Free The Collar by Frank O'Connor Page A

thought,’ said the Bishop grimly.
    â€˜More fool he,’ the Canon said hotly.
    â€˜That’s as may be, Canon,’ the Bishop went on sternly. ‘He went to the doctor, but treatment did him no good, so he went back up the valley to ask Johnnie what he ought to do. “I had nothing to do with that, father,” said Johnnie, “and the curing of it isn’t in my hands.” “Then who was it?” asks Muldoon. “The Queen of the Fairies,” said Johnnie, “and you might as well tell the doctor to take that leg off you while he’s at it, for the Queen’s wound is the wound that never heals.” No more it did,’ added the Bishop. ‘The poor man ended his days on a peg leg.’
    â€˜He did, he did,’ muttered Father Whelan mournfully, and there was a long pause. It was clear that the Canon was routed, and soon afterwards they all got up to go. It seemed that Father Fogarty had left his car outside the seminary, and the Bishop, in a benevolent mood, offered to take them across the field by the footpath.
    â€˜I’ll take them,’ said Father Devine.
    â€˜The little walk will do me good,’ said the Bishop.
    He, the Canon and Father Fogarty went first. Father Devine followed with Father Whelan, who went sideways down the steps with the skirts of his coat held up.
    â€˜As a matter of fact,’ the Bishop was saying ahead of them, ‘we’re lucky to be able to walk so well. Bad poteen would deprive you of the use of your legs. I used to see them at home, talking quite nicely one minute and dropping off the chairs like bags of meal the next. You’d have to take them home on a door. The head might be quite clear, but the legs would be like gateposts.’
    â€˜Father Devine,’ whispered Father Whelan girlishly, stopping in his tracks.
    â€˜Yes, what is it?’ asked Father Devine gently.
    â€˜What His Lordship said,’ whispered Father Whelan guiltily. ‘That’s the way I feel. Like gateposts.’
    And before the young priest could do anything, he put out one of the gateposts, which didn’t seem to alight properly on its base, the other leaned slowly towards it, and he fell in an ungraceful parody of a ballet dancer’s final curtsy.
    â€˜Oh, my! My! My!’ he exclaimed. Even in his liquor he was melancholy and gentle.
    The other three turned slowly round. To Father Devine they looked like sleepwalkers.
    â€˜Hah!’ said the Bishop with quiet satisfaction. ‘That’s the very thing I mean. We’ll have to mind ourselves.’
    And away the three of them went, very slowly, as though they owed no responsibility whatever towards the fallen guest. Paddy, the Bishop’s ‘boy’, who was obviously expecting something of the sort, immediately appeared and, with the aid of Father Devine, put the old man on a bench and carried him back to the palace. Then, still carrying the bench between them, they set out after the others. They were just in time to see the collapse of the Canon, but in spite of it the other two went on. Father Fogarty had begun to chuckle hysterically. They could hear him across the field, and it seemed to Father Devine that he was already rehearsing the lovely story he would tell about ‘the night I got drunk with the Bishop’.
    Devine and Paddy left the Canon where he had fallen, and where he looked like being safe for a long time to come, and followed the other two. They had gone wildly astray, turning in a semicircle round the field till they were at the foot of the hill before a high fence round the plantation. The Bishop never hesitated, but immediately began to climb the wall.
    â€˜I must be gone wrong, father,’ he said anxiously. ‘I don’t know what happened me tonight. I can usually do this easy enough. We’ll go over the wall and up the wood.’
    â€˜I can’t,’ shouted Father Fogarty in a paroxysm of