country fellows, omadhauns, you know, to
drill. The sergeant makes them stand in a row against the wall and hold
up their plates."

He illustrated the story by grotesque gestures.

"At dinner, you know. Then he has a bloody big bowl of cabbage before
him on the table and a bloody big spoon like a shovel. He takes up a wad
of cabbage on the spoon and pegs it across the room and the poor devils
have to try and catch it on their plates: 65, catch your cabbage."

Everyone laughed again: but Mr. Kernan was somewhat indignant still. He
talked of writing a letter to the papers.

"These yahoos coming up here," he said, "think they can boss the people.
I needn't tell you, Martin, what kind of men they are."

Mr. Cunningham gave a qualified assent.

"It's like everything else in this world," he said. "You get some bad
ones and you get some good ones."

"O yes, you get some good ones, I admit," said Mr. Kernan, satisfied.

"It's better to have nothing to say to them," said Mr. M'Coy. "That's my
opinion!"

Mrs. Kernan entered the room and, placing a tray on the table, said:

"Help yourselves, gentlemen."

Mr. Power stood up to officiate, offering her his chair. She declined
it, saying she was ironing downstairs, and, after having exchanged a nod
with Mr. Cunningham behind Mr. Power's back, prepared to leave the room.
Her husband called out to her:

"And have you nothing for me, duckie?"

"O, you! The back of my hand to you!" said Mrs. Kernan tartly.

Her husband called after her:

"Nothing for poor little hubby!"

He assumed such a comical face and voice that the distribution of the
bottles of stout took place amid general merriment.

The gentlemen drank from their glasses, set the glasses again on the
table and paused. Then Mr. Cunningham turned towards Mr. Power and said
casually:

"On Thursday night, you said, Jack."

"Thursday, yes," said Mr. Power.

"Righto!" said Mr. Cunningham promptly.

"We can meet in M'Auley's," said Mr. M'Coy. "That'll be the most
convenient place."

"But we mustn't be late," said Mr. Power earnestly, "because it is sure
to be crammed to the doors."

"We can meet at half-seven," said Mr. M'Coy.

"Righto!" said Mr. Cunningham.

"Half-seven at M'Auley's be it!"

There was a short silence. Mr. Kernan waited to see whether he would be
taken into his friends' confidence. Then he asked:

"What's in the wind?"

"O, it's nothing," said Mr. Cunningham. "It's only a little matt