“But, of course, that doesn’t alter the contract,” she said.  “The contract was for four concerts.”

Mr. Holohan seemed to be in a hurry; he advised her to speak to Mr. Fitzpatrick.  Mrs. Kearney was now beginning to be alarmed.  She called Mr. Fitzpatrick away from his screen and told him that her daughter had signed for four concerts and that, of course, according to the terms of the contract, she should receive the sum originally stipulated for, whether the society gave the four concerts or not.  Mr. Fitzpatrick, who did not catch the point at issue very quickly, seemed unable to resolve the difficulty and said that he would bring the matter before the committee.  Mrs. Kearney’s anger began to flutter in her cheek and she had all she could do to keep from asking: 

“And who is the Cometty pray?”

But she knew that it would not be ladylike to do that:  so she was silent.

Little boys were sent out into the principal streets of Dublin early on Friday morning with bundles of handbills.  Special puffs appeared in all the evening papers, reminding the music loving public of the treat which was in store for it on the following evening.  Mrs. Kearney was somewhat reassured, but be thought well to tell her husband part of her suspicions.  He listened carefully and said that perhaps it would be better if he went with her on Saturday night.  She agreed.  She respected her husband in the same way as she respected the General Post Office, as something large, secure and fixed; and though she knew the small number of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male.  She was glad that he had suggested coming with her.  She thought her plans over.

The night of the grand concert came.  Mrs. Kearney, with her husband and daughter, arrived at the Antient Concert Rooms three-quarters of an hour before the time at which the concert was to begin.  By ill luck it was a rainy evening.  Mrs. Kearney placed her daughter’s clothes and music in charge of her husband and went all over the building looking for Mr. Holohan or Mr. Fitzpatrick.  She could find neither.  She asked the stewards was any member of the committee in the hall and, after a great deal of trouble, a steward brought out a little woman named Miss Beirne to whom Mrs. Kearney explained that she wanted to see one of the secretaries.  Miss Beirne expected them any minute and asked could she do anything.  Mrs. Kearney looked searchingly at the oldish face which was screwed into an expression of trustfulness and enthusiasm and answered: 

“No, thank you!”

The little woman hoped they would have a good house.  She looked out at the rain until the melancholy of the wet street effaced all the trustfulness and enthusiasm from her twisted features.  Then she gave a little sigh and said: 

“Ah, well!  We did our best, the dear knows.”

Mrs. Kearney had to go back to the dressing-room.