. He opened his very long mouth suddenly to express disappointment, and at the same time open wide his very bright blue eyes to express pleasure and surprise. Oh, father Keon, said mister Henchy, jumping up from his chair. Is that you come in? No, no, no, no, said Father Keon, quickly, pursing his lips as though he were addressing a child. Won't you come in and sit down? No, no, no, said Father Keenan, speaking in a discreet, indulgent, velvety voice.

Don't let me disturb you now, I'm just looking for mister Fanning. He's round at the Black Eagle, said mister Henchy. But won't you come in and sit down a minute? No, no, thank you. It was just a little business matter, said father keenan, I thank you. Indeed, he retreated from the doorway, and mister Henchy, seizing one of the candlesticks, went to the door to light him downstairs. Oh, don't trouble, I beg no, but the stairs is so dark. No, no,

I can see. Thank you. Indeed, are you all right now? All right? Thanks? Thanks. Mister Henchy returned with the candlestick and put it on the table. He sat down again at the fire. There was a silence for a few moments. Tell me, John, said mister O'Connor, lighting his cigarette with another pasteboard card. Hum, what is he exactly? Ask me? An easier one, said mister Henchy. Fanning and himself seemed to me very thick. They're often in kavanaughs together. Is

he a priest at all? M yes, I believe so. I think he's what you call a black sheep. We haven't many of them, thank god, but we have a few. He's an unfortunate man of some kind. And how does he knock it out? Asked mister O'Connor. That's another mystery. Is he attached to any chapel or church or institution or no, said mister Henchy. I think he's traveling on his own account. God forgive me, he added, I thought he was the dozen of stout? Is there any chance

of a drink itself, asked mister O'Connor. I'm dry too, said the old man. I asked that little shoe boy three times, said mister Henshey. Wouldn't he send up a dozen of stout? I asked him again now, But he's leaning on the counter in his shirt sleeves, having a deep goster with Alderman Cowley. Why didn't you remind him, said mister O'Connor. Well, I couldn't go over while he was talking to Alderman Cowley. I just waited till I caught his eye and said about that little manner I

was speaking to you about before. That'll be all right, mister h She said, yea, I'm sure the little hop Oh my thumb is forgotten all about it. There's some deal on in that quarter, said mister O'Connor thoughtfully. I saw the three of them hard at it yesterday at Suffolk Street corner. I think I know the little game thereat, said mister Henshey. You must owe the city father's money nowadays if you want to be made Lord mayor then they'll make you lord mayor. By God, I'm seriously thinking

of becoming a city father myself. What do you think would I do the job? Mister O'Connor laughed, as far as owing money goes. Driving out of the mansion house, said mister Henchy, and all my vermin with Jack here standing up behind me in a powdered wig. Eh and make me your private secretary, John, Yes, and I'll make Father Key on my private chaplain. We'll have a family party. Faith, mister Henchey, said the old man. You keep a better

style than some of them. I was talking one day to old Keegan the porter, and how do you like your new master? Pat, says I to him, you have him much entertaining, now, says I entertaining. He says he'd live on the smell of an oil rag. And do you know what he told me? Now? I declare to God I didn't believe him. What said mister Henchy And mister O'Connor, He told me, what do you think of a Lord Mayor of Dublin sending out for a pound of chops for his dinner? How's that for high living?

He says? Wisha wish to says a pound of chops, says he coming into the mansion house. Wish us says I what kind of people is going at all? Now? At this point there was a knock at the door and a boy put in his head. What is it? Said the old man from the Black Eagle, said, the boy walking in sideways and depositing a basket on the floor with a noise of shaken bottles. The old man helped the boy to transfer the bottles from the basket

to the table and counted the full tally. After the transfer, the boy put his basket on his arm and asked any bottles? What bottles, said the old man. Won't you let us drink them first, asked mister Henshey. I was told to ask for the bottles. Come back tomorrow, said the old man. Here. Boy said, mister Henshey, will you run over to old Farrells and ask him to lend us a corkscrew for mister Henshey, say, tell him we

won't keep it a minute. Leave the basket here. The boy went out, and mister Henchey began to rub his hands cheerfully, saying, ah, well, he's not so bad after all. He's as good as his word. Anyhow, there's no tumblers, said the old man. Oh don't let that trouble you, jack, said mister Henchey. Many the goods man before now drank out of the bottle. Anyway, it's better than nothing, said mister O'Connor. He's not a bad sort, said mister Henchy. Only Fanning has such a loan of him. He means, well,

you know, in his own tinpot way. The boy came back with the corkscrew. The old man opened three bottles and was handing back the corkscrew when mister Henchy said to the boy, would you like a drink's boy, if you please, sir, said the boy. The old man opened another bottle grudgingly and handed it to the boy. What age are you, he asked, seventeen, said the boy. As the old man said nothing further, the boy took the

bottle and said, here's my best respects sir. To mister Henchy, drank the contents, put the bottle back on the table, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Then he took up the corkscrew and went out the door sideways, muttering some form of salutation. That's the way it begins, said the old man. The thin edge of the wedge, said mister Henchy. The old man distributed the three bottles which he had opened,

and the men drank from them simultaneously. After having drank, each placed his bottle on the mantelpiece within hand's reach and drew in a long breath of satisfaction. Well I did a good day's work to day, said mister Henchy, after a pause. That's so, John, Yes, I got him one or two sure things in Dawson Street, Crofton and myself between ourselves. You know Crofton, he's a decent chap of course, but he's not worth a damn as a canvasser.

He hasn't a word to throw to a dog. He stands and looks at the people while I do the talking. Here two men entered the room. One of them was a very fat man whose blue serge clothes seemed to be in danger of falling from his sloping figure. He had a big face which resembled a young ox's face, an expression, staring blue eyes, and a grizzled mustache. The other man, who was much younger and frailer, had a thin, clean shaven face. He wore a very high double collar

in a wide brim bowler hat. Hello, Crofton, said mister Henchy to the fat man, talk of the devil. Where did the booze come from? Asked the young man. Did the cow calve? Oh? Of course, lions spots the drink first thing, said mister O'Connor, laughing. Is that the way you chaps canvas? Asked mister Lyons. And Crofton and I out in the cold and rain looking for votes. Why blast your soul, said mister Henchey. I'd get more votes in five minutes than you'd two get in a week.

Open two bottles of stout, jack, said mister O'Connor. How can I, said the old man, when there's no coke? Screw? Wait wait now, well, said mister Henchy, getting up quickly. Did you ever see this little trick? He took two bottles from the table and carried them to the fire and put them on the hob. Then he sat down again by the fire and took another drink from his bottle. Mister Lyon sat at the edge of the table, pushing his hat towards the nape of his neck, and began

to swing his legs. Which is my bottle? He asked? This lad, said mister Henchy. Mister Crofton sat down on a box and looked fixedly at the other bottle on the hob. He was silent for two reasons. The first reason, sufficient in itself, was that he had nothing to say. The second reason was that he considered his companions beneath him.

He had been a canvasser for Wilkins the Conservative, but when the Conservatives had withdrawn their man, and choosing the lesser of two evils, given their support to the nationalist's candidate, he had been engaged to work for mister Tyrney. In a few minutes, an apologetic was heard as the cork flew out of mister Lyon's bottle. Mister Lyons jumped off the table, went to the fire, took his bottle and

carried it back to the table. I was just telling them, Crofton, said mister Henshey, that we got a few good votes today. Who did you get, asked mister Lyons. Well, I got Parks for one, and I got Atkinson for two, and got Ward of Dawson Street. Fine, old chap he is too regular, old tough, old conservative. But isn't your candidate a nationalist? Said he? A respectable man, said I he's in favor of whatever will benefit this country. He's a

big ratepayer, I said. He has extensive house property in the city, in three places of business, and isn't it to his own advantage to keep down the rates. He's a prominent and respected citizen, said I, and a poor law guardian. And he doesn't belong to any party, good, bad or indifferent. That's the way to talk to him. And what about the address to the king, said mister Lyons, after drinking and smacking his lips to me, said mister Henchy. What we want in thus country is, as I said

to old Ward, is capital. The King's coming here will mean an influx of money into the country. The citizens of Dublin will benefit by it. Look at all the factories now by the quays there idle. Look at all the money there is in this country. If we only worked the old industries, the mills, the shipbuilding yards and factories, it's capital we want. But look here, John, said mister O'Connor, Why should we welcome the King of England? Didn't Parnell himself.

Parnell said, mister Henchy is dead. Now here's the way I look at it. Here's the chap come to the throne after his old mother keeping him out of it till the old man was gray. He's a man of the world and he means well by us. He's a jolly fine, decent fellow if you ask me, And no damn nonsense about him. He just says to himself, the old one never went to see these wild Irish, by Christ, I'll all myself and see what they're like. And are we going to insult the man when he comes over

on a friendly visit? Eh? Isn't that right? Crofton? Crofton nodded his head. But after all, now, said mister Lyons argumentatively, King Edward's life, you know, is not the very let bygones be bygone, said mister Henchy. I admire the man personally. He's just an ordinary knockabout like you and me. He's fond of his glass of grog, and he's a bit of a rake perhaps, and he's a good sportsman. Damn it, can't we Irish play fair? That's all very fine, said

mister Lyons. But look at the case of Parnell. Now, in the name of God, said mister Henchy. Where's the analogy between the two cases? What I mean said mister Lyons, is that we have our ideals, Why now would we welcome a man like that? Do you think now, after what he did, Parnell was a fit man to lead us, and why then would we do it for Edward the seventh? This is Parnell's anniversary, said mister O'Connor, and don't let

us stir up any bad blood. We can all respect him now that he's dead and gone, even the Conservatives, he added, turning to mister Crofton. The tardy cork flew out of mister Crofton's bottle. Mister Crofton got up from his box and went to the fire. After he returned with his capture, he said, in a deep voice. Our side of the house respects him because he was a gentleman. Right you are, Crofton, said mister Henchy fiercely. He was the only man who could keep that bag of cats

in order. Down, ye dogs, lie down, ye curs. That's the way he treated them. Come in, Joe, come in, he called out, catching sight of mister Hines in the doorway. Mister Hines came in slowly open another bottle of stout. Jack, said mister Henchey, Oh, I forgot there's no corkscrew here, Show me one here and I'll put it on the fire. The old man handed him another, and he placed it on the hob. Sit down, Joe, said mister O'Connor. We were just talking about the chief. Aye, aye, said mister Henchey.

Mister Hines sat on the side of the table near mister Lyons, but said nothing. There's one of them anyhow, said mister Henchy. That didn't renig him. By God, I'll say that for you, Joe. No, by God, you stuck to him like a man. Oh Joe, said mister O'Connor. Suddenly give us that thing you wrote. Do you remember? Have you got it on you? Oh? Ay, said mister Henchy. Give us that. Did you ever hear that? Crofton? Listen to this now splendid thing. Go on, said mister O'Connor.

Fire away, Joe. Mister Hines did not seem to remember at once the peace to which they were alluding, but after reflecting a while, he said, oh that thing is it? Sure? That's old? Now out with it, man, said mister O'Connor. Sh sh, said mister Henschy. Now Joe. Mister Hines hesitated a little longer, and then and missed the silence. He took off his hat, laid it on the table, and stood up. He seemed to be rehearsing the peace in his mind. After a rather long pause, he announced the

death of Parnell sixth October eighteen ninety one. He cleared his throat once or twice, and then began to recite, He is dead, our uncrowned king is dead. O Erin mourn with grief and woe, for he lies dead whom the fell gang of modern hypocrites laid low. He lies slain by the coward hounds. He raised a glory from the mire, and Erin's hopes and Erin's dreams perished upon her monarch's pyre, in Pallace cabin or in cot. The Irish heart, wherever it be, is bowed with woe, for

he is gone. Who would have wrought her destiny? He would have had his errand famed the green flag gloriously unfurled her statesmen, bards and warriors raised before the nations of the world. He dreamed a last twas but a dream of liberty. But as he strove to clutch that idol, treachery sundered him from the thing. He loved. Shame on the coward caitive hands that smote their lord, or with a kiss betrayed him to the rabble rout of fawning priests.

No friends of his may everlasting shame consume the memory of those who tried to befoul and smear the exalted name of one who spurned them. In his pride. He fell as fall the mighty ones, nobly undaunted to the last, and death has now united him with Erin's heroes of the past. No sound of strife disturb his sleep. Calm he rests, No human pain or high ambition spurs him.

Now the peaks of glory to obtain. They had their way, They laid him low, but Erin list his spirit may rise like the phoenix from the flames when breaks the dawning of the day, the day that brings us freedom's rein And on that day may Erin well pledge in the cup she lifts the joy one grief the memory of Parnell. Mister Hines sat down on the table. When he had finished his recitation. There was a silence, and then a burst of clapping. Even mister Lyons clapped. The

applause continued for a little time. When it had ceased, all the auditors drank from their bottles in silence. The cork flew out of mister Hine's bottle, but mister Hines remained sitting, flushed and bareheaded on the table. He did not seem to have heard the invitation. Good Man Joe, said mister O'Connor, taking out his cigarette papers and pouch, the better to hide his emotion. What do you think

of that? Crofton, cried mister Henshey, isn't that fine? What Crofton said that it was a very fine piece of writing. End of story, twelve ivy day in the committee room,