beneath whose shade, on the sunny days that are enjoyed by the lesser world of men, sad anglers, in ancient tweed suits, lolled, broken-heartedly, in basket-chairs.  And, finally, on the town’s highest level, was The Mall, reserved, dignified, with a double row of great beech-trees, and behind them, on both sides of the wide roadway, the reserved and dignified houses of the magnates of Cluhir.  Eminent in both these qualities was No. 6; almost too much so, Mrs. Mangan thought sometimes.  On a wet day she would say, it would be as good for you to be in the Back of Beyond itself, as here, where you might be flattening your nose all day and not see as much as a bike going by.

Dr. Mangan, however, fully recognised the value of this seclusion.  His surgery was at the back of the house, and its unbroken quiet was grateful to a man who had much to do, and plenty to think of.  He was seated in it, one mild February evening, some months after the election of Dr. Aherne.  It had been market-day in Cluhir; patients had been many, and fees satisfactory.  The Doctor reclined in front of a good turf and wood fire, and smoked a mellow pipe, and reviewed the run of events.  Danny Aherne had been in, to speak to him about a case, that afternoon, and Dr. Mangan’s thoughts ran back to that little affair of the Knock Ceoil Dispensary, and of Major Talbot-Lowry’s part in the matter.  Danny had just nipped in before the Local Government Bill took the power away from the old Dispensary Committees.  Dam’ luck for Danny.  The Major had been useful enough.  It hadn’t been his vote, so much as his influence, that had got the boy the job.  The affair, as far as the Doctor was concerned, was of quite minor importance, but it had been useful in promoting the feeling of intimacy between the houses of Mangan and Talbot-Lowry.  That omniscient composite authority, “The people on the roads,” whose views had been quoted by Mrs. Twomey, had not been wrong in hinting that the Doctor had permitted the Major to have the best of the bargain about the big brown horse.  Old Tom Aherne had made it well worth his while to do so, so everyone had come comfortably out of the transaction.  Nor had Dr. Mangan, in diagnosing Major Talbot-Lowry, been wrong in his assumption that Dick, generous, and elated by his success in bargaining, would wish to indemnify his opponent for having had the worst of it, and would consider the support of Danny Aherne as a suitable expression of the wish.

The Big Doctor’s intimacy with Dick had progressed of late with remarkable rapidity.  During one of those friendly talks over the Mount Music library fire, that had latterly been recurring with increasing frequency, an opportunity had risen for the Doctor—­“a warm man,” as has been said—­to offer to the Major a tangible proof of his friendship.

“After all, there’s the money lying idle at my bank,” the Doctor had said, breezily.

Dick, in a moment of irritation and perplexity, had expatiated on the expenses consequent on launching sons into professions, and also on the pig-headed determination of annuitants to “hang on,” regardless of the inconveniences occasioned to a heavily burdened property by this want of consideration.