urated his palate with it and then spat it
forth into the grate. Then he paused to judge.

Mr. Power, a much younger man, was employed in the Royal Irish
Constabulary Office in Dublin Castle. The arc of his social rise
intersected the arc of his friend's decline, but Mr. Kernan's decline
was mitigated by the fact that certain of those friends who had known
him at his highest point of success still esteemed him as a character.
Mr. Power was one of these friends. His inexplicable debts were a byword
in his circle; he was a debonair young man.

The car halted before a small house on the Glasnevin road and Mr. Kernan
was helped into the house. His wife put him to bed while Mr. Power sat
downstairs in the kitchen asking the children where they went to school
and what book they were in. The children--two girls and a boy, conscious
of their father helplessness and of their mother's absence, began some
horseplay with him. He was surprised at their manners and at their
accents, and his brow grew thoughtful. After a while Mrs. Kernan entered
the kitchen, exclaiming:

"Such a sight! O, he'll do for himself one day and that's the holy alls
of it. He's been drinking since Friday."

Mr. Power was careful to explain to her that he was not responsible,
that he had come on the scene by the merest accident. Mrs. Kernan,
remembering Mr. Power's good offices during domestic quarrels, as well
as many small, but opportune loans, said:

"O, you needn't tell me that, Mr. Power. I know you're a friend of his,
not like some of the others he does be with. They're all right so long
as he has money in his pocket to keep him out from his wife and family.
Nice friends! Who was he with tonight, I'd like to know?"

Mr. Power shook his head but said nothing.

"I'm so sorry," she continued, "that I've nothing in the house to offer
you. But if you wait a minute I'll send round to Fogarty's, at the
corner."

Mr. Power stood up.

"We were waiting for him to come home with the money. He never seems to
think he has a home at all."

"O, now, Mrs. Kernan," said Mr. Power, "we'll make him turn over a new
leaf. I'll talk to Martin. He's the man. We'll come here one of these
nights and talk it over."

She saw him to the door. The carman was stamping up and down the
footpath, and swinging his arms to warm himself.

"It's very kind of you to bring him home," she said.

"Not at all," said Mr. Power.

He got up on the car. As it drove off he raised h