The first thing we saw was the tattered glove; and then we immediately recognised the stout middle-aged gentleman whom we had seen on the other side of Jermyn Street as we entered the bathing establishment. It had never before occurred to us that the two persons were the same, not though the impression made by the poverty-stricken appearance of the man in the street had remained distinct upon our mind. The features of the gentleman we had hardly even yet seen at all. Nevertheless we had known and distinctly recognised his outward gait and mien, both with and without his clothes. One tattered glove he now wore, and the other he carried in his gloved hand. As we saw this we were aware at once that all our preconception had been wrong, that that too common appeal would be made, and that we must resist it as best we might. There was still a certain jauntiness in his air as he addressed us. “I hope thin,” said he as we shook hands with him, “ye’ll not take amiss the little ruse by which we caught ye.” “It was a ruse then, Mr. Molloy?” “Divil a doubt o’ that, Mr. Editor.” “But you were coming to the Turkish bath independently of our visit there?” “Sorrow a bath I’d’ve cum to at all, only I saw you go into the place. I’d just three and ninepence in my pocket, and says I to myself, Mick, me boy, it’s a good investment. There was three and sixpence for them savages to rub me down, and threepence for the two cheroots from the little shop round the corner. I wish they’d been better for your sake.” It had been a plant from beginning to end, and the “to kalon” and the half-dozen words from Horace had all been parts of Mr. Molloy’s little game! And how well he had played it! The outward trappings of the man as we now saw them were poor and mean, and he was mean-looking too, because of his trappings. But there had been nothing mean about him as he strutted along with a blue-checked towel round his body. How well the fellow had understood it all, and had known his own capacity! “And now that you are here, Mr. Molloy, what can we do for you?” we said with as pleasant a smile as we were able to assume. Of course we knew what was to follow. Out came the roll of paper of which we had already seen the end projecting from his breast pocket, and we were assured that we should find the contents of it exactly the thing for our magazine. There is no longer any diffidence in such matters,--no reticence in preferring claims and singing one’s own praises. All that has gone by since competitive examination has become the order of the day. No man, no woman, no girl, no boy, hesitates now to declare his or her own excellence and capability. “It’s just a short thing on social manners,” said Mr. Molloy, “and if ye’ll be so good as to cast ye’r eye over it, I think ye’ll find I’ve hit the nail on the head. ‘The Five-o’clock Tay-table’ is what I’ve called it.” “Oh!--‘The Five-o’clock Tea-table.’” “Don’t ye like the name?” “About social manners, is it?”