The Dead, Part one

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part one of story fifteen of Dubliner's This LibriVox recording
is in the public domain. The dead Lily, the caretaker's daughter,
was literally run off her feet. Hardly had she brought
one gentleman into the little pantry behind the office on
the ground floor and helped them off with his overcoat,

(00:21):
than the wheezy haul door bell clanged again, and she
had to scamper along the bare hallway to let in
another guest. It was well for her. She had not
to attend to the ladies also, but Miss Kate and
Miss Julia had thought of that and had converted the
bath room upstairs into a lady's dressing room. Miss Kate
and Miss Julia were there, gossiping and laughing and fussing,

(00:44):
walking after each other to the head of the stairs,
peering down over the banisters and calling down to Lily
to ask her who had come. It was always a
great affair the missus Morgan's annual dance. Everybody who knew
them came to it. Members of the family, the old
friends of the family, the members of Julia's choir anny,

(01:05):
of Kate's pupils that were grown up enough, and even
some of Mary Jane's pupils too. Never once had it
fallen flat. For years and years it had gone off
in splendid style as long as any one could remember.
Ever since Kate and Julia, laughter the death of their
brother Pat, had left the house in stoney Batter and
taken Mary Jane, their only niece, to live with them

(01:27):
in the dark gaunt house on Usher's Island, the upper
part of which they had rented from mister Fulham, the
corn factor on the ground floor. That was a good
thirty years ago, if it was a day. Mary Jane,
who was then a little girl in short clothes, was
now the main prop of the household, for she had
the organ and Haddington Road. She had been through the Academy,

(01:49):
and gave a pupils concert every year in the upper
room of the ancient concert rooms. Many of her pupils
belonged to the better class of families, and the Kingstown
and Dawkeye line, all as they were her aunts, also
did their share. Julia, though she was quite gray, was
still the leading soprano in Adam and Eve's, and Kate,

(02:10):
being too feeble to go about much, gave music lessons
to beginners on the Old Square piano in the back room. Lily,
the caretaker's daughter, did housemaid's work for them. Though their
life was modest, they believed in eating well, the best
of everything, diamond bones, surlines, three shilling tea and the

(02:30):
best bottled stout. But Lily seldom made a mistake in
the orders, so that she got on well with her
three mistresses. They were fussy, that was all. But the
only thing they would not stand was back answers. Of course,
they had good reason to be fussy on such a night,
and then it was long after ten o'clock, and yet

(02:51):
there was no sign of Gabriel and his wife. Besides,
they were dreadfully afraid that Freddie Mallins might turn up screwed.
They would not wish for worlds that any of Mary
Jane's pupils should see him under the influence, and when
he was like that, it was sometimes very hard to
manage him. Freddy Malins always came late, but they wondered

(03:12):
what could be keeping Gabriel, and that was what brought
them every two minutes to the banisters to ask Lily,
had Gabriel or Freddy come. Oh, mister Conory, said Lily
to Gabriel, when she opened the door for him, Miss
Kate and miss Julia taught you were never coming. Good night,
Missus Conroy. I'll engage, they did, said Gabriel, But they

(03:34):
forget that my wife here takes three mortal hours to
dress herself. He stood on the mat, scraping the snow
from his goloshes, while Lily led his wife to the
foot of the stairs and called out, miss Kate, here's
missus conordy. Kate and Julia came toddling down the dark stairs.
At once. Both of them kissed. Gabriel's wife said she

(03:55):
must be perished alive, and asked, was Gabriel with her here?
I am as right as the nail, aunt, Kate, go
on up, I'll follow, called out Gabriel from the dark.
He continued scraping his feet vigorously, while the three women
went upstairs, laughing to the ladies dressing room. A light
fringe of snow lay like a cape on the shoulders

(04:17):
of his overcoat, and like toe caps on the toes
of his goloshes. And as the buttons of his overcoat
slipped with the squeaking noise through the snow stiffened frieze,
a cold, fragrant air from out of doors, escaped from
crevices and folds. Is it snowing again? Mister Conroy asked Lily.

(04:37):
She had preceded him into the pantry to help them
off with his overcoat. Gabriel smiled at the three syllables
she had given his surname, and glanced at her. She
was a slim, growing girl, pale in complexion and with
hay colored hair. The gas in the pantry made her
look still paler. Gabriel had known her when she was
a child and used to sit on the lowest step

(05:00):
sing a rag doll. Yes, Lily, he answered, and I
think we're in for a night of it. He looked
up at the pantry ceiling, which was shaking with the
stamping and shuffling of feet on the floor above, listened
for a moment to the piano, and then glanced at
the girl, who was folding his overcoat carefully at the
end of a shelf. Tell me, Lily, he said, in

(05:21):
a friendly tone. Do you still go to school? Oh, no, sir,
she answered, I'm done schoolIn this year. An more, oh, then,
said Gabriel. Gaily, I suppose we'll be going to your
wedding one of these fine days with your young man. Eh.
The girl glanced back at him over her shoulder and said,
with great bitterness, the men that is now is only

(05:43):
all palaver and what they can get out yo. Gabriel
colored as if he felt he had made a mistake,
and without looking at her, kicked off his goloshes and
flicked actively with his muffler at his patent leather shoes.
He was a stout, tallish young man. The high color
of his cheeks pushed upwards even to his forehead, where

(06:04):
it scattered itself in a few formless patches of pale
red and on his hairless face. There scintillated restlessly the
polished lenses and the bright gilt rims of the glasses
which screened his delicate and restless eyes. His glossy black
hair was parted in the middle and brushed at a
long curve behind his ears, where it curled slightly beneath

(06:26):
the groove left by his hat. When he had flicked
luster into his shoes, he stood up and pulled his
waistcoat down more tightly on his plump body. Then he
took a coin rapidly from his pocket. Oh, lily, he said,
thrusting it into her hands. It's Christmas time, isn't it.
Just here's a little He walked rapidly towards the door.

(06:48):
Oh no, sir, cried the girl following him, Really, sir,
I wouldn't take it. Christmas time. Christmas time, said Gabriel,
almost trotting to the stairs and waving his hand to
in deprecation. The girl, seeing that he had gained the stairs,
called out after him, well, thank you, sir. He waited

(07:09):
outside the drawing room door until the waltz should finish,
listening to the skirts that swept against it, and to
the shuffling of feet. He was still discomposed by the
girl's bitter and sudden retort. It had cast a gloom
over him, which he tried to dispel by arranging his
cuffs and the bows of his tie. He then took
from his waistcoat pocket a little paper and glanced at

(07:31):
the headings he had made for his speech. He was
undecided about the lines from Robert Browning, for he feared
they would be above the heads of his hearers. Some
quotation that they would recognize from Shakespeare or from the
melodies would be better. The indelicate clacking of the men's
heels and the shuffling of their souls reminded him that
their grade of culture differed from his. He would only

(07:54):
make himself ridiculous by quoting poetry to them which they
could not understand. They would think that he was airing
his superior education. He would fail with them, just as
he had failed with the girl in the pantry. He
had taken up a wrong tone. His whole speech was
a mistake, from first to last, and not her failure.
Just then, his aunts and his wife came out of

(08:15):
the ladies dressing room. His aunts were two small, plainly
dressed old women. Aunt Julia was an inch or so
the taller. Her hair drawn low over the tops of
her ears, was gray and gray. Also with darker shadows
was her large, flaccid face. Though she was stout in
build and stood erect, her slow eyes and parted lips

(08:37):
gave her the appearance of a woman who did not
know where she was or where she was going. Aunt
Kate was more vivacious. Her face, healthier than her sister's,
was all puckers and creases like a shriveled red apple,
and her hair braided in the same old fashioned way
had not lost its ripe nut color. They both kissed

(08:59):
Gabriel frankly. He was their favorite nephew, the son of
their dead elder sister Ellen, who had married T. J.
Conroy of the Port and Docks. Greta tells me, you're
not going to take a cab back to Monkstown tonight, Gabriel, said,
Aunt Kate. And no, said Gabriel, turning to his wife.
We had quite enough of that last year, hadn't we.

(09:20):
Don't you remember, Aunt Kate? What a cold Gretta got
out of it, cab windows rattling all the way, and
the east wind blowing in after we passed Marian. Very jolly,
it was, Greta caught a dreadful cold. Aunt Kate frowned
severely and nodded her head at every word. Quite right, Gabriel,
Quite right, she said, you can't be too careful. But

(09:42):
as for Gretta, there, said Gabriel. She'd walk home in
the snow if she were let missus Conroy laughed. Don't
mind them, Aunt Kate. She said, he's really an awful bother,
what with green shades for Tom's eyes at night and
making him do the dumb bells and for either to
eat the stir about the poor child, and she simply

(10:04):
hates the sight of it. Oh but you'll never guess
what he makes me wear now. She broke out into
a peal of laughter and glanced at her husband, whose
admiring and happy eyes had been wandering from her dress
to her face and hair. The two aunts laughed heartily, too,
for Gabriel's solicitude was a standing joke with them. Goloshes,

(10:24):
said Missus Conroy, that's the latest. Whenever it's wet on
her foot, I must put on my goloshes tonight. Even
he wanted me to put them on, but I wouldn't.
The next thing he'd buy me will be a diving suit.
Gabriel laughed nervously and patted his tie reassuringly, while Aunt
Kate nearly doubled herself so heartily did she enjoy the joke.

(10:46):
The smile soon faded from Aunt Julia's face, and her
mirthless eyes were directed towards her nephew's face. After a pause,
she asked, and what are goloshes, Gabriel? Goloshes, Julia exclaimed
her sister. Goodness, me don't you know what goloshes are?
You wear them over yer, over your boots, Gretta, isn't

(11:06):
it yes, said Missus Conroy. Gutta percha things. We both
have a pair now, Gabriel says. Everyone wears them on
the continent. Oh are the continent, murmured Aunt Julia, nodding
her head slowly. Gabriel knitted his brows and said, as
if he were slightly angered. It's nothing very wonderful. But

(11:28):
Gretta thinks it very funny because she says the word
reminds her of Christy minstrels. But tell me, Gabriel, said
Aunt Kate, with brisk tact. Of course, you've seen about
the room, Gretta was saying, Oh, the room's all right,
replied Gabriel. I've taken one in the Gresham, to be sure,
said Aunt Kate. By far the best thing to do.

(11:50):
And the children, Gretta, you're not anxious about them, Oh
for one night, said Missus Conroy. Besides, Bessy will look
after them, to be sure, said Aunt Kate. Again. What
a comfort it is to have a girl like that,
when you can depend on there's that lily. I'm sure
I don't know what has come over her lately. She's

(12:10):
not the girl she was at all. Gabriel was about
to ask his aunt some questions on this point, but
she broke off suddenly to gaze after her sister, who
had wandered down the stairs and was craning her neck
over the banisters. Now I ask you, she said, almost testily,
where is Julia going? Julia, Julia, where are you going? Julia,

(12:32):
who had gone half way down one flight, came back
and announced, blandly, here's ready. At the same moment, a
clapping of hands and the final flourish of the pianist
told that the waltz had ended. The drawing room door
was opened from within, and some couples came out. Aunt
Kate drew Gabriel aside hurriedly and whispered into his ear,

(12:53):
slip down Gabriel like a good fellow, and see if
he's all right, and don't let him up if he's screwed.
I'm sure he's screwed. I'm sure sure he is. Gabriel
went to the stairs and listened over the banisters. He
could hear two persons talking in the pantry. Then he
recognized Freddie Mallins's laugh. He went down the stairs noisily.

(13:14):
It's such a relief, said Aunt Kate to missus Conroy
that Gabriel is here. I always feel easier in my
mind when he's here. Julia, there's Miss Daly and Miss Pow.
Will take some refreshment. Thanks for your beautiful waltz, Miss Daly,
it made a lovely time. A tall, wizen faced man
with a stiff, grizzled mustache and swarthy skin, who was

(13:36):
passing out with his partner, said, and may we have
some refreshment too, Miss Morkan, Julia said Aunt Kate, so merrily.
And here's mister Brown and Miss Furlong. Take them in, Julia,
with Miss Daly and miss Power. I'm the man for
the ladies, said mister Brown, pursing his lips until his
mustache bristled, and smiling in all his wrinkles. You know,

(13:58):
Miss Morkan, and they're so fond of me is. He
did not finish his sentence, but, seeing that Aunt Kate
was out of earshot at once, led the three young
ladies into the back room. The middle of the room
was occupied by two square tables placed end to end,
and on these aunt Julia and the caretaker were straightening
and smoothing a large cloth. On the sideboard were arrayed

(14:21):
dishes and plates and glasses, and bundles of knives and
forks and spoons. The top of the closed square piano
served also as a sideboard for vians and sweets. At
a smaller sideboard in one corner, two young men were
standing drinking hot bitters. Mister Brown led his charges thither
and invited them all in jest to some ladies punch hot,

(14:43):
strong and sweet. As they said they never took anything strong.
He opened three bottles of lemonade for them. Then he
asked one of the young men to move aside, and
taking hold of the decanter, filled out for himself a
goodly measure of whiskey. The young men eyed him respect
ightfully while he took a trial sip. God help me,

(15:04):
he said, smiling, it's the doctor's orders. His wizen face
broke into a broader smile, and the three young ladies
laughed in musical echo to his pleasantry, swaying their bodies
to and fro with nervous jerks of their shoulders. The
boldest said, oh, now, mister Brown, I'm sure the doctor
never ordered anything of the kind. Mister Brown took another

(15:27):
sip of his whiskey and said, with sidling mimicry, Well,
you see, I'm like the famous Missus Cassidy, who was
reported to have said, now, Mary Grimes, if I don't
take it, make me take it, for I feel I
want it. His hot face had leaned forward a little
too confidentially, and he had assumed a very low doublin accent,

(15:49):
so that the young ladies, with one instinct, received his
speech in silence. Miss Furlong, who was one of Mary
Jane's pupils, asked Miss Daly what was the name of
the pretty wall she had, and mister Brown, seeing that
he was ignored, turned promptly to the two young men
who were more appreciative. A red faced young woman dressed
in pansy came into the room excitedly, clapping her hands

(16:12):
and crying, quadrills, quad rills, close on our heels, came
Aunt Kate, crying, two gentlemen and three ladies. Mary Jane, Oh,
here's mister Bergan and mister Kerrigan said Mary Jane, mister Kerrigan,
will you take miss Power, Miss Furlong, May I get
you a partner, mister Bergan. Oh, that'll just do now,

(16:34):
three ladies, Mary Jane said Aunt Kate. The two young
gentlemen asked the ladies if they might have the pleasure,
and Mary Jane turned to Miss Daly. Oh, Miss Daly,
you're really ofty good after playing for the last two dances.
But really we're so short of ladies tonight. I don't
mind in the least Miss Morgan, but I've a nice

(16:54):
partner for you, mister Bartell Darcy the tenor. I'll get
him to sing later on. All dublin is raised about him.
Lovely voice, lovely voice, said Aunt Kate. As the piano
had twice begun the prelude to the first figure. Mary
Jane led her recruits quickly from the room. They had
hardly gone when Aunt Julia wandered slowly into the room,

(17:16):
looking behind her at something. What is the matter, Julia
asked Aunt Kate anxiously. Who is it? Julia, who was
carrying in a column of table napkins, turned to her
sister and said, simply, as if the question had surprised her,
It's only Freddy Kate and Gabriel with him in fact,
right behind her. Gabriel could be seen piloting Freddy Malins

(17:39):
across the landing. The latter, a young man of about forty,
was of Gabriel's size and build, with very round shoulders.
His face was fleshy and pallid, touched with color only
at the thick, hanging lobes of his ears and at
the wide wings of his nose. He had coarse features,
a blunt nose, a convoy and receding brow, tumored and

(18:02):
protruded lips. His heavy lidded eyes, and the disorder of
his scanty hair made him look sleepy. He was laughing
heartily in a high key at a story which he
had been telling Gabriel on the stairs, and at the
same time rubbing the knuckles of his left fist backwards
and forwards into his left eye. Good evening, Freddy, said,
Aunt Julia. Freddy Malins bade them, missus Morgan, good evening,

(18:25):
in what seemed an offhand fashion by reason of the
habitual catch in his voice, And then, seeing that mister
Brown was grinning at him from the sideboard, crossed the
room on rather shaky legs and began to repeat in
an undertone the story he had just told to Gabriel.
He's not so bad, is he? Said? Aunt Kate to Gabriel.
Gabriel's brows were dark, but he raised them quickly and answered,

(18:50):
oh no, hardly noticeable. Now, isn't he a terrible fellow?
She said, And his poor mother made him take the
pledge on New Year's Eve. But come on, Gabriel into
the drawing room. Before leaving the room with Gabriel, she
signaled to mister Browne by frowning and shaking her forefinger
and warning to and fro. Mister Browne nodded in answer,

(19:12):
and when she had gone said to Freddy Malins, now, then, Teddy,
I'm going to fill you out a good glass of lemonade,
just to book you up. Freddy Malins, who was nearing
the climax of his story, waved the offer aside impatiently,
but mister brown having first called Freddy Malins's attention to
a disarray in his dress, filled out and handed him

(19:33):
a full glass of lemonade. Freddy Malins's left hand accepted
the glass mechanically, his right hand being engaged in the
mechanical readjustment of his dress. Mister Browne, whose face was
once more wrinkling with mirth, poured out for himself a
glass of whiskey, while Freddy Malins exploded before he had
well reached the climax of his story in a kink

(19:53):
of high pitched, bronchitic laughter, and setting down his untasted
and overflowing glass, began to rub the knuckles of his
left fist backwards and forwards into his left eye, repeating
words of his last phrase as well as his fit
of laughter would allow him. Gabriel could not listen while
Mary Jane was playing her academy piece full of runs

(20:14):
and difficult passages to the hushed drawing room. He liked music,
but the piece she was playing had no melody for him,
and he doubted whether it had any melody for the
other listeners, though they had begged Mary Jane to play something.
Four young men who had come from the refreshment room
to stand in the doorway at the sound of the
piano had gone away quietly in couples. After a few minutes.

(20:38):
The only persons who seemed to follow the music were
Mary Jane herself, her hands racing along the keyboard or
lifted from it at the pauses like those of a
priestess in momentary imprecation, and Aunt Kate standing at her
elbow to turn the page. Gabriel's eyes, irritated by the floor,
which glittered with beeswax under the heavy chandelier, wandered to

(21:00):
the wall above the piano. A picture of the balcony
scene in Romeo and Juliet hung there, and beside it
was a picture of the two murdered princes in the tower,
which Aunt Julia had worked in red, blue and brown
walls when she was a girl, probably in the school
they had gone to as girls that kind of work
had been taught For one year. His mother had worked

(21:22):
for him as a birthday present, a waistcoat of purple
tabinet with little foxes heads upon it, lined with brown satin,
and having round mulberry buttons. It was strange that his
mother had had no musical talent, though Aunt Kate used
to call her the brains carrier of the Morgan family.
Both she and Julia had always seemed a little proud

(21:44):
of their serious and matronly sister. Her photographs stood before
the pure glass. She held an open book on her
knees and was pointing out something in it to Constantine
who dressed in a man of war suit, lay at
her feet. It was she who chosen the name of
her sons, for she was very sensible of the dignity
of family life. Thanks to her, Constantine was now senior

(22:08):
Curate in Balbrigan, and thanks to her, Gabriel himself had
taken his degree in the Royal University. A shadow passed
over his face as he remembered her sullen opposition to
his marriage. Some slighting phrases she had used still rankled
in his memory. She had once spoken of Greta as
being country cute, and that was not true of Greta

(22:30):
at all. It was Greta who had nursed her during
all her last long illness in their house at Monkstown.
He knew that Mary Jane must be near the end
of her peace, for she was playing again the opening melody,
with runs of scales after every bar, and while he
waited for the end, the resentment died down in his heart.

(22:50):
The piece ended with a trill of octaves in the
treble and a final deep octave in the base. Great
applause greeted Mary Jane as blushing and rolling up her music.
News nervously, she escaped from the room. The most vigorous
clapping came from the four young men in the doorway,
who had gone away to the refreshment room at the
beginning of the piece, but had come back when the

(23:11):
piano had stopped. Lancers were arranged. Gabriel found himself partnered
with Miss Ivers. She was a frank mannered, talkative young
lady with a freckled face and prominent brown eyes. She
did not wear a low cut bodice and a large bloch,
which was fixed in the front of her collar. Bore
on it an Irish device and motto. When they had

(23:33):
taken their places, she said abruptly, I have a crow
to pluck with you. With me, said Gabriel. She nodded
her head gravely. What is it, asked Gabriel, smiling at
her solemn manner. Who is g c answered Miss Ivers,
turning her eyes upon him. Gabriel colored and was about

(23:54):
to knit his brows as if he did not understand,
when she said bluntly, oh, innocent Amy, I have found
out that you write for the Daily Express. Now aren't
you ashamed of yourself? Why should I be ashamed of myself?
Asked Gabriel, blinking his eyes and trying to smile. Well,
I'm ashamed of you, said miss Ivers, frankly, to say

(24:15):
you'd write for a paper like that. I didn't think
you were a West Britain. A look of perplexity appeared
on Gabriel's face. It was true that he wrote a
literary column every Wednesday in the Daily Express, for which
he was paid fifteen shillings, but that did not make
him a West Britain. Surely, the books he received for
review were almost more welcome than the paltry check. He

(24:37):
loved to feel the covers and turn over the pages
of newly printed books. Nearly every day when his teaching
in the college was ended, he used to wander down
the keys to the second hand booksellers, to Hickey's on
Bachelor's Walk, to Webb's on Massey's on Aston's Key, or
to all Clothsy's in the Bye Street. He did not
know how to meet her charge. He wanted to say

(24:58):
that literature was a book politics, but they were friends
of many years standing, and their careers had been parallel,
first at the university and then as teachers. He could
not risk a grandiose phrase with her. He continued, blinking
his eyes and trying to smile, and murmured lamely that
he saw nothing political in writing reviews of books. When

(25:20):
their turn to cross had come, he was still perplexed
and inattentive. Miss Ivers promptly took his hand in a
warm grasp and said, in a soft, friendly tone, of course,
I was only joking. Come we cross now. When they
were together again, she spoke of the university question, and
Gabriel felt more at ease. A friend of hers had

(25:42):
shown her his review of Browning's poems. That was how
she had found out the secret. But she liked the
review immensely. Then she said suddenly, Oh, mister Conroy, will
you come for an excursion to the Arnyles this summer.
We're going to stay there a whole month. It would
be splendid out in the Atlantic. You ought to come.

(26:02):
Mister Clancy is coming, and mister Kirkkelly and Kathleen Karney.
It will be splendid for Greta too, if she'd come.
She's from conduct, isn't she. Her people are, said Gabriel shortly.
But you will come, won't you, said Miss Ivers, laying
her warm hand legally on his arm. The fact is, said, Gabriel,

(26:23):
I've just arranged to go go where, asked Miss Ivers. Well,
you know every year I go for a cycling tour
with some fellows and so, but where, asked miss Ivers.
Well we usually go to France or Belgium, or perhaps Germany,
said Gabriel awkwardly. And why do you go to France
and Belgium, said miss Ivers, instead of visiting your own land? Well,

(26:46):
said Gabriel. It's partly to keep in touch with the languages,
and partly for a change. And have knew your own
language to keep in touch with Irish, asked Miss Ivers. Well,
said Gabriel. If it comes to that, you know, Irish
is not my language. Their neighbors had turned to listen
to the cross examination. Gabriel glanced right and left nervously

(27:09):
and tried to keep his good humor under the ordeal,
which was making a blush invade his forehead. And haven't
you your own land to visit? Continued Miss Ivers. That
you know nothing of your own people and your own country. Oh,
to tell you the truth, retorted Gabriel. Suddenly I'm sick
of my own country. Sick of it? Why, asked Miss Ivers.

(27:31):
Gabriel did not answer. For his retort had heeded him, why,
repeated miss Ivers, they had to go visiting together, And
as he had not answered, miss Ivers said warmly, of course,
you've no answer. Gabriel tried to cover his agitation by
taking part in the dance with great energy. He avoided
her eyes, for he had seen a sour expression on

(27:54):
her face, But when they met in the long chain,
he was surprised to feel his hand firmly pressed. She
looked at him from under her brows for a moment,
quizzically until he smiled. Then, just as the Jane was
about to start again, she stood on tiptoe and whispered
into his ear West Britain. When the lancers were over,

(28:14):
Gabriel went away to a remote corner of the room
where Freddy Malins's mother was sitting. She was a stout,
feeble old woman with white hair. Her voice had a
catch in it like her son's, and she stuttered slightly.
She had been told that Freddy had come and that
he was nearly all right. Gabriel asked her whether she
had had a good crossing. She lived with her married

(28:36):
daughter in Glasgow and came to Dublin on a visit
once a year. She answered placidly that she had had
a beautiful crossing, and that the captain had been most
attentive to her. She spoke also of the beautiful house
her daughter kept in Glasgow, and of all the friends
they had there. While her tongue rambled on, Gabriel tried
to banish from his mind all memory of the unpleasant

(28:59):
incident with Miss Of course, the girl or woman or
whatever she was, was an enthusiast, but there was a
time for all things. Perhaps he ought not to have
answered her like that, but she had no right to
call him a West Britain before people, even in joke.
She had tried to make him ridiculous before people, heckling
him and staring at him with her rabbit's eyes. He

(29:22):
saw his wife making her way towards him through the
waltz in couples. When she reached him, she said into
his ear, Gabriel, Aunt Kate wants to know. Won't you
carve the goose as usual? Miss Daily will carve the ham,
and I'll do the pudding, all right, said Gabriel. She's
sending in the younger ones first as soon as this
waltz is over, so that we've had the table to ourselves.

(29:45):
Were you dancing, asked Gabriel. Of course I was. Didn't
you see me? What rowed you with Molly Ivers? No? Now,
why did she say so something like that? I'm trying
to get that mister Darcy to sing. He's full of conceit.
I think there was no row, said Gabriel moodily. Only

(30:06):
she wanted me to go for a trip to the
west of Ireland, and I said I wouldn't. His wife
clasped her hands excitedly and gave a little jump. Oh
do go, Gabriel, she cried, I'd love to see Galway again.
You can go if you like, said Gabriel coldly. She
looked at him for a moment, then turned to Missus
Mallins and said, there's a nice husband for you, Missus Mallins,

(30:29):
While she was treading her way back across the room.
Missus Mallins, without adverting to the interruption, went on to
tell Gabriel what beautiful places they were in Scotland, a
beautiful scenery. Her son in law brought them every year
to the lakes and they used to go fishing. Her
son in law was a splendid fisher. One day he
caught a beautiful big fish, and the man in the

(30:50):
hotel cooked it for their dinner. Gabriel hardly heard what
she said. Now that supper was coming near, he began
to think again about his speech and out the quotation.
When he saw Freddy Malins coming across the room to
visit his mother. Gabriel left the chair free from him
and retired into the embrasure of the window. The room

(31:11):
had already cleared, and from the back room came the
clatter of plates and knives. Those who still remained in
the drawing room seemed tired of dancing and were conversing
quietly in little groups. Gabriel's warm, trembling fingers tapped the
cold pane of the window. How cool it must be outside,
How pleasant it would be to walk out alone, first

(31:33):
along by the river and then through the park. The
snow would be lying on the branches of the trees
and forming a bright cap on the top of the
Wellington Monument. How much more pleasant it would be there
than at the supper table. He ran over the headings
of his speech, Irish hospitality, sad Memories, the Three Graces, Paris,

(31:54):
the quotation from Browning. He repeated to himself, a phrase
he had written in his review, One feels that one
is listening to a thought tormented music. Miss Ivers had
praised the review. Was she sincere? Had she really any
life of her own? Behind all her propagandism? There never
been any ill feeling between them until that night. It

(32:16):
unnerved him to think that she would be at the
supper table looking up at him while he spoke with
her critical quizzing eyes. Perhaps she would not be sorry
to see him fail in his speech. An idea came
into his mind and gave him courage, he would say,
alluding to Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia, ladies and gentlemen.
The generation which is now on the wane among us

(32:38):
may have had its faults, But for my part, I
think it had certain qualities of hospitality, of humor, of humanity,
which the new and very serious and hypereducated generation that
is growing up around us seems to me to lack.
Very good That was one for Miss Ivers. What did
he care that his aunts were only two ignorant old women.

(32:59):
A murmur in the room attracted his attention. Mister Brown
was advancing from the door gallantly escorting Aunt Julia, who
leaned upon his arm, smiling and hanging her head, and
a regular musketry of applause escorted her also as far
as the piano. And then as Mary Jane seated herself
on the stool, and Aunt Julia, no longer smiling, half

(33:20):
turned so as to pitch her voice fairly into the room,
gradually ceased. Gabriel recognized the prelude. It was that of
an old song of Aunt Julia's, arrayed for the bridle,
her voice, strong and clear in tone, attacked with great
spirit the runs which embellished the air, and though she
sang very rapidly, she did not miss even the smallest

(33:42):
of the grace notes. To follow the voice without looking
at the singer's face was to feel and share the
excitement of swift and secure flight. Gabriel applauded loudly with
all the others at the close of the song, and
loud applause was borne in from the invisible supper table.
It sounded so genuine that a little color struggled into

(34:04):
Aunt Julia's face as she bent to replace in the
music stand the old leather bound song book that had
her initials on the cover. Reddy Malins, who had listened
with his head perched sideways to hear her better, was
still applauding when every one else had ceased, and talking
animatedly to his mother, who nodded her head gravely and
slowly in acquiescence. At last, when he could clap no more,

(34:27):
he stood up suddenly and hurried across the room to
Aunt Julia, whose hand he seized and held in both
his hands, shaking it when words failed him or the
catch in his voice proved too much for him. I
was just tell him my mother, he said, Oh, I
never heard you sing so well. Never. No, I never
heard your voice so good as it is to night. Now,

(34:49):
would you believe that? Now? That's the truth, upon my
word and honor, that's the truth. I never heard your
voice sound so fresh and so so clear and so
fresh never. Aunt Julius smiled broadly and murmured something about compliments.
As she released her hand from his grasp. Mister Brown
extended his open hand towards her and said, to those

(35:11):
who were near him, in the manner of a showman
introducing a prodigy to an audience, Miss Julia Markan, my
latest discovery. He was laughing very heartily at himself when
FEddi Manins turned to him and said, well, mister Brown,
if you're serious, you might make a worse discovery. All
I can say is I never heard her saying half

(35:33):
so well as long as I'm coming here, And that's
the honest truth. Neither did, I said, mister Brown. I
think her voice has greatly improved. Aunt Julius shrugged her
shoulders and said, with meek pride, thirty years ago, I
hadn't a bad voice, as voices go, I often told. Julia,
said Aunt Kate emphatically, that she was simply thrown away

(35:56):
in that choir, but she never would be said by me.
She turned, as if to appeal to the good sense
of the others against a refractory child, while Aunt Julia
gazed in front of her, a vague smile of reminiscence
playing on her face. Nope, continued Aunt Kate. She wouldn't
be said or led by anyone slaving there in that
choir night and day, night and day, six o'clock on

(36:19):
Christmas morning and all for what well? Isn't it for
the honor of God? Aunt Kate asked Mary Jane, twisting
round on the piano stool and smiling Aunt Kate turned
fiercely on her niece and said, I know all about
the honor of God, Mary Jane, but I think it's
not at all honorable for the Pope to turn out
the women out of the choir that have slaved their

(36:39):
all their lives and put little whipper snappers of boys
over their heads. I suppose it's for the good of
a church if the Pope does it, but it's not
just Mary Jane, and it's not right. She had worked
herself into a passion and would have continued in the
fence of her sister, for it was a sore subject
with her. But Mary Jane, seeing that all the dancers
had come backed pacifically. Now, Aunt Kate, you're giving scandal

(37:04):
to mister Brown, who is of the other persuasion. Aunt
Kate turned to mister Brown, who was grinning at this
allusion to his religion, and said, hastily, Oh, I don't
question the Pope's being right. I'm only a stupid old woman,
and I wouldn't presume to do such a thing. But
there's such a thing as common every day politeness and gratitude.
And if I were in Julia's place, I'd tell that

(37:24):
Father healy straight up to his face. And besides, Aunt Kate,
said Mary Jane, we really are all hungry, and when
we are hungry, we are all very quarrelsome, and when
we are thirsty, we are also quarrelsome, added mister Brown.
So that we had better go to supper, said Mary Jane,
and finished the discussion. Afterwards, on the landing outside the

(37:46):
drawing room, Gabriel found his wife and Mary Jane trying
to persuade miss Ivors to stay for supper. But miss Ivers,
who had put on her hat and was buttoning her cloak,
would not stay. She did not feel in the least hungry,
and she had already overstayed her time, but only for
ten minutes, Molly, said, missus Conroy, that won't allay you

(38:08):
to take a pick itself, said Mary Jane, after all
your dancing, I really couldn't, said Miss Ivers. I'm afraid
you didn't enjoy yourself at all, said Mary Jane. Hopelessly,
ever so much, I assure you, said Miss Ivers. But
you really must let me run off now. But how
can you get home, asked missus Conroy. Oh it's only

(38:29):
two steps up the key. Gabriel hesitated a moment and said,
if you will allow me, miss Ivers, I'll see you
home if you are really obliged to go. But Miss
Ivers broke away from them. I won't hear of it,
she cried, for goodness sake, go in to your suppers
and don't mind me. I'm quite well able to take
care of myself. Well, you're the comical girl, Molly, said

(38:52):
missus Conroy frankly. Bannocklive cried Miss Ivers with a laugh
as she ran down the staircase. Mary Jane gazed after her,
a moody, puzzled expression on her face, while missus Conroy
leaned over the banisters to listen for the hall door.
Gabriel asked himself was he the cause of her abrupt departure?

(39:13):
But she did not seem to be an ill humor
she had gone away, laughing. He stared blankly down the staircase.
At the moment, Aunt Kate came toddling out of the
supper room, almost wringing her hands in despair. Where is Gabriel,
she cried, Where on earth is Gabriel? There's everyone waiting
in there stage to let and nobody to carve the goose.

(39:35):
Here I am Aunt Kate cried Gabriel with sudden animation,
ready to carve a flock of geese if necessary. A
fat brown goose lay at one end of the table,
and at the other end, on a bed of creased
paper strewn with sprigs of parsley, lay a great ham
stripped of its outer skin and peppered over with crushed
crumbs and eat paper frill round a chin, and beside

(39:58):
this was a round of spiced beef. Between these rival
ends ran parallel lines of side dishes. Two little minsters
of jelly red and yellow, a shallow dish full of
blocks of lumonge and red jam, A large green leaf
shaped dish with a stalk shaped handle, on which lay
bunches of purple raisins and peeled almonds. A companion dish,

(40:20):
on which lay a solid rectangle of smyrna figs, a
dish of custard topped with grated nutmeg, a small bowl
full of chocolates and sweets wrapped in gold and silver papers,
and a glass vase in which stood some tall celery stalks.
In the center of the table, there stood as sentries
to a fruit stand which upheld a pyramid of oranges

(40:41):
and American apples, two squat old fashioned decanters of cut glass,
one containing port and the other dark sherry. On the
closed square piano, a pudding in a huge yellow dish
lay in waiting, and behind it were three squads of
bottles of stout and ale and minerals drawn up because
to the colors of their uniforms, the first two black

(41:03):
with brown and red labels, the third and smallest squad
white with transverse green sashes. Gabriel took his seat boldly
at the head of the table, and, having looked over
the edge of the carver, plunged his fork firmly into
the goose. He felt quite at ease now, for he
was an expert carver, and liked nothing better than to

(41:23):
find himself at the head of a well laden table.
Miss Furlong, what shall I send you, he asked, A
wing or a slice of the breast, Just a small
slice of the breast. Miss Higgins, what for you, oh,
anything at all, Mister Conroy. While Gabriel and Miss Daly
exchanged plates of goose and plates of ham and spiced beef,

(41:46):
lily went from guest to guest with a dish of
hot floury potatoes wrapped in a white napkin. This was
Mary Jane's idea, and she had also suggested apple sauce
for the goose. Brad Kate said that plain roast goose
without any apple sauce had always been good enough for her,
and she hoped she might never eat worse. Mary Jane
waited on her pupils and saw that they got the

(42:07):
best slices, and Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia opened and
carried across from the piano bottles of stout and ale
for the gentlemen, and bottles of minerals for the ladies.
There was a great deal of confusion and laughter and noise,
the noise of orders and counter orders, of knives and forks,
of corks and glass stoppers. Gabriel began to carr second

(42:29):
helpings as soon as he had finished the first round,
without serving himself. Everyone protested loudly, so that he compromised
by taking a long draft of stout, for he had
found the carving hot work. Mary Jane settled down quietly
to her supper, but Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia were
still toddling round the table, walking on each other's heels,
getting in each other's way and giving each other unheeded orders.

(42:52):
Mister Brown begged them to sit down and eat their suppers,
and so did Gabriel. But they said there was time enough,
so that at last Feddie man and stood up, and,
capturing Aunt Kate, plumped her down on her chair amid
general laughter. When everyone had been well served, Gabriel said, smiling, now,
if anyone wants a little more of what vulgar people
call stuffing, let him or horse speak. A chorus of

(43:16):
voices invited him to begin his own supper, and Lily
came forward with three potatoes, which he had reserved for him.
Very well, said Gabriel amiably, as he took another preparatory draft.
Kindly forget my existence, ladies and gentlemen, for a few minutes,
he said, to his supper, and took no part in
the conversation with which the table covered. Lily's removal of

(43:37):
the plates. The subject of talk with the opera company,
which was then at the Theater Royal. Mister Bartell Darcy,
the tenor, a dark complexion young man with a smart mustache,
praised very highly the leading contralto of the company. But
Miss Furlong thought she had rather a vulgar style of production.
Freddy Mallin said there was a negro chieftain singing in

(43:58):
the second part of the Gate Pantomime who had one
of the finest tenor voices he had ever heard. Have
you heard him, he asked mister Bartell Darcy across the table. No,
answered mister Bartell Darcy carelessly, because Freddy Malins explained, now,
I'd be curious to hear your opinion of him. I

(44:19):
think he has a grand voice. It takes Teddy to
find out the really good things, said mister Brown familiarly
to the table. And why couldn't he have a good voice, too,
asked Freddy Malins sharply. Is it because he's only a black?
Nobody answered this question, and Mary Jane led the table
back to the legitimate opera. One of her pupils had

(44:41):
given her a pass from Mignon. Of course it was
very fine, she said, but it made her think of
poor Georgina Burns. Mister Brown could go back farther still
to the old Italian companies that used to come to
Dublin teachings. Ilma de Murska, Campanini, the Great Trebelli, Giulini, Ravelli, Aramburo.

(45:03):
Those were the days, he said, when there was something
like singing to be heard in Dublin. He told too,
of how the top gallery of the Old Royal used
to be packed night after night, of how one night
an Italian tenor had sung five encores to let me
like a soldier fall, introducing a high sea every time,
And of how the gallery boys would, sometimes, in their enthusiasm,

(45:25):
unyoke the horses from the carriage of some great Prima
Donna and puller themselves through the streets to her hotel.
Why did they never play the grand old operas now,
he asked, Dinorah, Lucretia, Borgia, Because they could not get
a voice as to sing them. That was why. Oh, well,
said mister Bartell Darcy. I presume they are as good

(45:47):
singers today as they were then. Where are they, asked
mister Brown defiantly. In London, Paris, Milan, said mister Bartell
Darcy warmly. I suppose Crusoe, for exact ample, is quite
as good, if not better, than any of the men
you have mentioned. Maybe so, said mister Brown, But I
may tell you I doubt it strongly. Oh, I'd give

(46:11):
anything to hear Carusoe saying, said Mary Jane. For me,
said Aunt Kate, who had been picking a bone. There
was only one tenor to please me. I mean, but
I suppose none of you ever heard of him. Who
was he, miss Morgan, asked mister Bartell Darcy politely. His name,
said Aunt Kate, was Parkinson. I heard him when he

(46:32):
was in his prime, and I think he had then
the purest tenor voice that was ever put into a
man's throat. Strange, said mister Bartell Darcy. I never even
heard of him. Yes, yes, Miss Morgan is right, said
mister Brown. I remember hearing of old Parkinson, but he's
too far back for me. Oh. A beautiful, pure, sweet,

(46:54):
mellow English tenor, said Aunt Kate with enthusiasm. Gabriel, having
finish the huge pudding, was transferred to the table. The
clatter of forks and spoons began again. Gabriel's wife served
out spoonfuls of the pudding and passed the plates down
the table. Midway down, they were held up by Mary Jane,
who replenished them with raspberry or orange jelly, or with

(47:17):
blumage and jam. The pudding was of Aunt Julia's making,
and she received praises for it from all quarters. She
herself said that it was not quite brown enough. Well,
I hope, miss Morgan, said mister Brown, that I'm brown
enough for you, because you know I'm all brown. All

(47:37):
the gentlemen except Gabriel, ate some of the pudding out
of compliment to Aunt Julia, as Gabriel never ate sweets.
The celery had been left for him. Freddie Mallins also
took a stalk of celery and ate it with his pudding.
He had been told that celery was a capital thing
for the blood, and he was just then under doctor's care.
Missus Mallins, who had been silent all through the supper,

(48:00):
said that her son was going down to Mount Mellory
in a week or so. The table then spoke of
Mount Mellory, how bracing the air was down there, how
hospitable the monks were, and how they never asked for
a penny piece from their guests. And do you mean
to say, asked mister Brown, incredulously, But a chap can
go down there and put up there as if it

(48:21):
were a hotel, and live on the fat of the land,
and then come away without paying anything. Oh, most people
give some donation to the monastery when they leave, said
Mary Jane. I wish we had an institution like that
in our cheorch, said mister Brown candidly. He was astonished
to hear that the monks never spoke, got up at
two in the morning and slept in their coffins. He

(48:44):
asked what they did it for. That's the rule of
the order, said Aunt Kate. Firmly, yes, But why, asked
mister Brown. Aunt Kate repeated that it was the rule
that was all. Mister Brown still seemed not to understand.
Freddy Malins explained to him as best he could that
the monks were trying to make up for the sins

(49:05):
committed by all the sinners in the outside world. The
explanation was not very clear for mister Brown grinned and said, no,
I liked that idea very much, But wouldn't a comfortable
spring bed do them as well as a coffin the coffin,
said Mary Jane, is to remind them of their last end.
As the subject had grown lugubrious, it was buried in

(49:26):
the silence of the table, during which Missus Mallins could
be heard saying to her neighbor in an indistinct undertone.
They're very good men, the monks, very pious men. The
raisins and almonds, and figs and apples and oranges, and
chocolates and sweets were now passed about the table, and
Aunt Julia invited all the guests to have either port

(49:47):
or sherry. At first, mister Bartell Darcy refused to take either,
but one of his neighbors nudged him and whispered something
to him, upon which he allowed his glass to be felled. Gradually,
as the last glasses were being filled, the conversation ceased,
a pause, followed broken only by the noise of the
wine and by unsettlings of chairs. Then missus Morgans all

(50:10):
three looked down at the tablecloth. Someone coughed once or twice,
and then a few gentlemen patted the table gently as
a signal for silence. The silence came, and Gabriel pushed
back his chair. The patting at once grew louder in encouragement,
and then ceased altogether. Gabriel leaned his ten trembling fingers

(50:30):
on the tablecloth and smiled nervously at the company, meeting
a row of upturned faces. He raised his eyes to
the chandelier. The piano was playing a waltz tune, and
he could hear the skirts sweeping against the drawing room door.
People perhaps were standing in the snow on the key outside,
gazing up at the lighted windows and listening to the

(50:51):
waltz music. The air was pure. There in the distance
lay the park, where the trees were weighted with snow.
The Wellington mind wore a gleaming cap of snow that
flashed westward over the white field of fifteen acres. He began,
Ladies and gentlemen, it has fallen to my lot this evening,

(51:12):
as in years past, to perform a very pleasing task,
but a task for which I am afraid my poor
powers as a speaker are all too inadequate. No, no,
said mister Brown. But however that may be, I can
only ask you tonight to take the will for the
deed and to lend me your attention for a few
moments while I endeavored to express to you in words

(51:32):
what my feelings are on this occasion. Ladies and gentlemen,
it is not the first time that we have gathered
together under this hospitable roof, around this hospitable board. It
is not the first time that we have been the recipients,
or perhaps I had better say, the victims, of the
hospitality of certain good ladies. He made a circle in
the air with his arm and paused. Everyone laughed or

(51:56):
smiled at Aunt Kate, and Aunt Julia and Mary Jane,
who all turned crimson with pleasure. Gabriel went on more boldly.
I feel more strongly with every recurring year, that our
country has no tradition which does it so much honor,
and which it should guard so jealously as that of
its hospitality. It is a tradition that is unique as

(52:16):
far as my experience goes, and I have visited not
a few places abroad among the modern nations. Some would say,
perhaps that with us it is rather a failing than
anything to be boasted of. But granted even that, it is,
to my mind a princely failing, and one that I
trust will long be cultivated among us. Of one thing,

(52:37):
at least, I am sure as long as this one
roof shelters the good ladies afore said, and I wish
from my heart that it may do so from many
and many a long near to come, the tradition of genuine,
warm hearted courteous, Irish hospitality, which our forefathers have handed
down to us, and which we in turn must hand
down to our descendants, is still alive among us. A

(52:59):
hearty murmur ofcent ran round the table. It shot through
Gabriel's mind that Miss Ivers was not there, and that
she had gone away this courteously, and he said, with
confidence in himself, ladies and gentlemen, a new generation is
growing up in our midst, a generation actuated by new
ideas and new principles. It is serious and enthusiastic for

(53:20):
those new ideas, and its enthusiasm, even when it is misdirected,
is I believe in the main sincere. But we are
living in a skeptical and, if I may use the phrase,
a thought tormented age. And sometimes I fear that this
new generation, educated nor hyper educated as it is, will

(53:40):
lack those qualities of humanity, of hospitality, of kindly humor
which belonged to an older day. Listening tonight to the
names of all those great singers of the past, it
seemed to me I must confess that we are living
in a less spacious age. Those days might, without exaggeration,
be called spatial days. And if they are gone beyond recall.

(54:03):
Let us hope at least that in gathering such as
this we shall still speak of them with pride and affection,
still cherish in our hearts the memory of those dead
and gone, great ones whose fame the world will not
willingly let die. Hear here, said mister Brown loudly, but
yet continued Gabriel, his voice falling into a softer reflection.

(54:25):
There are always, in gathering such as this, sadder thoughts
that will recur to our minds, parts of the past,
of youth, of changes of absent faces that we miss
here to night. Our path through life is strewn with
many such sad memories, and were we to brood upon
them always, we could not find the heart to go
on bravely with our work among the living. We have,

(54:49):
all of us, living duties and living affections which claim
and rightly claim our strenuous endeavors. Therefore, I will not
linger on the past. I will not let any gloomy
moralizing intrude upon us. Here to night. Here we are
gathered together for a brief moment from the bustle and
rush of our everyday routine. We are met here as

(55:09):
friends in the spirit of good fellowship, as colleagues, also
to a certain extent, in the true spirit of camaraderie,
and as the guests of what shall I call them,
the Three graces of the Dublin musical world. The table
burst into applause and laughter. At this illusion, Aunt Julia
vainly asked each of her neighbors in turn to tell

(55:32):
her what Gabriel had said. He says, we are the
three Graces, Aunt Julia, said Mary Jane. Aunt Julia did
not understand, but she looked up smiling at Gabriel, who
continued in the same vein, ladies and gentlemen, I will
not attempt to play to night the part that Paris
played on another occasion. I will not attempt to choose

(55:52):
between them. The task would be an invidious one, and
one beyond my poor powers. For when I view them
in turn, whether it be our chief hostess herself, whose
good heart, whose too good heart has become a by
word with all who know her, or her sister, who
seems to be gifted with perennial youth, and whose singing
must have been a surprise and a revelation to us

(56:13):
all to night or last, but not least when I
consider our youngest hostess, talented, cheerful, hard working, and the
best of nieces. I confess ladies and gentlemen, that I
do not know to which of them I should award
the prize. Gabriel glanced down at his aunts, and, seeing
the large smile on Aunt Julia's face and the tears

(56:35):
which had risen to Aunt Kate's eyes, hastened to his clothes.
He raised his glass of port gallantly, while every member
of the company fingered a glass expectantly and said loudly,
let us toast them all three together. Let us drink
to their health, wealth, long life, happiness and prosperity. And
may they long continue to hold the proud and self

(56:56):
won position which they hold in their possession, and the
position of honor and affection which they hold in our hearts.
All the guests stood up, glass in hand, and turning
towards the three seated ladies, sang in unison, with mister
Brown as leader. For they are jolly gay fair lows.
For they are jolly gay fair lows. For they are

(57:17):
jolly gay fair helloes, which nobody can deny. Aunt Kate
was making frank use of her handkerchief, but even Aunt
Julia seemed moved. FEddi Mallins beat time with his pudding fork,
and the singers turned towards one another as if in
melodious conference, while they sang with emphasis unless he tells

(57:37):
a lie, unless he tells a lie. Then, turning once
more toward their hostesses, they sang, for they are jolly
gay fair lows. For they are jolly gay fell loas
for they are jolly gay fair helloes, which nobody can deny.
The acclamation which followed was taken up beyond the door

(57:58):
of the supper room by many of the others rests,
and renewed time after time. Freddy Malins, acting as officer
with his fork, gone high. End of part one of
Story fifteen. The Dead