Dubliners - James Joyce [58]
All this time the dressing-room was a hive of excitement. In one corner were Mr Holohan, Mr Fitzpatrick, Miss Beirne, two of the stewards, the baritone, the bass, and Mr O'Madden Burke. Mr O'Madden Burke said it was the most scandalous exhibition he had ever witnessed. Miss Kathleen Kearney's musical career was ended in Dublin after that, he said. The baritone was asked what did he think of Mrs Kearney's conduct. He did not like to say anything. He had been paid his money and wished to be at peace with men. However, he said that Mrs Kearney might have taken the artistes into consideration. The stewards and the secretaries debated hotly as to what should be done when the interval came.
`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 Kearney,' 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 fol-the- diddle-I-do.'
`I 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 Kearney 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 ear, she caught up her daughter's cloak and said to her husband: