damn, doctor, but you're great, and I'd say that if it was the last
word ever I spoke. Ask him for the price of the new pier now and he'll
give it to you."

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Billing, "if 2,000 dollars will build the pier
Mr. Doyle wants, I'll give it with pleasure, and I reckon that the show
which Dr. O'Grady has run is cheap at the price."

Sergeant Colgan stepped forward with slow dignity. He beckoned to
Constable Moriarty. His face wore an expression of steady determination.

"It would be better, doctor," he said, "if you and the other gentlemen
present would move away. The demeanour of the crowd is threatening."

The demeanour of the crowd was, in fact, hilarious; but Dr. O'Grady
understood that there are limits to the patience of the official
guardians of law and order. The police--the fact is exemplified in their
occasional dealings with the students of Trinity College--appreciate
a joke as well as any men, and up to a certain point are tolerant of
merriment. But it is possible to go too far, and there is a point at
which fooling becomes objectionable. Dr. O'Grady took Mr. Billing by the
arm.

"Come along," he said, "and let us have a drink of some sort, and
something to eat. There's no reason why we shouldn't have something to
eat. Doyle has a magnificent luncheon spread out in his hotel. Run in
Doyle, and tell the cook to dish up the potatoes. Major, you bring Mrs.
Gregg along with you. I'm sure Mrs. Gregg wants something to eat. Lord
Alfred, I'm sorry we haven't a lady for you to take in, but Father
McCormack will show you the way."

"If this business gets into the papers," said Lord Alfred, "the
Freeman's Journal will make capital of it, and the Irish Times will say
the Government must resign at once. Can't we square the reporters?"

"There aren't any," said Dr. O'Grady, "unless Gallagher's been taking
notes. Come along."

The party, Doyle at the head of it, passed into the hotel. Sergeant
Colgan turned and faced the crowd. His hand was on the baton at his
side. His face and attitude were majestic.

"Get along home now, every one of yous," he said.

"Get along out of that!" said Constable Moriarty.

In twos and threes, in little groups of ten and twelve, silently
obedient, the crowd slunk away. The statue of General John Regan was
left looking down upon an empty market place. So the last word is spoken
in the pleasant drama of Irish life. The policeman speaks it. "Get
along home out of that,