Here is the town
of Ballymoy groaning under an intolerable tyranny. Doyle's life is a
burden to him. O'Donoghue can't sleep at night for fear of a Local
Government Board enquiry. The police are harried in the discharge of
their duties. The rector's bronchitis is intensified to a dangerous
extent. Sabina Gallagher's red-haired cousin, whose name I've not yet
been able to discover, is perfectly miserable. Poor old Callaghan, who
means well, though he has a most puritanical dread of impropriety, is
worn to a shadow. It rests with you whether this state of things is to
continue or not. You and, so far as I can see at present, you alone,
are in a position to arrange for the downfall of Simpkins. Is it or is
it not your duty, your simple duty, to do what you can, even at the
cost of some little temporary inconvenience to yourself?"
"If I thought all that--" said the Major. "But I'm much too sleepy to
think."
"You're not asked to think," said Meldon. "Whatever thinking has to be
done I'll do myself. You have to act, or rather in this case to permit
me to act."
"I expect you'll act, as you call it, whether I permit you or not.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148