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By Root 2042 0

deer, and there were Pennsylvania Dutch families that never spoke English. He remembered during the war, during the draft, when someone had told him about families near the Berks County line, but still in this county. They not only couldn’t understand about the war; many of them never had been to Gibbsville. That alone was enough to make a story when he first heard it. Now he wished he had heard more. He resolved to go into it further, find out more about the peculiarities of his native heath. Who did Kentucky think it was that it could claim exclusive rights on hill-billys? I guess I love this place, he said. Good evening, son, said a voice. He turned. It was Father Creedon. Oh, Father. Good evening. Cigarette?

No, thank you. Cigar for me. The priest took a cigar from a worn, black leather case. He amputated the end of the cigar with a silver cutter. How are things with you?

Fine, said Julian. Huh. As a matter of fact, anything but fine. I suppose you heard about my performance last night with a friend of yours.

Yes. I did. You mean Harry Reilly?

Uh-huh.

Well, it s none of my affair, said Monsignor Creedon. But I wouldn’t let it worry you if I were you. I don t imagine Harry Reilly likes to be missing the dancing and all that, but he s a reasonable kind of a fellow. Go to him and tell him you’re sorry, and make him think you mean it. He’ll listen to reason.

I did go. Didn’t Mrs. Gorman tell you? I went to see him this afternoon and he wouldn’t see me.

Oh, he wouldn t, eh? Well, the next time you see him tell him to go to hell. He chuckled. No. Don t. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. A priest of God stirring up animosities and so forth and so on. I don t know. You didn’t ask me for my advice anyways. But if you can forget for a minute that I m a priest, and just between you and me, I think Harry Reilly is a horse s ass.

The old man and the young man laughed. You do? said Julian. I do. If you ever tell that I ll fix your feet, young man. But that s what I think.

So do I, said Julian. We re both right, son, said Monsignor Creedon. Harry is ambitious. Well, Caesar was ambitious. A lot of people are ambitious. I was ambitious myself, once, and I got a nice kick in the teeth for it. Ambition s all right, if you know when to stop. As F. P. A. would say, I can take my ambition or leave it alone. Oh, yes, ambition is all right, just as long as you don t get too ambitious.

Do you read F. P. A.?

My God, yes. I get the World every day. Of course I m a Republican, but I have the World delivered with the Ledger. I miss Broun, though, since he isn’t with the World any more. Do you read the World? I didn’t know Cadillac dealers could read. I thought all they had to do was make an X mark on the back of a check.

I never was meant to be a Cadillac dealer or any other kind of dealer, Father, said Julian. That sounded to me as though you’re not a frustrated literary man, by any chance are you? God forbid.

Oh, no, said Julian. I m not anything. I guess I should have been a doctor.

Well the priest stopped himself, but his tone made Julian curious. What, Father?

You won’t think this sounds awful? No, of course you won t. You’re a Protestant. Well, I ll tell you. I ve had my moments of wishing I d taken some other life work. That doesn’t sound bad to you, because you weren t brought up to believe in the true vocation. Well, I guess I better go inside. I keep forgetting I m an old man.

How about a drink? said Julian. I will if it isn’t too late. I m fasting. He looked at his big silver watch. All right. I ve time. I ll have one with you.

Surprisingly, no one had taken the bottle of Scotch off the table in Julian s absence. The thieves, which was to say everyone, probably thought the owner of the bottle was in the toilet and was apt to surprise them in the act of stealing the liquor, a heinous offense. Oh, Scotch. Fine, said the priest. Do you like Irish whiskey?

I certainly do, said Julian. I ll send you a bottle of Bushmill s. It isn’t the best Irish whiskey, but it s good. And this stuff is real. Ed Charney sent