HE Chief Secretary lay back in Higginbotham's hammock-chair. There was a frown on his face. His sense of personal dignity was outraged by the story he had just heard. He had not been very long Chief Secretary of Ireland and, though not without a sense of humour, he took himself and his office very seriously. He came to Ireland intending to do justice and show mercy. He looked forward to a career of real usefulness. He was prepared to be opposed, maligned, misunderstood, declared capable of every kind of iniquity. He did not expect to be treated as a fool. He did not expect that an official in the pay of one of the Government Boards would assume as a matter of course that he was a fool and believe any story about him, however intrinsically absurd. He failed to imagine any motive for the telling of such a story. There must, he assumed, have been a motive, but what it was he could not even guess.
Meldon entered the hut without knocking at the door.
"Mr. Willoughby, I believe," he said cheerily. "You must allow me to introduce myself since Higginbotham isn't here to do it for me. My name is Meldon the Rev. J. J. Meldon, B.A., of T.C.D."
The Chief Secretary intended to rise with dignity and walk out of the hut. He failed because no one can rise otherwise than awkwardly out of the depths of a hammock-chair.
"Don't stir," said Meldon, watching his struggles. "Please don't stir. I shouldn't dream of taking your chair. I'll sit on a corner of the table. I'll be quite comfortable, I assure you. How do you like Inishgowlan, now you are here? It's a nice little island, isn't it?"
Mr. Willoughby succeeded in getting out of the chair. He walked across the hut, turned his back on Meldon, and stared out of the window.
"I came up here to have a chat with you," said Meldon. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind turning round. I always find it more convenient to talk to a man who isn't looking the other way. I don't make a point of it, of course. If you've got into the habit of keeping your back turned to people, I don't want you to alter it on my account."
Mr. Willoughby turned round. He seemed to be on the point of making an angry remark. Meldon faced him with a bland smile. The look of irritation faded in Mr. Willoughby's face. He appeared puzzled.
"It's about Higginbotham's bed," said Meldon, "that I want to speak. It's an excellent bed, I believe, though I never slept in it myself. But"
"If there's anything the matter with the bed," said Mr. Willoughby severely, "Mr. Higginbotham should himself represent the facts to the proper authorities."
"You quite misunderstand me. And in any case Higginbotham can't move in the matter because he doesn't, at present, know that there's anything wrong about the bed. By the time he finds it out it will be too late to do anything. I simply want to give you a word of advice. Don't sleep in Higginbotham's bed to-night."
"I haven't the slightest intention of sleeping in it."
"That's all right. I'm glad you haven't. The fact is"—Meldon's voice sank almost to a whisper—"there happens to be a quantity of broken glass in that bed. I need scarcely tell a man with your experience of life that broken glass in a bed isn't a thing which suits everybody. It's all right, of course, if you're used to it, but I don't suppose you are."
Mr. Willoughby turned, this time towards the door. There was something in the ingenuous friendliness of Meldon's face which tempted him to smile. He caught sight of Higginbotham standing white and miserable on the threshold. He made a snatch at the dignity which had nearly escaped him and frowned severely.
"I think, Mr. Higginbotham," he said, "that I should like to take a stroll round the island."
"Come along," said Meldon. "I'll show you the sights. You don't mind climbing walls, I hope. You'll find the place most interesting. Do you care about babies? There's a nice little beggar called Michael Pat. Any one with a taste for babies would take to him at once. And there's a little girl called Mary Kate, a great friend of Higginbotham's. She's the granddaughter of old Thomas O'Flaherty Pat. By the way, how are you going to manage about Thomas O'Flaherty's bit of land? There's been a lot of trouble over that?"
Mr. Willoughby sat down again in the hammock-chair and stared at Meldon.
"Of course it's your affair, not mine," said Meldon. "Still, if I can be of any help to you, you've only got to say so. I know old O'Flaherty pretty well, and I may say without boasting that I have as much influence with him as any man on the island."
"If I want your assistance I shall ask for it," said Mr. Willoughby coldly.