Spanish Gold. George A. Birmingham
I don't say it will be easy to get him to swallow a second story immediately on top of the first, but for your sake, Major, I'm willing to try."
The spirit of Higginbotham's hospitality was all that could be desired. His means of making his guests comfortable were limited. He had only two plates in his establishment. They were given to Meldon and Major Kent. Higginbotham himself ate off a saucer. The tongue was placed on the table in its tin, and morsels were dug out of it with a knife. There was no dish for the corned beef, so Meldon laid it on a drawing board with a newspaper underneath it. There was one tumbler, a cup, and a sugar-basin to drink out of. Higginbotham turned out not to be a teetotaller. He provided bottled stout for his guests. The lobster, when it came to the time for eating it, was torn in pieces by Meldon and then taken outside to have its shell broken with stones. Major Kent was accommodated with a hammock chair, from which he reached his food with great difficulty. Meldon had a wooden stool. Higginbotham sat on a corner of his bed, which he dragged into the middle of the room.
When the meal was over the three men went out of doors and smoked. The evening was beautifully fine. The breeze which blew earlier in the day had died away. The water of the bay was motionless. The Spindrift lay at her anchor, a double boat, every spar and rope, every detail of her hull, reflected beneath her. On the beach near the pier lay two canvas curraghs, turned upside down, their gunwales resting on little piles of stones. Some children played round them. On the pier stood a group of five or six men, who smoked, gazed at the Spindrift, and occasionally made a remark to each other. The hammock chair was brought out for Major Kent, and he lay back in it luxuriously. Meldon and Higginbotham sprawled on the grass. When the dew made it uncomfortably wet, Meldon fetched a blanket off Higginbotham's bed and spread it for himself. Higginbotham perched, stiffly, on a stone.
For a long time the conversation kept on perfectly safe topics. Higginbotham described the operations of the Congested Districts Board on Inishgowlan and elsewhere. He waxed enthusiastic over the social and material regeneration of the islanders; he spoke with pitying contempt of their original way of living. They grew, it appeared, wretched potato crops in fields so badly fenced that stray cattle wandered in and trampled the young plants at critical stages of their growth. The people lived in ill-lighted, ill-ventilated, and, according to modern ideas, wholly insanitary cabins. Their system of land tenure was extraordinarily complicated and inconvenient. The holdings were inextricably mixed up, so that hardly any one could walk through his own fields without trespassing on his neighbour's.
"You'll hardly believe me," said Higginbotham, "but sometimes a man holds a bit of land not much larger than a decent table-cloth, entirely surrounded by a field belonging to some one else."
This evil condition of things Higginbotham, at the bidding of his Board, had undertaken to remedy. He brought out from his hut a map of the island, and showed how he proposed to divide it into parallel strips. He explained that each strip was to be bounded by a fence six feet high; that good wooden gates were to be erected; that a house was to be built at the top of each strip—a house with a slated roof, three rooms, and a concrete floor in the kitchen. He displayed with great pride a picture, curiously wanting in perspective, of a whole row of singularly ugly houses perched along the western ridge of the island.
The Major yawned without an attempt to hide the fact that he was bored. He had no taste whatever for philanthropy, and hated what he called Government meddling. Higginbotham continued to display plans and elevations with unabated enthusiasm. He was, as Meldon had said, a young man who took a real interest in his work. His eyes, behind his spectacles, beamed with benignant satisfaction while he described the earthly paradise he meant to create. Suddenly his face clouded and the joy died out of it.
"But the whole thing is blocked," he said, "by the pig-headed stupidity of one old man."
"Tell the Major about him," said Meldon.
"They call him the king of the island," said Higginbotham, "but of course he's not really a king any more than I am myself."
"Not nearly so much," said Meldon. "From all you've told us I should say you are what's called a benevolent despot."
"He's simply a sort of head of the family," said Higginbotham. "They are all brothers and sisters and cousins on the island. His name is Thomas O'Flaherty Pat. At least, that's what the people call him. I don't see much sense myself in sticking in the Pat at the end."
"No more do I," said Meldon. "Thomas O'Flaherty ought to be name enough for any king."
"Of course, there are three other Thomas O'Flahertys on the island, and it might be difficult to distinguish them. There's Thomas O'Flaherty Tom, and Thomas——"
The Major yawned more obviously than ever. He had spent a long day on the sea; he had eaten with a good appetite; he 'had smoked a satisfying quantity of tobacco. He was totally uninterested in the family of the O'Flahertys. Higginbotham became aware that he was boring his principal guest. Inspired, perhaps, by some malignant spirit, he changed the subject of the conversation to one more likely to hold the attention of Major Kent.
"I'm afraid you won't find Inishgowlan very interesting, Major, from your point of view."
"My point of view?"
"I mean as a scientific man."
The Major woke up and scowled at Meldon.
"The geological formation——" said Higginbotham.
"Oh, that's all right," said Meldon, cheerfully. "As a matter of fact the Major's tremendously interested in pliocene clay. It has been a hobby of his from his childhood. You'd be surprised all there is to know about pliocene clay. The Major has quite a library of books on the subject, and he tells me that it isn't by any means fully investigated yet."
As he spoke he leaned forward from his blanket and pinched the calf of Higginbotham's leg severely.
"All right," said his victim, "I'll drop the subject if you like; but I was going to say——"
"I took a walk before dinner," said Meldon, "and had a look at the island. I came to the conclusion that we couldn't find a better place for the school——"
"What school?" said Higginbotham.
"The school I was telling you about this afternoon. But perhaps I forgot to mention it."
The scowl on the Major's face deepened. He realised that Meldon, in fulfilment of his promise, was going to shift the burden of the disguise to his own shoulders.
"I never heard anything about a school," said Higginbotham.
"I wonder you didn't. But I dare say the post is rather irregular here. The fact is that the Board—not your Board, you know, but the Board of National Education—has determined to build a school on the island and asked me to run across and look out for a site."
The Major with a struggle sat upright in his hammock chair. His mouth opened. He made an effort to speak.
"It's all right," said Meldon soothingly. "I know what you are going to say—official reticence, and that sort of thing. But it doesn't matter mentioning these things to Higginbotham. He's in the Government Service himself."
The Major opened his mouth again, but his thoughts failed to express themselves. Meldon felt the necessity of modifying his statement.
"Of course the Board didn't actually send me here specially for the purpose. They heard I was coming here with the Major, and just dropped me a line to say that I may keep my eyes open and let them know if there was a suitable site for a school."
Higginbotham stared in blank amazement. As an official he knew something of the ways of Irish Governments and was seldom astonished at their doings. He had swallowed, with some little misgiving, the story of Major Kent's mission. It was just possible that a Lord-Lieutenant and a Chief Secretary, in a moment of temporary insanity brought on by overwork and much anxiety, might have sent an expert to make a geological survey of Inishgowlan. It was quite incredible that the National Board of Education could, of its own free will, intend to build a school. Meldon was unpleasantly conscious of having aroused scepticism. He nerved