beer-man with us. He shall drink now on his own hook."

Mulcahy had not taken into account the possibility of being sent
on active service. He had made up his mind that he would not go
under any circumstances, but fortune was against him.

"Sick-you?" said the doctor, who had served an unholy
apprenticeship to his trade in Tralee poorhouses. "You're only
home-sick, and what you call varicose veins come from over-eating.
A little gentle exercise will cure that." And later, "Mulcahy, my
man, everybody is allowed to apply for a sick-certificate once. If
he tries it twice we call him by an ugly name. Go back to your
duty, and let's hear no more of your diseases."

I am ashamed to say that Horse Egan enjoyed the study of Mulcahy's
soul in those days, and Dan took an equal interest. Together they
would communicate to their corporal all the dark lore of death
which is the portion of those who have
seen men die. Egan had the larger experience, but Dan the finer
imagination. Mulcahy shivered when the former spoke of the knife
as an intimate acquaintance, or the latter dwelt with loving
particularity on the fate of those who, wounded and helpless, had
been overlooked by the ambulances, and had fallen into the hands
of the Afghan women-folk.

Mulcahy knew that the mutiny, for the present at least, was dead;
knew, too, that a change had come over Dan's usually respectful
attitude towards him, and Horse Egan's laughter and frequent
allusions to abortive conspiracies emphasised all that the
conspirator had guessed. The horrible fascination of the death-