he train at this station," said the guard,
in a friendly explanatory tone, "and the way things is it wouldn't suit
us to be going on, as long as them ones," he pointed to the rear of the
train with his thumb, "stays where they are."

"But--oh, hang it all!--if the train doesn't go cm I shall miss the mail
boat at Kingstown, and if I'm not in London to-morrow morning I shall
lose the best part of L1,000 a year."

"That would be a pity now," said the guard. "And I'd be sorry for any
gentleman to be put to such a loss. But what can we do? The way things
is at the present time it wouldn't suit either the driver or me to be
taking the train on while there'd be soldiers in it. It's queer times
we're having at present and that's a fact."

The extreme queerness of the times offered no kind of consolation to Tom
O'Donovan. But he knew it was no good arguing with the guard.

He contented himself with the fervent expression of an opinion which he
honestly held.

"It would be a jolly good thing for everybody," he said, "if the English
army and the Irish Republic and your silly war and every kind of idiot
who goes in for politics were put into a pot together and boiled down
for soup."

He turned and walked away. As he went he heard the guard expressing mild
agreement with his sentiment.

"It might be," said the guard. "I wouldn't say but that might be the
best in the latter end."

Tom O'Donovan, having failed with the guard and the engine driver, made
up his mind to try what he could do with the soldiers. He was not very
hopeful of persuading them to leave the train; but his position was so
nearly desperate that he was unwilling to surrender any chance. He found
a smart young sergeant and six men of the Royal Wessex Light Infantry
seated in a third-class carriage. They wore shrapnel helmets, and their
rifles were propped up between their knees.

"Sergeant," said Tom, "I suppose you know you are holding up the whole
train."

"My orders, sir," said the sergeant, "is to travel---"

"Oh, I know all about your orders. But look here. It would suit you just
as well to hold up the next train. There's another in two hours, and you
can get into it and sit in it all night. But if you don't let this
train go on I shall miss the boat at Kingstown, and if I'm not in London
to-morrow morning I stand to lose L1,000 a year."

"Very sorry, sir," said the sergeant, "but my orders--I'd be willing to
oblige, especially any gentleman who i