“In Ireland,” he said, “the most likely place to find a police barrack is where there are no houses. The reason for that is that the uninhabited districts of the country are those from which the people have been evicted. They naturally want to get back again, and so police barracks are built to prevent them doing so. You will always find a barrack where there are no people. A man who was greatly interested in the land question told me that the day before yesterday.” “I think,” said Mr. Sanders, “that I’ll sit down here and wait till the cars overtake me. You can take your own bicycle and go on if you like.” “You’d better not, because the cars may never overtake you. We may be on the wrong road altogether. I didn’t ask the way. I simply steered a course by the sun like an explorer in central Africa.” “What an ass you are, Dick!” “Not an ass, Sanders, not an ass, an adventurer. I love risk for its own sake. The blood of the ancient Bersekers is in my veins. I feel like the man in the song ‘Fiddle and I,’ that is to say, in this case, ‘Biky and I Wandering by Over the world together.’ If you don’t come on with me, Sanders, you will get lost like a babe in the wood, and then ‘When you are dead The robins so red Will take strawberry leaves and over you spread.’” Mr. Sanders shrank from such a fate. Also he had sat down during the discussion and felt rested. He agreed to go on. Mr. Dick, the Berseker spirit strong in him, wheeled both bicycles. They climbed a long hill and found walking even hotter work than bicycling. But they had their reward. From the top of the hill the entrance gate and the trees of Rosivera were visible. “A sail, a sail!” cried Mr. Dick. “We are saved! ‘We shall hear the sweet music of speech, Nor finish our journey alone.’” “It looks like a gentleman’s place,” said Mr. Sanders, “a dilapidated gentleman’s place. I mean to say, of course, the dilapidated place of a gentleman.” Mr. Dick was not a stickler for the nice arrangement of adjectives. “Of course,” he said, “it’s a dilapidated gentleman’s place. All gentlemen’s places in Ireland are dilapidated. That is one of the consequences of the recent land legislation.” “Rents,” said Mr. Sanders, who took a special delight in all kinds of figures, “were reduced twenty per cent. all round on an average at the first fixing. Then they were reduced again by----” “Come on,” said Mr. Dick. “The proprietor, whoever he is, must have enough left to buy a repair outfit. Let’s go and borrow it.” He had heard quite as much as he wanted to hear about rent fixing and land purchase during the fortnight he had spent in Ireland. He did not want to go into the matter again. It required intricate calculations, and Mr. Dick had no taste for arithmetic. Mr. Sanders sighed and followed his friend down the hill.