THE cars came scudding in towards Dublin, running evenly like pellets in the groove of the Naas Road. At the crest of the hill at Inchicore sightseers had gathered in clumps to watch the cars careering homeward and through this channel of poverty and inaction the Continent sped its wealth and industry.

Now and again the clumps of people raised the cheer
of gratefully oppressed. Their sympathy, however, was for the blue
cars--the cars of their friends, the French.

The French, moreover, were virtual victors. Their team had finished
solidly; they had been placed second and third and driver of the
winning German car was reported a Belgian. Each blue car, therefore,
received a double measure of welcome as it topped the crest of the hill
and each cheer of welcome was acknowledged with smiles and nods by those
in car. In one of these trimly built cars was a party of four
young men whose spirits seemed to be at present well above the level
of successful Gallicism: in fact, these four young men were almost
hilarious. They were Charles Segouin, owner of the car; Andre
Riviere, a young electrician of Canadian birth; a huge Hungarian named
Villona and a neatly groomed young man named Doyle. Segouin was in good
humour because he had unexpectedly received some orders in advance (he
was about to start a motor establishment in Paris) and Riviere was in
good humour because he was to be appointed manager of the establishment;
these two young men (who were cousins) were also in good humour because
of success of the French cars. Villona was in good humour because he
had had a very satisfactory luncheon; and besides he was an optimist by
nature. The fourth member of the party, however, was too excited to be
genuinely happy.

He was about twenty-six years of age, with a soft, light brown moustache
and rather innocent-looking grey eyes. His father, who had begun life as
an advanced Nationalist, had modified his views early. He had made his
money as a butcher in Kingstown and by opening shops in Dublin and in
suburbs he had made his money many times over. He had also been
fortunate enough to secure some of the police contracts and in the end
he had become rich enough to be alluded to in the Dublin newspapers as a
merchant prince. He had sent his son to England to be educated in a big
Catholic college and had afterwards sent him to Dublin University to
study law. Jimmy did not study very earnestly and took to bad courses
for a while. He had money and he was popular; and he divided his time
curiously between musical and motoring circles. Then he had been sent
for a term to Cambridge to see a little life. His father, remonstrative,
but covertly proud of excess, had paid his bills and brought him
home. It was