The Simpkins Plot | Page 8

said, "I shall stroll round and see my old friends. I'm
bound to do that; and, in point of fact, I want to. It's three years since I
left, and I'm longing for a look at Doyle and the rest of them. The next
day, if the weather is any way moderate, we can go sailing. I suppose
Ballymoy isn't much changed. I shall find every one exactly as I left
them. Things don't alter much in places like this where you take life
easy."
"The place is changed," said Major Kent; "changed for the worse.
You'd hardly know it."

"Nothing has happened to Doyle, I hope. I'd be sorry if poor Doyle had
taken to drink, or gone bankrupt, or got married, or anything of that sort.
I always liked Doyle."
"Doyle," said the Major sadly, "is suffering like everybody else."
"New priest?"
"No. Father Morony's alive still."
"They're not piling on the rates under the pretence of getting a water
supply, or running schemes of technical education, or giving
scholarships in the new university, are they? Doyle would have more
sense than to allow them to break out into any reckless waste of public
money."
"No."
"Then what's the matter with you? I've noticed that you're looking
pretty glum ever since I arrived. Let's have the trouble, whatever it is. I
have a fortnight before me, and I need scarcely say, Major, that if I can
set things right in the place, I don't mind sacrificing my holiday in the
least. I'm quite prepared to turn to and straighten out any tangle that
may have arisen since I left."
"I'm sure you'd do your best, J. J."--the Major dropped naturally into
his old way of addressing his friend by his initials--"but I don't think
you can help us this time."
Major Kent sighed heavily and struck a match. His pipe had gone out.
"I certainly can't," said Meldon, "if you won't tell me what it is that
troubles you."
"It's that damned Simpkins," said the Major.
"Simpkins may or may not be damned hereafter," said Meldon. "I offer
no opinion on that point until I hear who he is and what he's done. He
can't be damned yet, assuming him to be still alive. That's an

elementary theological truth which you ought to know; and, in fact,
must know. It will be a great deal more satisfactory to me if you use
language accurately. Say that 'damnable Simpkins' if you're quite sure
he deserves it; but don't call him damned until he is."
"He does deserve it."
"If he does," said Meldon--"I'm not, of course, certain yet that he
does--but if he does, I'll do my best to see that he gets it; but I won't act
in the dark. I have a sense of justice and a conscience, and I absolutely
decline to persecute and harry a man simply because you don't like him.
Who is this Simpkins? Is he any kind of government inspector?"
"He's an agent that they've sent down here to manage the Buckley
estates."
"Well, I don't see anything wrong about that. I suppose there must be
an agent. I could understand Doyle objecting to him on the ground of
his profession. Doyle is the President of the League, and, of course, he's
ex officio obliged to dislike land agents passionately; but I didn't expect
you to take that line, Major. You're a loyalist. At least you used to be
when I was here, and it's just as plainly your duty to support agents as it
is Doyle's to abuse them."
"I don't object to him because he's an agent," said Major Kent. "I object
to him because he's a meddlesome ass, and keeps the whole place in
continual hot water."
"Very well. That's a distinct and definite charge. If you can prove it, I'll
take the matter up and deal with the man. Pass the tobacco."
Meldon filled and lit his pipe. Then he got up and walked across to
Major Kent's writing-table. He chose out a pen, took a quantity of
notepaper and a bottle of ink. With them he returned to his armchair
and sat down. He put the ink-bottle on the arm of the chair and,
crossing his legs, propped the paper on his knee.
"Do be careful, J. J.," said the Major. "You'll certainly upset that

ink-bottle, and this is a new carpet."
"We are engaged now," said Meldon, "on a serious investigation. You
have demanded that a certain man should be punished in a perfectly
frightful manner. I've agreed to carry out your wishes, if--mark my
words--if he deserves it. You ought not to be thinking of carpets or
ink-bottles. Your mind ought to be concentrated on a single effort to
tell the truth. It's not such an easy thing