Just a second. He peered from less than his shaggy brows at the manuscript by his elbow and, muttering, commenced to prod the rigid buttons of the keyboard slowly, at times blowing as he screwed up the drum to erase an error. Sit down a instant. He voted for it and put on his topboots to ride to Dublin from the Ards of Down to do so. Sit down. Excuse me, he explained over his shoulder, THE DICTATES OF Common Sense.