―Is it Paddy? says Joe.
―Yes, says Alf. Why?
―Don’t you know he’s dead? says Joe.
―Paddy Dignam dead? says Alf.
―Ay, says Joe.
―Sure I’m after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.
―Who’s dead? says Bob Doran.
―You saw his ghost then, says Joe, God between us and harm.
―What? says Alf. Good Christ, only five … What? … and Willie Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim’s … What? Dignam dead?
―What about Dignam? says Bob Doran. Who’s talking about … ?
―Dead! says Alf. He is no more dead than you are.
―Maybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow.
―Paddy? says Alf.
―Ay, says Joe. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.
―Good Christ! says Alf.
Begob he was what you might call flabbergasted.
In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing