"Yes, that's agreed," said Ignatius Gallaher. "Next year if I come,
parole d'honneur."

"And to clinch the bargain," said Little Chandler, "we'll just have one
more now."

Ignatius Gallaher took out a large gold watch and looked a it.

"Is it to be the last?" he said. "Because you know, I have an a.p."

"O, yes, positively," said Little Chandler.

"Very well, then," said Ignatius Gallaher, "let us have another one as a
deoc an doruis--that's good vernacular for a small whisky, I believe."

Little Chandler ordered the drinks. The blush which had risen to his
face a few moments before was establishing itself. A trifle made
him blush at any time: and now he felt warm and excited. Three small
whiskies had gone to his head and Gallaher's strong cigar had confused
his mind, for he was a delicate and abstinent person. The adventure of
meeting Gallaher after eight years, of finding himself with Gallaher
in Corless's surrounded by lights and noise, of listening to Gallaher's
stories and of sharing for a brief space Gallaher's vagrant and
triumphant life, upset the equipoise of his sensitive nature. He felt
acutely the contrast between his own life and his friend's and it seemed
to him unjust. Gallaher was his inferior in birth and education. He was
sure that he could do something better than his friend had ever done, or
could ever do, something higher than mere tawdry journalism if he only
got the chance. What was it that stood in his way? His unfortunate
timidity He wished to vindicate himself in some way, to assert his
manhood. He saw behind Gallaher's refusal of his invitation. Gallaher
was only patronising him by his friendliness just as he was patronising
Ireland by his visit.

The barman brought their drinks. Little Chandler pushed one glass
towards his friend and took up the other boldly.

"Who knows?" he said, as they lifted their glasses. "When you come next
year I may have the pleasure of wishing long life and happiness to Mr.
and Mrs. Ignatius Gallaher."

Ignatius Gallaher in the act of drinking closed one eye expressively
over the rim of his glass. When he had drunk he smacked his lips
decisively, set down his glass and said:

"No blooming fear of that, my boy. I'm going to have my fling first and
see a bit of life and the world before I put my head in the sack--if I
ever do."

"Some day you will," said Little Chandler calmly.

Ignatius Gallaher turned his orange tie and slate-blue eyes full upon
his