and triumphant life, upset the equipoise of his sensitive nature.  He felt acutely the contrast between his own life and his friend’s and it seemed to him unjust.  Gallaher was his inferior in birth and education.  He was sure that he could do something better than his friend had ever done, or could ever do, something higher than mere tawdry journalism if he only got the chance.  What was it that stood in his way?  His unfortunate timidity He wished to vindicate himself in some way, to assert his manhood.  He saw behind Gallaher’s refusal of his invitation.  Gallaher was only patronising him by his friendliness just as he was patronising Ireland by his visit.

The barman brought their drinks.  Little Chandler pushed one glass towards his friend and took up the other boldly.

“Who knows?” he said, as they lifted their glasses.  “When you come next year I may have the pleasure of wishing long life and happiness to Mr. and Mrs. Ignatius Gallaher.”

Ignatius Gallaher in the act of drinking closed one eye expressively over the rim of his glass.  When he had drunk he smacked his lips decisively, set down his glass and said: 

“No blooming fear of that, my boy.  I’m going to have my fling first and see a bit of life and the world before I put my head in the sack —­if I ever do.”

“Some day you will,” said Little Chandler calmly.

Ignatius Gallaher turned his orange tie and slate-blue eyes full upon his friend.

“You think so?” he said.

“You’ll put your head in the sack,” repeated Little Chandler stoutly, “like everyone else if you can find the girl.”

He had slightly emphasised his tone and he was aware that he had betrayed himself; but, though the colour had heightened in his cheek, he did not flinch from his friend’s gaze.  Ignatius Gallaher watched him for a few moments and then said: 

“If ever it occurs, you may bet your bottom dollar there’ll be no mooning and spooning about it.  I mean to marry money.  She’ll have a good fat account at the bank or she won’t do for me.”

Little Chandler shook his head.

“Why, man alive,” said Ignatius Gallaher, vehemently, “do you know what it is?  I’ve only to say the word and tomorrow I can have the woman and the cash.  You don’t believe it?  Well, I know it.  There are hundreds—­what am I saying?—­thousands of rich Germans and Jews, rotten with money, that’d only be too glad....  You wait a while my boy.  See if I don’t play my cards properly.  When I go about a thing I mean business, I tell you.  You just wait.”

He tossed his glass to his mouth, finished his drink and laughed loudly.  Then he looked thoughtfully before him and said in a calmer tone: 

“But I’m in no hurry.  They can wait.  I don’t fancy tying myself up to one woman, you know.”

He imitated with his mouth the act of tasting and made a wry face.

“Must get a bit stale, I should think,” he said.