—­The assistant town clerk’s corns are giving him some trouble, John Wyse
Nolan told Mr Power.

They followed round the corner towards James Kavanagh’s winerooms.  The empty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate.  Martin Cunningham, speaking always, showed often the list at which Jimmy Henry did not glance.

—­And long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse Nolan said, as large as life.

The tall form of long John Fanning filled the doorway where he stood.

—­Good day, Mr Subsheriff, Martin Cunningham said, as all halted and greeted.

Long John Fanning made no way for them.  He removed his large Henry Clay decisively and his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over all their faces.

—­Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful deliberations? he said with rich acrid utterance to the assistant town clerk.

Hell open to christians they were having, Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about their damned Irish language.  Where was the marshal, he wanted to know, to keep order in the council chamber.  And old Barlow the macebearer laid up with asthma, no mace on the table, nothing in order, no quorum even, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing Locum TENENS for him.  Damned Irish language, language of our forefathers.

Long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his lips.

Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his beard, to the assistant town clerk and the subsheriff, while John Wyse Nolan held his peace.

—­What Dignam was that? long John Fanning asked.

Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot.

—­O, my corns! he said plaintively.  Come upstairs for goodness’ sake till
I sit down somewhere.  Uff!  Ooo!  Mind!

Testily he made room for himself beside long John Fanning’s flank and passed in and up the stairs.

—­Come on up, Martin Cunningham said to the subsheriff.  I don’t think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.

With John Wyse Nolan Mr Power followed them in.

—­Decent little soul he was, Mr Power said to the stalwart back of long
John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning in the mirror.

—­Rather lowsized.  Dignam of Menton’s office that was, Martin Cunningham said.

 Long John Fanning could not remember him.

 Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air.

—­What’s that?  Martin Cunningham said.

All turned where they stood.  John Wyse Nolan came down again.  From the cool shadow of the doorway he saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering.  Gaily they went past before his cool unfriendly eyes, not quickly.  In saddles of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.

—­What was it?  Martin Cunningham asked, as they went on up the staircase.

—­The lord lieutenantgeneral and general governor of Ireland, John Wyse Nolan answered from the stairfoot.