"Ah, that's the way with us all," said Tim, reflectively. "When I was in Burmah, there was a girl in Mandalay----" "Tim, we don't want any of your immoral stories. You'll shock Peter--confound him, he's asleep again, like the fat boy in Pickwick. Well, gentlemen both, I am about to follow the doctor's example. I've been riding all day, and feel baked." "How long do you intend to sleep, Jack?" "An hour or so. Then we'll have something to eat, and go off to Maraquando's to see the ladies. We must introduce Peter to his future wife." "Begad, I may fall in love with Doña Serafina myself!" "It's possible, if you are an admirer of the antique," retorted Jack, and went off to his bedroom for a few hours' sleep. Even lovers require rest, and bucketing about on a half-broken horse for the best part of the day under a grilling sun was calculated to knock up even so tough a subject as Jack. "Faith!" remarked Tim, when Jack's long legs vanished through the doorway, "if old Serafina smiles on Peter, and those girls flirt with you and Jack, I'll be left out in the cold. Another injustice to Ireland." "Come to the alameda to-morrow, and pick out a señorita to be your own private property." "What! and get a knife in my ribs. I'm more than seven, Philip. Why, there was once a girl in Cape Town who had a Boer for a sweetheart----" "And you took the girl, and the Boer didn't like it. I know that story, Tim. It's a chestnut. You told it in that book of sketches you wrote. Go on with your work; I'm sleepy." "Ow--ow!" yawned Tim, lazily. "I'd like to sleep myself, but that I have to write up this interview with Gomez. Did I tell you about it, Philip?" "Yes; you've told me three times, and given three different versions. Keep the fourth for _The Morning Planet_." "But the President said----" "I know all about that," muttered Philip, crossly. "What you said--what he said--what Maraquando said--and how you all lied against one another. Do let us sleep, Tim. First Jack, then you. Upon my--upon my word--upon--on!" and Philip went off into a deep slumber. "I hope the interview with Gomez won't have the same effect on my readers," said Tim, blankly to himself, "or it's the sack I'll be getting. Come on with ye! 'There will be no war', said the President. That's a lie, anyhow; but he said it, so down it goes. Oh, my immortal soul, it's a liar I am." Then he began scratching the paper with a bad pen, and there was peace in the land.