man of seventeen years of age who is in good general health. Mannix coiled himself up on one of the sofas which line the corridors of the Irish mail steamers. He was dimly conscious of seeing the old gentleman who had hustled him trip over the gun case which lay at the side of the sofa. Then he fell asleep. He was wakened—it seemed to him rather less than five minutes later—by a steward who told him that the steamer was rapidly approaching Kingstown Pier. He got up and sought for means to wash. It is impossible for a self-respecting man who has been brought up at an English public school to begin the day in good humour unless he is able to wash himself thoroughly. But the designer of the steamers of this particular line did not properly appreciate the fact He provided a meagre supply of basins for the passengers, many of whom, in consequence, land at Kingstown Pier in irritable moods, Frank Mannix was one of them.

The elderly gentleman, who appeared less than ever a gentleman at five o'clock in the morning, was another. Mannix retained, in spite of his sleepiness and his sensation of grime, a slight amount of self-control. He was moderately grateful to an obsequious sailor who relieved him of his kit bag. He carried, as he had the night before, his own gun-case and fishing-rod. The elderly gentleman, who carried nothing, had no self-control whatever. He swore at the overburdened sailor who took his things ashore for him. Mannix proceeded in his turn to cross the gangway and was unceremoniously pushed from behind by the elderly gentleman. He protested with frigid politeness.

"Don't dawdle, boy, don't dawdle," said the elderly gentleman.

"Don't hustle," said Mannix. "This isn't a football scrimmage."

In order to say this effectively he stopped in the middle of the gangway and turned round.

"Damn it all," said the elderly gentleman, "go on and don't try to be insolent."

Mannix was a prefect. He had, moreover, disposed of the captain of the Uppingham eleven by a brilliant catch in the long field at a critical moment of an important match. He had been praised in public by no less a person than Mr. Dupré for his excellent influence on the tone of Edmonstone House. He was not prepared to be sworn at and insulted by a red-faced man with hairy hands at five o'clock in the morning. He flushed hotly and replied, "Damn it all, sir, don't be an infernal cad." The elderly gentleman pushed him again, this time with some violence. Mannix stumbled, got his fishing-rod entangled in the rail of the gangway, swung half round and then fell sideways on the pier. The fishing-rod, plainly broken in pieces, remained in his hand. The gun-case bumped along the pier and was picked up by a porter. Mannix was extremely angry. A tall lady, apparently connected with the offensive red-faced gentleman, observed in perfectly audible tones that schoolboys ought not to be allowed to travel without some one in charge of them. Mannix's anger rose to boiling point at this addition of calculated insult to deliberate injury. He struggled to his feet, intending then and there to speak some plain truths to his assailant. He was immediately aware of a pain in his ankle. A pain so sharp as to make walking quite impossible. The sailor who carried his bag sympathised with him and helped him into the train. He felt the injured ankle carefully and came to the conclusion that it was sprained.

Between Kingstown and Dublin Mannix arranged plans for handing over his assailant to the police. That seemed to him the most dignified form of revenge open to him. He was fully determined to take it. Unfortunately his train carried him, slowly indeed, but inexorably, to the station from which another train, the one in which he was to travel westwards to Rosnacree, took its departure. The elderly gentleman and the lady with the insolent manner, whose destination was Dublin itself, had left Kingstown in a different train. Mannix saw no more of them and so was unable to get them handcuffed.

Two porters helped him along the platform at Broadstone Station and settled him in a corner of the breakfast carriage of the westward going mail. A very sympathetic attendant offered to find out whether there was a doctor in the train. It turned out that there was not. The sympathetic attendant, with the help of a young ticket-collector in a neat uniform offered to do the best he could for his ankle. The cook joined them, leaving a quantity of bacon hissing in his pan. He was a man of some surgical knowledge.

"It's hot water," he said, "that's best for the like of that."

"It could be," said the ticket-collector, "that it's broke on him."

"Cold water," said Mannix firmly.

"With a sup of whiskey in it," said the attendant

"If it's broke," said the ticket-collector, "and you go putting whiskey and water on it it's likely that the young gentleman will be lame for life."

"Maybe now," said the cook derisively, "you'd be in favour of soda water with the squeeze of a lemon in it."

"I would not," said the ticket-collector, "but a drop of sweet oil the way the joint would be kept supple."

"Get a jug of cold water," said Mannix, "and something that will do for a bandage."

The attendant, with a glance at the cook, compromised the matter. He brought a basin full of lukewarm water and a table napkin. The cook wrapped the soaked napkin round the ankle. The ticket-collector tied it in its place with a piece of string. The attendant coaxed the sock over the bulky bandage. The new brown boot could by no means be persuaded to go on. It was packed by the attendant in the kit bag.

"It's my opinion," said the ticket-collector, "that you'd get damages out of the steamboat company if you was to process them."

Mannix did not want to attack the steamboat company. He felt vindictive, but his anger was all di-rected against the man who had injured him.

"There was a fellow I knew one time," said the ticket-collector, "that got £200 out of this company, and he wasn't as bad as you nor near it."

"I remember that well," said the attendant "It was his elbow he dislocated, and him getting out at the wrong side of the carriage."

"He'd have got more," said the ticket-collector. "He'd have got £500 instead of £200 if so be he'd have gone into the court, but that's what he couldn't do, by reason of the fact that he happened to be travelling without a ticket when the accident came on him."

He gazed thoughtfully out of the window as he spoke.

"It might have been that," said the attendant, "which was the cause of his getting out at the wrong side of the carriage."

"He tried it," said the ticket-collector, still looking straight in front of him, "because he hadn't a ticket."

No one spoke for a minute. The story of the fraudulent traveller who secured £200 in damages was an affecting one. At length the cook broke the silence.

"The young gentleman here," he said, "has his ticket right enough surely."

"He may have," said the ticket-collector.

"I have," said Mannix, fumbling in his pocket "Here it is."

"I'm obliged to you," said the ticket-collector. "It was it I wanted to see."

"Then why didn't you ask me for it?" said Mannix.

"He wouldn't do the like," said the attendant, "and you with maybe a broken leg."

"I would not," said the ticket-collector. "It would be a queer thing for me to be bothering you about a ticket, and me just after tying a bit of cord round as nasty a leg as ever I seen."

"But when you wanted to see the ticket—" said Mannix.

"I drew down the subject of tickets," said the collector, "the way you'd offer me a look at yours, if so be you had one, but as for asking you for it and you in pain, it's what I wouldn't do."

There are travellers, cantankerous people, who complain that Irish railway officials are not civil. Perhaps English porters and guards may excel them in the plausible lip service which anticipates a tip. But in the Irishman there is a natural delicacy of feeling which