"And don't you know well enough that you'll have no luck if you go
against the clergy?"

The appeal was a strong one, and had he been in any ordinary temper
Gallagher would have yielded to it at once. But he was very
angry indeed, far too angry to be influenced by purely religious
considerations. He walked straight across the square to his office,
entered it, and slammed the door behind him. Doyle followed him as
far as the threshold. There he stopped and looked round. He saw Father
McCormack go into the hotel. A minute later Mrs. Gregg hurried down
the street and went into the hotel. Doyle sighed heavily and entered
Gallagher's office. Difficult and unpleasant as his task was likely to
be, he felt that he must propitiate Thady Gallagher.

"Thady," he said, "is there a drop of anything to drink in the place?"

"There is not," said Gallagher, "nor I wouldn't drink it if there was."

This confirmed Doyle's view of the extreme seriousness of the situation.
That Gallagher should be prepared to defy the clergy was bad enough.
That he should adopt an ascetic's attitude towards drink was worse. But
Doyle did not quite believe that Gallagher meant what he said. He opened
a door at the far end of the office and whistled loudly. A small boy who
had been cleaning type in the printing-room, appeared, rubbing his inky
hands on his trousers.

"Michael Antony," said Doyle, "will you step across to the hotel and
tell Mary Ellen to give you the bottle of whisky that she'll find in the
cupboard in my own room? If you can't find Mary Ellen--and it's hardly
ever she is to be found when she's wanted--you can fetch the bottle
yourself. If you don't know the way to my room you ought to."

Michael Antony, who was very well accustomed to errands of this kind,
went off at once. Doyle glanced at Gallagher, who appeared to be
absorbed in completing the transcription of his shorthand notes, the
task at which he had been interrupted in the morning by young Kerrigan's
cornet playing. He seemed to be very busy. Doyle got up and left the
room, went into the kitchen which lay beyond the printing-room, and
returned with two tumblers and a jug of water. Gallagher looked up from
his writing for an instant. Doyle noticed with pleasure the expression
of violent anger was fading from his eyes. Michael Antony, who was a
brisk and willing boy, returned with a bottle rather more than half full
of whisky.

"Mary Ellen was upstairs along with a lady," h