eaches."

"We'll get the tinned peaches, too."

"No, you won't. If you have civilisation--and that includes a lot of
things besides tinned peaches, tobacco for instance, Gorman. If you want
a cigar you'll have to put up with Ascher. But I daresay you'd be better
without it. Only I don't think I'll live in your Ireland, Gorman."

We passed away from London in the end, got out beyond the last tentative
reachings of the speculative builder, into country lane-ways. There
were hedges covered with hawthorn, and the scent of it reached us as we
rushed past. Gorman threw away a half-smoked cigar. Perhaps he wanted to
enjoy the country smells. Perhaps he was preparing himself for life in
the new Ireland which he hoped to bring into being.

We reached the barn in which Tim Gorman lived, at about nine o'clock.
He was waiting for us, dressed in his best clothes. I knew they were his
best clothes because they were creased all over in wrong places, showing
that they had been packed away tightly in some receptacle too small to
hold them. It is only holiday clothes which are treated in this way.
Besides putting on this suit, Tim had paid us the compliment of washing
his face and hands for the first time, I imagine, for many days.

He shook hands with me shyly, and greeted his brother with obvious
nervousness.

"I have everything ready," he said, "quite ready. But I can't
promise---- You may be disappointed---- I've had endless
difficulties---- If you will allow me to explain----"

"Not a bit of good explaining to us," said Gorman. "All we're capable of
judging is the results."

Tim sighed and led us into the barn.

It was a large, bare room, ventilated--no one could say it was lit--by
three or four unglazed openings in the wall. These Tim blocked with hay
so as to exclude the lingering twilight of the summer evening.

At one end of the building was a stage, built, I thought, of fragments
of packing cases. It was very hard to be sure about anything, for we had
nothing except the light of two candles to see by, but the stage looked
exceedingly frail. I should not have cared to walk across it. However,
as it turned out, that did not matter. The stage was used only by
ghosts, the phantoms which Tim created, and they weighed nothing. Tim
himself, when it became necessary for him to adjust some part of his
apparatus, crept about underneath the stage.

At the other end of the barn was an optical lantern, fitted with the
usual mec