a clergyman's collar or
a layman's, because the collar of his shabby frock-coat, the uncovered
buttons of which reflected the candlelight, was turned up about his
neck. He wore a round hat of hard black felt. His face, shining with
raindrops, had the appearance of damp yellow cheese save where two rosy
spots indicated the cheekbones. He opened his very long mouth suddenly
to express disappointment and at the same time opened wide his very
bright blue eyes to express pleasure and surprise.

"O Father Keon!" said Mr. Henchy, jumping up from his chair. "Is that
you? Come in!"

"O, no, no, no!" said Father Keon quickly, pursing his lips as if he
were addressing a child.

"Won't you come in and sit down?"

"No, no, no!" said Father Keon, speaking in a discreet, indulgent,
velvety voice. "Don't let me disturb you now! I'm just looking for Mr.
Fanning...."

"He's round at the Black Eagle," said Mr. 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
Keon. "Thank you, indeed."

He retreated from the doorway and Mr. Henchy, seizing one of the
candlesticks, went to the door to light him downstairs.

"O, don't trouble, I beg!"

"No, but the stairs is so dark."

"No, no, I can see.... Thank you, indeed."

"Are you right now?"

"All right, thanks.... Thanks."

Mr. Henchy returned with the candlestick and put it on the table. He sat
down again at the fire. There was silence for a few moments.

"Tell me, John," said Mr. O'Connor, lighting his cigarette with another
pasteboard card.

"Hm?"

"What he is exactly?"

"Ask me an easier one," said Mr. Henchy.

"Fanning and himself seem to me very thick. They're often in Kavanagh's
together. Is he a priest at all?"

"Mmmyes, I believe so.... I think he's what you call 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 Mr. O'Connor.

"That's another mystery."

"Is he attached to any chapel or church or institution or---"

"No," said Mr. Henchy, "I think he's travelling 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 Mr. O'Connor.

"I'm dry too," said the old man.

"I asked that little shoeboy three times," said Mr. Henchy, "would he
send up a dozen of stout. I asked him again now, but he was leanin