Young Kerrigan readily got a grip on the tune. He could whistle it and hum it quite correctly after he had heard it six or seven times. But to reproduce it on the cornet required practise, and the weather was remarkably calm and fine. Kerrigan, in spite of his dislike of being heard, was obliged to devote the evening to it after the doctor left him. Next morning he went at it again, beginning at about eleven o’clock. He got on very well up to the point at which the words declare that “Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.” The notes which went to the “nevers” were particularly troublesome. He tried them slowly, one by one, leaving a short interval between them. He tried them fast, running them into each other. He tried beginning the tune again after each mistake, in hope of getting over his difficulty, as a bicyclist sometimes gets up a hill, by running. He was a man of patient disposition, and he was still working hard at one o’clock. Mr. Thaddeus Gallagher spent the morning transcribing shorthand notes in his office. There had been a singularly interesting meeting of the County Council the day before in the neighbouring town of Dunbeg. Gallagher had written down every word of an acrimonious debate. He wanted to publish a verbatim report of it. As a rule noise of any kind affected him very little, and at first he took no notice whatever of young Kerrigan’s cornet. But the continual repetition of the tune gradually beat it into his brain. He found his pencil moving across the paper in a series of short staccato bounds every time young Kerrigan got to “Never, never, never.” He became by degrees vaguely uneasy. The tune was one which he had certainly heard before. He could not remember where he had heard it. He could not remember what it was. But he became more and more sure that it was connected in his mind with some unpleasant associations. At last he found it impossible to go on with his work. The most passionate invective of the most furious of the County Councillors failed to move him to any interest. He glanced at his watch. It was just one o’clock. The meeting of the Reception Committee was to take place at half-past one. Gallagher felt that he had just time to investigate thoroughly the disagreeable tune. He got up and left his office. Constable Moriarty was standing at the door of the barrack listening to young Kerrigan. Being himself a musician, he appreciated the difficulty of playing “Rule Britannia” on a cornet, and enjoyed hearing young Kerrigan’s efforts. When he saw Gallagher come out of his office he was greatly pleased, and showed his feeling by grinning broadly. Gallagher saw the grin, and his suspicion that the tune was an offensive one deepened at once. He crossed the road. “What’s that,” he said, “that young Kerrigan’s playing?” “It’s a new tune,” said Moriarty, “and it’s hoped that the town band will learn it.” “Where did he get it?”