of conversation likely to interest a tousled girl who had just
been crawling about the floor on her hands and knees. At last he said
"Good morning." Mary Ellen gaped at him and then smiled. The Major,
recollecting that it was half-past one o'clock, and therefore no longer
morning, said that it was a fine evening. Mary Ellen's smile broadened.
The Major expressed a polite hope that she was quite well. He thought of
shaking hands with her, and wished that he had brought a pair of gloves
with him, Mary Ellen's hands were certainly dirty and they looked hot.
But he was not obliged to shake hands. Mary Ellen realised that he was a
kind of man new to her, one who did not want a drink. She left the room,
came back again almost at once for the broom which she had forgotten,
and then left decisively, slamming the door.

The Major crossed the room and looked out of the window. He saw Doyle
and Gallagher go into Kerrigan's shop, and wondered vaguely what they
wanted there. He saw Constable Moriarty telling a story, evidently of
a humorous kind, to Sergeant Colgan, at the door of the police barrack.
The story--he judged from Moriarty's gestures--had something to do with
Doyle and Gallagher. He wondered, without much real interest, what the
story was. There was nothing else of an exciting kind to be seen from
the window. The Major turned and walked to the opposite corner of the
room. He stood in front of a small square mahogany table. On it was
a stuffed fox in a glass case. The Major looked at it carefully from
several points of view. It was a very ordinary fox, and appeared to
have been stuffed a long time. Moths had eaten the fur off its back in
several places, and one of its eyes, which were made of bright brown
beads, was hanging from the socket by a thread. The glass of the case
was exceedingly dusty. The Major, finding the fox dull and rather
disgusting, left it and went over to the fireplace. Over the chimney
piece hung a portrait of a very self-satisfied priest who looked as if
he had just dined well. A gold Latin cross, attached to a black ribbon
watch guard, rested gracefully on the large stomach of the man. The
stomach struck the Major as one which was usually distended to its
utmost capacity. The portrait was remarkable for that fuzziness of
outline which seems to be inevitable in enlarged photographs. The frame
was a very handsome one, elaborately carved and gilt.

Next the picture of the priest, unframed and attached