`On Thursday night, you said, Jack?'

`Thursday, yes,' said Mr Power.

`Righto!' said Mr Cunningham promptly.

`We can meet in M'Auley's,' said Mr M'Coy. `That'll be the most convenient place.'

`But we mustn't be late,' said Mr Power earnestly, `because it is sure to be crammed to the doors.'

`We can meet at half-seven,' said Mr M'Coy.

`Righto!' said Mr Cunningham.

`Half-seven at M'Auley's be it!'

There was a short silence. Mr Kernan waited to see whether he would be taken into his friends' confidence. Then he asked:

`What's in the wind?'

`O, it's nothing,' said Mr Cunningham. `It's only a little matter that we're arranging about for Thursday.'

`The opera, is it?' said Mr Kernan.

`No, no,' said Mr Cunningham in an evasive tone, `it's just a little... spiritual matter.'

`O,' said Mr Kernan.

There was silence again. Then Mr Power said, point-blank:

`To tell you the truth, Tom, we're going to make a retreat.'

`Yes, that's it,' said Mr Cunningham, `Jack and I and M'Coy here — we're all going to wash the pot.'

He uttered the metaphor with a certain homely energy and, encouraged by his own voice, proceeded:

`You see, we may as well all admit we're a nice collection of scoundrels, one and all. I say, one and all,' he added with gruff charity and turning to Mr Power. `Own up now!'

`I own up,' said Mr Power.

`And I own up,' said Mr M'Coy.

`So we're going to wash the pot together,' said Mr Cunningham.

A thought seemed to strike him. He turned suddenly to the invalid and said:

`D'ye know what, Tom, has just occurred to me? You might join in and we'd have a four-handed reel.'

`Good idea,' said Mr Power. `The four of us together.'

Mr Kernan was silent. The proposal conveyed very little meaning to his mind, but, understanding that some spiritual agencies were about to concern themselves on his behalf, he thought he owed it to his dignity to show a stiff neck. He took no part in the conversation for a long while, but listened, with an air of calm enmity, while his friends discussed the Jesuits.