“They’re the grandest order in the Church, Tom,” said Mr. Cunningham, with enthusiasm.  “The General of the Jesuits stands next to the Pope.”

“There’s no mistake about it,” said Mr. M’Coy, “if you want a thing well done and no flies about, you go to a Jesuit.  They’re the boyos have influence.  I’ll tell you a case in point....”

“The Jesuits are a fine body of men,” said Mr. Power.

“It’s a curious thing,” said Mr. Cunningham, “about the Jesuit Order.  Every other order of the Church had to be reformed at some time or other but the Jesuit Order was never once reformed.  It never fell away.”

“Is that so?” asked Mr. M’Coy.

“That’s a fact,” said Mr. Cunningham.  “That’s history.”

“Look at their church, too,” said Mr. Power.  “Look at the congregation they have.”

“The Jesuits cater for the upper classes,” said Mr. M’Coy.

“Of course,” said Mr. Power.

“Yes,” said Mr. Kernan.  “That’s why I have a feeling for them.  It’s some of those secular priests, ignorant, bumptious——­”

“They’re all good men,” said Mr. Cunningham, “each in his own way.  The Irish priesthood is honoured all the world over.”

“O yes,” said Mr. Power.

“Not like some of the other priesthoods on the continent,” said Mr. M’Coy, “unworthy of the name.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Mr. Kernan, relenting.

“Of course I’m right,” said Mr. Cunningham.  “I haven’t been in the world all this time and seen most sides of it without being a judge of character.”

The gentlemen drank again, one following another’s example.  Mr. Kernan seemed to be weighing something in his mind.  He was impressed.  He had a high opinion of Mr. Cunningham as a judge of character and as a reader of faces.  He asked for particulars.

“O, it’s just a retreat, you know,” said Mr. Cunningham.  “Father Purdon is giving it.  It’s for business men, you know.”

“He won’t be too hard on us, Tom,” said Mr. Power persuasively.

“Father Purdon?  Father Purdon?” said the invalid.

“O, you must know him, Tom,” said Mr. Cunningham stoutly.  “Fine, jolly fellow!  He’s a man of the world like ourselves.”

“Ah,... yes.  I think I know him.  Rather red face; tall.”

“That’s the man.”

“And tell me, Martin....  Is he a good preacher?”

“Munno....  It’s not exactly a sermon, you know.  It’s just kind of a friendly talk, you know, in a common-sense way.”

Mr. Kernan deliberated.  Mr. M’Coy said: 

“Father Tom Burke, that was the boy!”

“O, Father Tom Burke,” said Mr. Cunningham, “that was a born orator.  Did you ever hear him, Tom?”

“Did I ever hear him!” said the invalid, nettled.  “Rather!  I heard him....”

“And yet they say he wasn’t much of a theologian,” said Mr Cunningham.

“Is that so?” said Mr. M’Coy.