Matthew Haffigan, ill at ease, coasts the garden shyly on the shrubbery side until he anchors near the basket, where he feels least in the way.  The priest comes to the table and slaps Larry on the shoulder.  Larry, turning quickly, and recognizing Father Dempsey, alights from the table and shakes the priest’s hand warmly.  Doran comes down the garden between Father Dempsey and Matt; and Cornelius, on the other side of the table, turns to Broadbent, who rises genially.

Cornelius.  I think we all met las night.

Doran.  I hadn’t that pleasure.

Cornelius.  To be sure, Barney:  I forgot. [To Broadbent, introducing Barney] Mr Doran.  He owns that fine mill you noticed from the car.

Broadbent [delighted with them all].  Most happy, Mr Doran.  Very pleased indeed.

Doran, not quite sure whether he is being courted or patronized, nods independently.

Doran.  How’s yourself, Larry?

Larry.  Finely, thank you.  No need to ask you. [Doran grins; and they shake hands].

Cornelius.  Give Father Dempsey a chair, Larry.

Matthew Haffigan runs to the nearest end of the table and takes the chair from it, placing it near the basket; but Larry has already taken the chair from the other end and placed it in front of the table.  Father Dempsey accepts that more central position.

Cornelius.  Sit down, Barney, will you; and you, Mat.

Doran takes the chair Mat is still offering to the priest; and poor Matthew, outfaced by the miller, humbly turns the basket upside down and sits on it.  Cornelius brings his own breakfast chair from the table and sits down on Father Dempsey’s right.  Broadbent resumes his seat on the rustic bench.  Larry crosses to the bench and is about to sit down beside him when Broadbent holds him off nervously.

Broadbent.  Do you think it will bear two, Larry?

Larry.  Perhaps not.  Don’t move.  I’ll stand. [He posts himself behind the bench].

They are all now seated, except Larry; and the session assumes a portentous air, as if something important were coming.

Cornelius.  Props you’ll explain, Father Dempsey.

Father Dempsey.  No, no:  go on, you:  the Church has no politics.

Cornelius.  Were yever thinkin o goin into parliament at all,
Larry?

Larry.  Me!

Father Dempsey [encouragingly] Yes, you.  Hwy not?

Larry.  I’m afraid my ideas would not be popular enough.

Cornelius.  I don’t know that.  Do you, Barney?

Doran.  There’s too much blatherumskite in Irish politics a dale too much.

Larry.  But what about your present member?  Is he going to retire?

Cornelius.  No:  I don’t know that he is.

Larry [interrogatively].  Well? then?