But Mrs. MacDermott did not offer any advice to him. She packed his trunk and his bag on the day he was to leave Ballyards, taking care to put a Bible at the bottom of the trunk, and told him that they were ready for him. He was to travel by the night boat from Belfast to Liverpool, and it was not necessary for him to leave Ballyards until the evening, nor did he wish to spend more time in Belfast than was absolutely necessary. His Uncle and his mother were to accompany him to the boat: Mr. McCaughan and Mr. Cairnduff would say good-bye to him at Ballyards station. Willie Logan, now safely married to his Jennie and a little dashed in consequence of the limitations imposed upon him by marriage, had volunteered to come to the station "and see the last of" him. There was to be a gathering of friends on the platform ... but he wished in his heart they would allow him to go away in peace and quietness.
It was strange, he thought, that his mother did not talk to him about his journey to London. He had imagined that she would have a great deal to say about it, but it was not until the day of his departure that she spoke of it to him.
She came to him, after she had packed his trunk and bag, and said, "Come into the return room a wee minute!" and, obediently, he followed her.
"I want to show you something," she said in explanation. "Shut the door behind you!"
"Is there anything wrong, ma?" he asked, puzzled by the mystery in her manner.
"No," she answered, "only I don't want the whole world to see us!"
She went to the cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey.
"Is that whiskey?" he asked as he seated himself.
She nodded her head and returned to the table.
"You're not thinking of giving me a drop, are you?" he exclaimed laughingly.
There was a look in her eyes that checked laughter.
"If I had my way," she said with great bitterness, "I'd take the men that make this stuff and I'd drown them in it. I'd pour it down their throats 'til they choked!..." She poured a little of the whiskey into a saucer. "Give me a light," she demanded.
He went to the mantel-shelf and brought the box of matches from it.
"Strike one," she said, and added when he had done so, "Set fire to the whiskey!"
He succeeded in making the spirit burn, and for a little while she and he stood by the table while the cold blue flames curled out of the saucer, wavering and spurting, until the spirit was consumed and the flame flickered and expired.