The Foolish Lovers

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The Foolish Lovers

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Title: The Foolish Lovers
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THE FOOLISH LOVERS
BY
ST. JOHN G. ERVINE
New York
1920
TO MY MOTHER
who asked me to write a story without any "Bad words" in it;
and
TO MRS. J. O. HANNAY
who asked me to write a story without any "Sex" in it.

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE FOOLISH LOVERS
Why, 'tis an office of discovery, love! _The Merchant of Venice._
Love unpaid does soon disband. ANDREW MARVELL

THE FIRST CHAPTER
I
If you were to say to an Ulster man, "Who are the proudest people in
Ireland?" he would first of all stare at you as if he had difficulty in
believing that any intelligent person could ask a question with so
obvious an answer, and then he would reply, "Why, the Ulster people,
of course!" And if you were to say to a Ballyards man, "Who are the
proudest people in Ulster?" he would reply ... if he deigned to reply at
all ... "A child would know that! The Ballyards people, of course!"
It is difficult for anyone who is not a native of the town, to understand
why the inhabitants of Ballyards should possess so great a pride in their
birthplace. It is not a large town ... it is not even the largest town in the
county ... nor has it any notable features to distinguish it from a dozen
other towns of similar size in that part of Ireland. Millreagh, although it
is now a poor, scattered sort of place, was once of great importance: for
the mail-boats sailed from its harbour to Port Michael until the
steamship owners agreed that Port Michael was too much exposed to
the severities of rough weather, and chose another harbour elsewhere.
Millreagh mourns over its lost glory, attributable in no way to the fault
of Millreagh, but entirely to the inscrutable design of Providence which
arranged that Port Michael, and not Kirkmull, should lie on the
opposite side of the Irish Sea; and every Sunday morning, after church,
and sometimes on Sunday afternoon, the people walk along the
breakwater to the lighthouse and remind each other of the days when
their town was of consequence. "We spent a hundred and fifty thousand
pounds on our harbour," they say to each other, "and then the Scotch
went and did the like of that!"--the like of that being their stupidity in

living in an exposed situation. Millreagh does not admit that it has
suffered any more than a temporary diminishment of its greatness, and
it makes optimistic and boastful prophecies of the fortune and repute
that will come to it when the engineers make a tunnel between Scotland
and Ireland. Sometimes an article on the Channel Tunnel will appear in
the Newsletter or the Whig, and for weeks afterwards Millreagh lives in
a fever of expectancy; for whatever else may be said about the Tunnel,
this is certain to be said of it, that it will start, in Ireland, from
Millreagh. On that brilliant hope, Millreagh, tightening its belt, lives in
a fair degree of happiness, eking out its present poverty by fishing and
by letting lodgings in the summer.
Pickie, too, has much reputation, more, perhaps, than Millreagh, for it
is a popular holiday town and was once described in the Evening
Telegraph as "the Blackpool of Ireland." This description, although it
was apt enough, offended the more pretentious people