All in the saloon were perfect strangers to McKenna, but that made no difference. He staggered about near the threshold for an instant, while he mentally measured the people in whose company he was, and made a hurried inventory of the immediate surroundings; then, appearing to gather inspiration from the lively squeak of the fiddle, he advanced to the middle of the floor, where remained a few square yards of vacant space, struck an attitude, and, without further prelude, begun his best Irish break-down. The steps were nimble, well chosen, emphasized with heel and toe, and, despite his assumed state of semi-intoxication, the time was fairly kept with the measure of the tune. Dormer looked upon the strange intruder, at first, as though undecided whether he should toss him outside his door, as he would a mangy cur, or applaud his terpsichorean performance. Then he gradually absorbed the magnetism of the dance, and the music made by feet and bow and string, and, seating himself on a convenient chair, held his face between his two brawny hands, the elbows resting on his knees, and interestedly scanned McKenna’s movements, keeping the rhythm, meanwhile, by swaying his broad shoulders from side to side. The agile shuffling evidently gave him pleasure, and, turning to the sleepy musician he loudly ordered him to “play fasther!” The request was instantly obeyed, and quicker and quicker came the inspiriting notes, faster and faster were the manœuvres of the dance executed, and the more fantastically the dancer turned and whirled, and threw out leg and arm, in gesticulations more grotesque than graceful. “Nae cotillion brent new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in his heels.” It was not long before every occupant of the place, Mrs. Dormer inclusive, took up the measure and, while none but the central personage actually indulged in a reel, beat time to the chords the violinist touched. Dormer, as usual, was somewhat overcome by liquor, but arose at the conclusion of the jig, advanced to McKenna, who stood, for a few seconds, almost exhausted by his exertions, took the detective by the hand and warmly welcomed him to the place, saying: “Very good! Very good! Be the sowl of me great-grandfather! I’ve niver seen such a jigger since the days of jolly Dan Carey! Walk up, stranger, an’ have a sup of the best in the house; an’ be the same token, let everybody else take somethin’ at my cost! I am greatly plazed, that I am, to recave such iligant company!” “Av coorse I hev no objection in the worruld,” answered McKenna, returning Dormer’s strong grasp with interest, “wid the understandin’, if it be quite convanient, that I’m to give all of yez a bit of a song afther the wettin’ of me whistle!” “Sure, an’ a stave or so of a song is jist what we’re afther the wantin’,” responded a man the operative had heard called Kelly.