‘It’s more impressive than the tin whistle,’ Hennessy remarked.
‘More orchestral,’ Rashers agreed.
By evening they had arrived at their last stand, a vantage point at the corner of Bachelor’s Walk and Sackville Street. It was here that Pat and Lily, on their way to one of their rare walks in Phoenix Park, saw them.
‘There’s some friends of mine,’ Pat said. She looked around her. People were passing continuously. She searched.
‘Where?’
‘Over there.’
‘The barrel-organ?’
‘The thin fella is Hennessy. The one with the beard is Rashers.’
‘And the monkey . . . ?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t yet had the pleasure,’ Pat said.
He took her over to introduce her. Hennessy was polite and raised his hat. Rashers stared for some moments until he recognised Pat as the friend of Fitz and Mulhall.
‘Have you gone into partnership?’ Pat asked him.
Hennessy explained about the Italian who had collapsed. Then, because he was by nature gallant, he insisted that the monkey should draw Lily’s fortune. He refused to hear of any payment. The monkey selected a card from the fortune box. Lily took it.
‘Let’s see,’ Pat asked her.
‘Fortunes are private,’ she said, keeping it out of his reach. He shrugged. They walked all the way to the Park, following the river to Kingsbridge and entering at last by the main gate. The trees were rich with the colour of autumn, grassland and paths were strewn with fallen leaves. It was their habit to be together once a week. Lily would not agree to meet him more often and he had given up his earlier attempts to persuade her. A string of horses, returning from exercise, went by at a distance. Riders and animals made beautiful silhouettes against the autumn sky.
‘There goes the Quality,’ Pat commented.
‘Are you jealous?’ Lily asked.
‘Why should I be jealous?’
‘Because the gentry have horses.’
‘I have a horse of my own,’ Pat said, ‘the one I drive for Nolan & Keyes.’
Lily laughed and reached out her hand to him. He took it gently. She was wrong if she thought he coveted any of the things the Quality enjoyed. He would fight them only because people of his own class were hungry and in want and those who were taking too much must give something back. And because he would refuse any longer to cringe before their lackeys or fawn on them for his livelihood. When a banner swaying above a meeting said ‘Arise, Ye Slaves’ the words stirred him like the sound of a great band. He would not be a slave for the sake of livelihood, and he would not tolerate the company of slaves. Riders and animals passed by in silhouette, far away and beautiful in the autumn evening.
When he had been silent for some time Lily said to him: ‘Don’t you want to know my fortune?’
‘You said it was private.’
She took from her bag the card the monkey had given her and said: ‘There’s a Dark Man and a Fair Man in my life and I’m supposed to fall in love very soon with one or the other of them. Oh—and I’m to go on a journey by water too.’
‘If I’m the Dark Man,’ Pat said, ‘who’s this fair fella?’
‘I don’t care for fair fellas,’ Lily told him.
‘Neither do I,’ Pat decided.
The horsemen had gone and the Park all about them was empty.
From time to time the telpher circled above the works yard, a small cabin suspended from a rail, with a trolley which crackled now and then and threw out a cascade of blue sparks. It was almost level with the windows of the boardroom, which occupied the top storey. Watching it as it passed, Yearling wondered what it would be like to drive. What purpose it served he could not remember, although he had been watching it during Board meetings since his youth. Sometimes it broke down, and the driver would climb out on to the roof to adjust the trolley. Some years ago a man had been blown off the roof by a sudden squall of wind. Yearling, who had been watching him throughout a particularly boring meeting, saw him fall and rushed down to help. He found a knot of workmen gathered about a mangled and unrecognisable body. The telpher had remained driverless for most of the afternoon, tiny and inaccessible on its rail above the yard, marooned in mid journey until the riggers worked out a plan to lift another driver to it by means of a hoist chair. The wind tore at the ropes and tossed the chair about, until Yearling stopped watching because apprehension was making him sick. But the new man got there and after an hour or so the telpher was moving about its business once again. Yearling sent twenty pounds to the widow—anonymously. How long ago was that? Twenty years, perhaps.
‘You haven’t been listening,’ his brother-in-law said. Mr. Yearling shifted his gaze from the window. He had been conscious of the voice in the background.
‘You joined the Employers’ Federation several months ago,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing very new in what you’ve been saying.’
‘I feel it my duty to bring you up to date. There were several important meetings of the Board while you were away shooting.’
‘Fishing,’ Yearling corrected.
Bullman, controlling his irritation, said: ‘I beg your pardon—fishing.’
He was well named, Yearling thought. Deep voice, thick neck, heavy shoulders that were beginning to stoop. When he had married into Morgan & Co. he was already a man of influence in other fields, particularly shipping. The indiscipline of the working class of the city, after years of docility, confused and frightened him. The world of industry, so long stable, so entrenched in its authority, was sliding on its foundations.
‘We are going to make a stand against Larkinism,’ he said.
‘You said that several months ago.’
‘A determined stand,’ Bullman insisted. ‘You see, you haven’t been listening. The shipping crisis brought matters to a head.’
‘You were beaten by Larkin in the shipping business,’ Yearling said. ‘You gave everything he asked for. So much for your Federation.’
‘We weren’t ready then.’
‘And are you ready now?’
‘More than ready. We’ve been promised help from the Castle. The police will be used—the military if necessary. We’ve approached employers in England for financial assistance. They’ll help if we call on them.’
Yearling smiled.
‘I see you are learning from Larkin. Each for all and all for each. What will be the first step?’
‘To outlaw Larkinism. The members of his union will be given the option of resigning from it or being sacked. Those who are not members of the union must give an undertaking never to join it.’
Bullman paused. He was coming to the crucial part.
‘Before putting the matter to the Board I made a count of the firms involved. Almost four hundred will take concerted action. The Board was unanimous in giving a solemn pledge.’
‘Who is to be the leader of the gallant four hundred?’ Yearling asked. He was anticipating the answer and made a quick gamble with himself. A further, prolonged week-end in Connemara if he was right—a ten-pound note to Father O’Connor’s fund if he was wrong.
‘William Martin Murphy,’ Bullman answered.
The undubbed knight. His guess had been correct. He would arrange to go the week-end after next.
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because as a director you should know what went on while you were away . . . fishing. I also feel under a special obligation. After all, you are my brother-in-law.’
‘Thank you,’ Yearling said.
He smiled. As a brother-in-law he would hardly count. But as a considerable shareholder he could dissent and embarrass the Board’s determination and unanimity.