least, they opened doors of escape.  I liked better some American detective stories which were traversed from time to time by unkempt fierce and beautiful girls.  Though there was nothing wrong in these stories and though their intention was sometimes literary they were circulated secretly at school.  One day when Father Butler was hearing the four pages of Roman History clumsy Leo Dillon was discovered with a copy of The Halfpenny Marvel .

“This page or this page?  This page Now, Dillon, up!  ’Hardly had the day’ ...  Go on!  What day?  ‘Hardly had the day dawned’ ...  Have you studied it?  What have you there in your pocket?”

Everyone’s heart palpitated as Leo Dillon handed up the paper and everyone assumed an innocent face.  Father Butler turned over the pages, frowning.

“What is this rubbish?” he said.  “The Apache Chief!  Is this what you read instead of studying your Roman History?  Let me not find any more of this wretched stuff in this college.  The man who wrote it, I suppose, was some wretched fellow who writes these things for a drink.  I’m surprised at boys like you, educated, reading such stuff.  I could understand it if you were ...  National School boys.  Now, Dillon, I advise you strongly, get at your work or...”

This rebuke during the sober hours of school paled much of the glory of the Wild West for me and the confused puffy face of Leo Dillon awakened one of my consciences.  But when the restraining influence of the school was at a distance I began to hunger again for wild sensations, for the escape which those chronicles of disorder alone seemed to offer me.  The mimic warfare of the evening became at last as wearisome to me as the routine of school in the morning because I wanted real adventures to happen to myself.  But real adventures, I reflected, do not happen to people who remain at home:  they must be sought abroad.

The summer holidays were near at hand when I made up my mind to break out of the weariness of schoollife for one day at least.  With Leo Dillon and a boy named Mahony I planned a day’s miching.  Each of us saved up sixpence.  We were to meet at ten in the morning on the Canal Bridge.  Mahony’s big sister was to write an excuse for him and Leo Dillon was to tell his brother to say he was sick.  We arranged to go along the Wharf Road until we came to the ships, then to cross in the ferryboat and walk out to see the Pigeon House.  Leo Dillon was afraid we might meet Father Butler or someone out of the college; but Mahony asked, very sensibly, what would Father Butler be doing out at the Pigeon House.  We were reassured:  and I brought the first stage of the plot to an end by collecting sixpence from the other two, at the same time showing them my own sixpence.  When we were making the last arrangements on the eve we were all vaguely excited.  We shook hands, laughing, and Mahony said: 

“Till tomorrow, mates!”