“And have you nothing for me, duckie?”

“O, you!  The back of my hand to you!” said Mrs. Kernan tartly.

Her husband called after her: 

“Nothing for poor little hubby!”

He assumed such a comical face and voice that the distribution of the bottles of stout took place amid general merriment.

The gentlemen drank from their glasses, set the glasses again on the table and paused.  Then Mr. Cunningham turned towards Mr. Power and said casually: 

“On Thursday night, you said, Jack "

“Thursday, yes,” said Mr. Power.

“Righto!” said Mr. Cunningham promptly.

“We can meet in M’Auley’s,” said Mr. M’Coy.  “That’ll be the most convenient place.”

“But we mustn’t be late,” said Mr. Power earnestly, “because it is sure to be crammed to the doors.”

“We can meet at half-seven,” said Mr. M’Coy.

“Righto!” said Mr. Cunningham.

“Half-seven at M’Auley’s be it!”

There was a short silence.  Mr. Kernan waited to see whether he would be taken into his friends’ confidence.  Then he asked: 

“What’s in the wind?”

“O, it’s nothing,” said Mr. Cunningham.  “It’s only a little matter that we’re arranging about for Thursday.”

“The opera, is it?” said Mr. Kernan.

“No, no,” said Mr. Cunningham in an evasive tone, “it’s just a little... spiritual matter.”

“0,” said Mr. Kernan.

There was silence again.  Then Mr. Power said, point blank: 

“To tell you the truth, Tom, we’re going to make a retreat.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Mr. Cunningham, “Jack and I and M’Coy here —­we’re all going to wash the pot.”

He uttered the metaphor with a certain homely energy and, encouraged by his own voice, proceeded: 

“You see, we may as well all admit we’re a nice collection of scoundrels, one and all.  I say, one and all,” he added with gruff charity and turning to Mr. Power.  “Own up now!”

“I own up,” said Mr. Power.

“And I own up,” said Mr. M’Coy.

“So we’re going to wash the pot together,” said Mr. Cunningham.

A thought seemed to strike him.  He turned suddenly to the invalid and said: 

“D’ye know what, Tom, has just occurred to me?  You night join in and we’d have a four-handed reel.”

“Good idea,” said Mr. Power.  “The four of us together.”

Mr. Kernan was silent.  The proposal conveyed very little meaning to his mind, but, understanding that some spiritual agencies were about to concern themselves on his behalf, he thought he owed it to his dignity to show a stiff neck.  He took no part in the conversation for a long while, but listened, with an air of calm enmity, while his friends discussed the Jesuits.

“I haven’t such a bad opinion of the Jesuits,” he said, intervening at length.  “They’re an educated order.  I believe they mean well, too.”