his abstract value as a male. She was
glad that he had suggested coming with her. She thought her plans over.

The night of the grand concert came. Mrs. Kearney, with her husband and
daughter, arrived at the Antient Concert Rooms three-quarters of an hour
before the time at which the concert was to begin. By ill luck it was a
rainy evening. Mrs. Kearney placed her daughter's clothes and music in
charge of her husband and went all over the building looking for Mr.
Holohan or Mr. Fitzpatrick. She could find neither. She asked the
stewards was any member of the committee in the hall and, after a great
deal of trouble, a steward brought out a little woman named Miss
Beirne to whom Mrs. Kearney explained that she wanted to see one of the
secretaries. Miss Beirne expected them any minute and asked could she do
anything. Mrs. Kearney looked searchingly at the oldish face which was
screwed into an expression of trustfulness and enthusiasm and answered:

"No, thank you!"

The little woman hoped they would have a good house. She looked out
at the rain until the melancholy of the wet street effaced all the
trustfulness and enthusiasm from her twisted features. Then she gave a
little sigh and said:

"Ah, well! We did our best, the dear knows."

Mrs. Kearney had to go back to the dressing-room.

The artistes were arriving. The bass and the second tenor had already
come. The bass, Mr. Duggan, was a slender young man with a scattered
black moustache. He was the son of a hall porter in an office in the
city and, as a boy, he had sung prolonged bass notes in the resounding
hall. From this humble state he had raised himself until he had become
a first-rate artiste. He had appeared in grand opera. One night, when an
operatic artiste had fallen ill, he had undertaken the part of the king
in the opera of Maritana at the Queen's Theatre. He sang his music with
great feeling and volume and was warmly welcomed by the gallery; but,
unfortunately, he marred the good impression by wiping his nose in his
gloved hand once or twice out of thoughtlessness. He was unassuming and
spoke little. He said yous so softly that it passed unnoticed and he
never drank anything stronger than milk for his voice's sake. Mr. Bell,
the second tenor, was a fair-haired little man who competed every year
for prizes at the Feis Ceoil. On his fourth trial he had been awarded
a bronze medal. He was extremely nervous and extremely jealous of
other tenors and he cover