Attention Saint Patrick

Saint Patrick, by William
Fitzgerald Jenkins

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Title: Attention Saint Patrick
Author: William Fitzgerald Jenkins
Release Date: November 10, 2007 [EBook #23439]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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ATTENTION SAINT PATRICK ***

Produced by Greg Weeks, Bruce Albrecht and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science
Fiction, January, 1960. Extensive research did not reveal any evidence
that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Dialect
spellings, contractions and discrepancies have been retained.

[Illustration]

ATTENTION SAINT PATRICK

By
MURRAY LEINSTER (Pseudonym of William Fitzgerald Jenkins)
Illustrated by Bernklau

Legends do, of course, get somewhat distorted in the passage of time.
In the future, the passage across space to other planets may cause a
slight modification here and there ...

President O'Hanrahan of the planetary government of Eire listened
unhappily to his official guest. He had to, because Sean O'Donohue
was chairman of the Dail--of Eire on Earth--Committee on the
Condition of the Planet Eire. He could cut off all support from the
still-struggling colony if he chose. He was short and opinionated, he
had sharp, gimlet eyes, he had bristling white hair that once had been
red, and he was the grandfather of Moira O'Donohue, who'd traveled to
Eire with him on a very uncomfortable spaceship. That last was a mark
in his favor, but now he stood four-square upon the sagging porch of
the presidential mansion of Eire, and laid down the law.
"I've been here three days." he told the president sternly, while his
granddaughter looked sympathetic, "and I'm of the opinion that there's
been shenanigans goin' on to keep this fine world from becoming' what

it was meant for--a place for the people of Eire on Earth to emigrate to
when there was more of them than Erin has room for. Which is now!"
"We've had difficulties----" began the president uneasily.
"This world should be ready!" snapped Sean O'Donohue accusingly. "It
should be waitin' for the Caseys and Bradys and Fitzpatricks and other
fine Erse people to move to and thrive on while the rest of the galaxy
goes to pot with its new-fangled notions. That's the reason for this
world's very existence. What set aside Erin on Earth, where our
ancestors lived an' where their descendants are breathin' down each
other's necks because there's so many of them? There was no snakes
there! St. Patrick drove them out. What sets this world apart from all
the other livable planets men have put down their smelly spaceships on?
There's no snakes here! St. Patrick has great influence up in Heaven.
He knew his fine Erse people would presently need more room than
there was on Earth for them. So he'd a world set aside, and marked by
the sign that no least trace of a serpent could exist on it. No creature
like the one that blarneyed Mother Eve could be here! No----"
"Our trouble's been dinies," began the president apologetically.
But he froze. Something dark and sinuous and complacent oozed
around the corner of the presidential mansion. The president of Eire
sweated. He recognized the dark object. He'd believed it safely put
away in pleasant confinement until the Dail Committee went away. But
it wasn't. It was Timothy, the amiable six-foot black snake who
faithfully and cordially did his best to keep the presidential mansion
from falling down. Without him innumerable mouse-sized holes,
gnawed by mouse-sized dinies, would assuredly have brought about its
collapse. The president was grateful, but he'd meant to keep Timothy
out of sight. Timothy must have escaped and as a faithful snake, loyal
to his duty, he'd wriggled straight back to the presidential mansion.
Like all Eire, he undoubtedly knew of the pious tradition that St.
Patrick had brought the snakes to Eire, and he wasn't one to let St.
Patrick down. So he'd returned and doubtless patrolled all the diny
tunnels in the sagging structure. He'd cleaned out any miniature,

dinosaurlike creatures who might be planning to eat some more nails.
He now prepared to nap, with a clear conscience. But if Sean
O'Donohue saw him--!
Perspiration stood out on President O'Hanrahan's forehead. The
droplets joined and ran down his nose.
"It's evident," said the chairman of the Dail Committee, with truculence,
"that we're a pack of worthless, finagling' and maybe even Protestant
renegades from the ways an' the traditions