The new-comer surveyed the deplorable figure before him and then turned to the constable, saying: 

“It’s all right, constable.  I’ll see him home.”

The constable touched his helmet and answered: 

“All right, Mr. Power!”

“Come now, Tom,” said Mr. Power, taking his friend by the arm.  “No bones broken.  What?  Can you walk?”

The young man in the cycling-suit took the man by the other arm and the crowd divided.

“How did you get yourself into this mess?” asked Mr. Power.

“The gentleman fell down the stairs,” said the young man.

“I’ ’ery ’uch o’liged to you, sir,” said the injured man.

“Not at all.”

“’ant we have a little...?”

“Not now.  Not now.”

The three men left the bar and the crowd sifted through the doors in to the laneway.  The manager brought the constable to the stairs to inspect the scene of the accident.  They agreed that the gentleman must have missed his footing.  The customers returned to the counter and a curate set about removing the traces of blood from the floor.

When they came out into Grafton Street, Mr. Power whistled for an outsider.  The injured man said again as well as he could.

“I’ ’ery ’uch o’liged to you, sir.  I hope we’ll ’eet again. ’y na’e is Kernan.”

The shock and the incipient pain had partly sobered him.

“Don’t mention it,” said the young man.

They shook hands.  Mr. Kernan was hoisted on to the car and, while Mr. Power was giving directions to the carman, he expressed his gratitude to the young man and regretted that they could not have a little drink together.

“Another time,” said the young man.

The car drove off towards Westmoreland Street.  As it passed Ballast Office the clock showed half-past nine.  A keen east wind hit them, blowing from the mouth of the river.  Mr. Kernan was huddled together with cold.  His friend asked him to tell how the accident had happened.

“I’an’t ’an,” he answered, “’y ’ongue is hurt.”

“Show.”

The other leaned over the well of the car and peered into Mr. Kernan’s mouth but he could not see.  He struck a match and, sheltering it in the shell of his hands, peered again into the mouth which Mr. Kernan opened obediently.  The swaying movement of the car brought the match to and from the opened mouth.  The lower teeth and gums were covered with clotted blood and a minute piece of the tongue seemed to have been bitten off.  The match was blown out.

“That’s ugly,” said Mr. Power.

“Sha, ’s nothing,” said Mr. Kernan, closing his mouth and pulling the collar of his filthy coat across his neck.