"I hate England, of course," continued the student of The Spirit of
the Nation, hurriedly, "but I must say I get sick of this eternal
blackguarding of Catholics by Protestants, and Protestants by
Catholics--"
"Ah, they don't mean it half the time!" put in Barty, pacifically;
"it's just a trick they have!"
"Well, I don't care," said Larry, who didn't like being interrupted,
with a fling of his head; "they shouldn't do it! I hear people
shutting up when I come into the room--just as if I didn't jolly well
know they were abusing the priests or something like that. And if they
only knew it, _I_ don't care a curse how much they abuse them!"
He took an angry pull at his cigarette, glaring at the unoffending
Barty. "''Tisn't the man I respects, 'tis the office!' That's what
Mrs. Twomey said, when I was chaffing her for dragging gravel up from
the river to put in front of her house, because the priest, whom she
loathes, was going to have a 'station' there!"
The orator paused for breath, as well as for the duty of keeping his
cigarette alight.
"Well, and isn't she quite right, too?" said Barty. "I've no great
fancy for Father Greer, but that doesn't affect my feeling for the
Church."
He rose, and resting his elbows on the window-sill, leaned out into
the still air.
"By Jingo! You don't often see the beat o' that for a sky! Look at it,
Larry.
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