180 Dubliners
Mr. Kernan changed the subject at once.
‘That was a decent young chap, that medical fellow,’ he
said. ‘Only for him——‘
‘O, only for him,’ said Mr. Power, ‘it might have been a
case of seven days, without the option of a fine.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Mr. Kernan, trying to remember. ‘I re-
member now there was a policeman. Decent young fellow,
he seemed. How did it happen at all?’
‘It happened that you were peloothered, Tom,’ said Mr.
Cunningham gravely.
‘True bill,’ said Mr. Kernan, equally gravely.
‘I suppose you squared the constable, Jack,’ said Mr.
M’C oy.
Mr. Power did not relish the use of his Christian name.
He was not straight-laced, but he could not forget that Mr.
M’Coy had recently made a crusade in search of valises and
portmanteaus to enable Mrs. M’Coy to fulfil imaginary en-
gagements in the country. More than he resented the fact
that he had been victimised he resented such low playing
of the game. He answered the question, therefore, as if Mr.
Kernan had asked it.
The narrative made Mr. Kernan indignant. He was keen-
ly conscious of his citizenship, wished to live with his city
on terms mutually honourable and resented any affront put
upon him by those whom he called country bumpkins.
‘Is this what we pay rates for?’ he asked. ‘To feed and
clothe these ignorant bostooms... and they’re nothing else.’
Mr. Cunningham laughed. He was a Castle official only
during office hours.