'I'm sorry I don't know Ireland,' said Jim.

'Then I'll give you the dance fer natural love an' affection.'

Done protested that he could not dance, but the laughing girl dragged him
into the thick of it.

'Come along!' she cried, dropping the brogue. 'I'm a patriot, and I love
you for the green in your eye.'

Jim danced. He was literally forced into it, and presently found himself
getting along quite decently in a barbaric sort of polka. When the music
ceased he followed the custom of the country, and shouted for his
partner. She drank sherry. He left the hall a few minutes later, with the
girl's kiss, lightly given, tingling on his lips, and walked away
quickly, treading on air. Presently he began to question himself. Why
this growing exuberance? Was it drink? Never before had he felt its
influence. He pulled himself together. He was crowding his sensation: it
was time to cry a halt.

The young man returned to the hotel where he had left his belongings. The
long bar was crowded with men. The hotel was little more than a large
tent with a pretentious wooden front. It was illumined by a single lamp
suspended above the counter. This lamp lit up the faces of the men
gathered under it, but beyond the countenances of the customers faded
into a mist of tobacco-smoke, deepening into darkness in the corners.

Done leant against the bar, watching the scene, still curious, content to
wait till the busy barman had leisure to attend to him. After a few
moments he found himself an object of most marked interest to a tall,