he age of forty. Being a Resident
Magistrate, he was debarred from discussing the Civilization of the
Future in print. No Government allows its paid servant to write books on
controversial subjects. But Mr. Courtney remained intellectually alert,
and was a determined champion of the cause of progress, even amid the
uncongenial society of a West of Ireland town.

The introduction of Summer Time gave Mr. Courtney a great opportunity.
Almost everyone else in the neighbourhood objected to the change of the
clock. Cows, it was said, disliked being milked before their accustomed
hour. Dew collects in deep pools, and renders farm work impossible in
the early morning. It is unreasonable to expect labourers, who have
to rise early in any case, to get out of their beds before the day is
properly warm. Mr. Courtney combated all these objections with arguments
which struck him as sound, but irritated everybody else. When it
appeared that Ireland, worse treated as usual than England, was to
be fined an additional twenty-five minutes, and was to lose the proud
privilege of Irish time, Mr. Courtney was more pleased than ever. He
made merry over what he called the arguments of reactionary patriotism.

Sir Timothy was the principal landlord, and, socially, the most
important person in the neighbourhood. Sir Timothy did not like Mr.
Courtney. He was of opinion that the R.M. was inclined to take a high
hand at Petty Sessions and to bully the other magistrates--Sir Timothy
was himself a magistrate--who sat with him on the Bench. He also thought
that Mr. Courtney was "too d----d superior" in private life. Sir Timothy
had the lowest possible opinion of the progress made by civilization in
his own time. The Civilization of the Future, about which Mr. Courtney
talked a great deal, seemed to Sir Timothy a nasty kind of nightmare.

It was natural, almost inevitable, that Sir Timothy should take a
conservative view on the subject of the new time.

"I don't see the use of playing silly tricks with the clock," he said.
"You might just as well say that I'd live ten years longer if everybody
agreed to say that I'm forty-eight instead of fifty-eight. I'd still
be fifty-eight in reality. It's just the same with the time. We may all
make up our minds to pretend it's eight o'clock when it's really seven,
but it will still be seven."

Mr. Courtney smiled in a gentle, but very annoying manner.

"My dear Sir Timothy," he said, "don't you see that what