A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and Dubliners - James Joyce [187]
—I agree with Miss Beirne, said Mr O’Madden Burke. Pay her nothing.
In another corner of the room were Mrs Kearney and her husband, Mr Bell, Miss Healy and the young lady who had to recite the patriotic piece. Mrs Kearney said that the committee had treated her scandalously. She had spared neither trouble nor expense and this was how she was repaid.
They thought they had only a girl to deal with and that, therefore, they could ride roughshod over her. But she would show them their mistake. They wouldn’t have dared to have treated her like that if she had been a man. But she would see that her daughter got her rights: she wouldn’t be fooled. If they didn’t pay her to the last farthing she would make Dublin ring. Of course she was sorry for the sake of the artistes. But what else could she do? She appealed to the second tenor, who said he thought she had not been well treated. Then she appealed to Miss Healy. Miss Healy wanted to join the other group but she did not like to do so because she was a great friend of Kathleen’s and the Kearneys had often invited her to their house.
As soon as the first part was ended Mr Fitzpatrick and Mr Holohan went over to Mrs Kearney and told her that the other four guineas would be paid after the committee meeting on the following Tuesday and that, in case her daughter did not play for the second part, the committee would consider the contract broken and would pay nothing.
—I haven’t seen any committee, said Mrs Kearney angrily. My daughter has her contract. She will get four pounds eight into her hand or a foot she won’t put on that platform.
—I’m surprised at you, Mrs Kearncy, said Mr Holohan. I never thought you would treat us this way.
—And what way did you treat me? asked Mrs Kearney. Her face was inundated with an angry colour and she looked as if she would attack someone with her hands.
—I’m asking for my rights, she said.
—You might have some sense of decency, said Mr Holohan.
—Might I, indeed?. . . And when I ask when my daughter is going to be paid I can’t get a civil answer. She tossed her head and assumed a haughty voice:
—You must speak to the secretary It’s not my business. I’m a great fellow fo1-the-diddle-I-do.
—1 thought you were a lady, said Mr Holohan, walking away from her abruptly.
After that Mrs Kearney’s conduct was condemned on all hands: everyone approved of what the committee had done. She stood at the door, haggard with rage, arguing with her husband and daughter, gesticulating with them. She waited until it was time for the second part to begin in the hope that the secretaries would approach her. But Miss Healy had kindly consented to play one or two accompaniments. Mrs Kearncy had to stand aside to allow the baritone and his accompanist to pass up to the platform. She stood still for an instant like an angry stone image and, when the first notes of the song struck her car, she caught up her daughter’s cloak and said to her husband:
—Get a cab!
He went out at once. Mrs Kearney wrapped the cloak round her daughter and followed him. As she passed through the doorway she stopped and glared into Mr Holohan’s face.
—I’m not done with you yet, she said.
—But I’m done with you, said Mr Holohan. Kathleen followed her mother meekly. Mr Holohan began to pace up and down the room, in order to cool himself for he felt his skin on fire.
—That’s a nice lady! he said. 0, she’s a nice lady!
—You did the proper thing, Holohan, said Mr O’Madden Burke, poised upon his umbrella in approval.
GRACE
TWO GENTLEMEN WHO WERE in the lavatory at the time tried to lift him up: but he was quite helpless. He lay curled up at the foot of the stairs down which he had fallen. They succeeded in turning him over. His hat had rolled a few yards away and his clothes were smeared with the filth and ooze of the floor on which he had lain, face downwards. His eyes were closed and he breathed with a grunting noise. A thin stream of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
These two gentlemen and one