Free Collected Stories by Frank O'Connor Page B

father?” Sheridan asked, scowling. “I mean, have we any sort of locus standi ?”
    â€œOh, in the event of your being stabbed, I think they could be tried,” Devine replied with bland malice. “Of course, I don’t know if your wife and children could claim compensation.”
    The malice was lost on Whelan, who laid one hairy paw on Devine’s shoulder and the other on Sheridan’s to calm the fears of both. He exuded a feeling of pious confidence. It was the eggs all over again. God would look after His hens.
    â€œNever mind about the legal position,” he said paternally. “I’ll be answerable for that.”
    â€œThat’s good enough for me, father,” Sheridan said, and, pulling his hat down over his eyes and joining his hands behind his back, he strode up the gangway, with the air of a detective in a bad American film, while Sullivan, clutching his umbrella against the small of his back, followed him, head in air. A lovely pair, Devine thought. They went up to the two sailors.
    â€œTwo girls,” Sullivan said in his shrill, scolding voice. “We’re looking for the two girls that came aboard a half an hour ago.”
    Neither of the sailors stirred. One of them turned his eyes lazily and looked Sullivan up and down.
    â€œNot this boat,” he said impudently. “The other one. There’s always girls on that.”
    Then Sheridan, who had glanced downstairs through an open doorway, began to beckon.
    â€œPhillie O’Malley!” he shouted in a raucous voice. “Father Whelan and Father Devine are out here. Come on! They want to talk to you.”
    â€œTell her if she doesn’t come I’ll go and bring her,” the parish priest called anxiously.
    â€œHe says if you don’t he’ll come and bring you,” repeated Sheridan.
    Nothing happened for a moment or two. Then a tall girl with a consumptive face emerged on deck with a handkerchief pressed to her eyes. Devine couldn’t help feeling sick at the sight of her wretched finery, her cheap hat and bead necklace. He was angry and ashamed and a cold fury of sarcasm rose in him. The Good Shepherd indeed!
    â€œCome on, lads,” the parish priest said encouragingly. “What about the second one?”
    Sheridan, flushed with triumph, was about to disappear down the companionway when one of the sailors gave him a heave which threw him to the edge of the ship. Then the sailor stood nonchalantly in the doorway, blocking the way. Whelan’s face grew red with anger and he only waited for the girl to leave the gangway before going up himself. Devine paused to whisper a word to her.
    â€œGet off home as quick as you can, Phillie,” he said, “and don’t upset yourself.”
    At the tenderness in his voice she took the handkerchief from her face and began to weep in earnest. Then Devine went up after the others. It was a ridiculous scene with the fat old priest, his head in the air, trembling with senile anger and astonishment.
    â€œGet out of the way at once!” he said.
    â€œDon’t be a fool, man!” Devine said with quiet ferocity. “They’re not accustomed to being spoken to like that. If you got a knife in your ribs, it would be your own fault. We want to talk to the captain.” And then, bending forward with his eyebrows raised in a humble, deprecating manner, he asked: “I wonder if you’d be good enough to tell the captain we’d like to see him.”
    The sailor who was blocking their way looked at him for a moment and then nodded in the direction of the upper deck. Taking his parish priest’s arm and telling Sullivan and Sheridan to stay behind, Devine went up the ship. When they had gone a little way the second sailor passed them out, knocked at a door, and said something Devine did not catch. Then, with a scowl, he held open the door for them. The captain was a middle-aged man with a heavily lined,