Beyond these there was the jaunting-car trundling over the rough
cobblestone street, or bumping in and out of dangerous holes. Whips
cracked, and the loud voices of jarveys shouted blatant humour and Irish
fun at horse and passenger. Here and there, also, some stately coach,
bedizened with arms of the quality, made its way through the chief
streets, or across the bridges of the Liffey.

Then came the general population, moving cheerfully in the inspiriting
sun; for Irishmen move so much in a moist atmosphere that on a sunshiny
day all tristesse of life seems changed, as in a flash, into high spirits
and much activity. Not that the country, at its worst, is slow-footed or
depressed; for wit is always at the elbow of want.

Never in all Ireland's years had she a more beautiful day than that
in which Dyck Calhoun and the Hon. Leonard Mallow met to settle their
account in a secluded corner of Phoenix Park. It was not the usual place
for duels. The seconds had taken care to keep the locale from the
knowledge of the public; especially as many who had come to know of
the event at the Breakneck Club were eager to be present.

The affair began an hour after sunrise. Neither Dyck nor Leonard Mallow
slept at home the night before, but in separate taverns near Phoenix
Park. Mallow came almost jauntily to the obscure spot. Both men had
sensitiveness, and both entered the grounds with a certain sense of
pleasure.

Dyck moved and spoke like a man charged with some fluid which had
abstracted him from life's monotonous routine. He had to consider the
chance of never leaving the grounds alive; yet as he entered the place,
where smooth grass between the trees made good footing for the work to be