0.30," said Tom. "I'll breakfast at the Euston Hotel
and take the tube to his office. Bye-bye, old girl."

But the "bye-bye," like the kiss, was premature. The train did not
start.

"If I get Manners' agency," said Tom, "we'll be on the pig's back.
You'll be driving about in a big car with a fur coat on you in the
inside of six months."

"Be as fascinating as you can, Tom," she said.

"He'd hardly have asked me to go all the way to London," said Tom, "if
he wasn't going to give me the agency."

They had reasoned all that out half-a-dozen times since the letter
arrived which summoned Tom to an interview in Mr. Manners' office. There
was no doubt that the agency, which meant the sole right of selling the
Manners' machines in Ireland, would be exceedingly profitable. And Tom
O'Donovan believed that he had secured it.

He glanced at the watch on his wrist.

"I wonder what the deuce we're waiting for," he said.

But passengers on Irish railways now-a-days are all accustomed to trains
which do not start, and have learned the lesson of patience. Tom waited,
without any sign of irritation, Mrs. O'Donovan chatted pleasantly to
him. The train had reached the station in good time. It was due in
Dublin two hours before the mail boat left Kingstown. There was no need
to feel worried.

Yet at the end of half-an-hour Tom did begin to feel worried. When
three-quarters of an hour had passed he became acutely anxious.

"If we don't get a move on soon," he said, "I shall miss the boat,
and--I say, Jessie, this is getting serious."

Missing the boat meant missing his appointment in London next morning,
and then--why, then Manners would probably give the agency to someone
else. Tom opened the door of his carriage and jumped out.

"I'll speak to the guard," he said, "and find out what's the matter."

The guard, a fat, good-humoured looking man, was talking earnestly to
the engine driver. Tom O'Donovan addressed him explosively.

"Why the devil don't you go on?" he said.

"The train is not going on to-day," said the guard. "It'll maybe never
go on at all."

"Why not?"

It was the engine driver who replied. He was a tall, grave man, and he
spoke with dignity, as if he were accustomed to making public speeches
on solemn occasions.

"This train," he said, "will not be used for the conveyance of the armed
forces of the English Crown, which country is presently at war with the
Irish Republic."

"There's soldiers got into t