“Musha, but that’s fine talk,” said Mrs. O’Halloran. “Will nothing do you, only military purposes?”
“We shall do no harm to the inmates or the contents of the house,” said the young man.
“You will not, for you won’t be let.”
“But I demand free entrance to the upper storeys for myself and my men.”
He turned to the two boys on the steps outside the door.
“Enter,” he said, “and follow me.”
“Will you wipe your boots on the mat,” said Mrs. O’Halloran, “and not be carrying all the mud of the streets into the house with you. Do you think the girls that does be here has nothing to do only to be sweeping carpets and polishing floors after the likes of you?”
The army of the Irish Republic has had many crimes laid to its charge; but it has not been said that its soldiers were guilty of any needless discourtesy to the inhabitants of the houses of which they took possession. The three young men wiped their boots on Lady Devereux’ doormat with elaborate cafe. Mrs. O’Halloran watched them critically.
“Is it the police you’re out after with them guns?” she said. “It’s a pity, so it is, to see fine young fellows like you mixing yourselves up with that foolishness. Sure they’ll get you at the latter end, and you’ll be had up in Court.”
The leader of the little party of Sinn Feiners was not inclined to discuss the future prospects of the insurrection with Mrs. O’Halloran. He moved across the hall towards the staircase, followed by his two young men. They walked delicately, stepping carefully from one to another of the rugs which lay on the floor and avoiding the polished boards. They were courteous and considerate rebels.