“There’ll be no Prussians in Belfast,” said Ginty, “for we’ll not have it.”
“I am afraid,” said Lord Dunseverick, “that you’ve got some wrong idea into your head.”
“But,” said Von Edelstein, “you cannot fight alone. You would be—what do you call it?—you would be wiped out. Even the English Army could do that. You have no artillery. You have no cavalry. What are you but——”
“Who said we were going to fight the English Army?” said Lord Dunseverick.
“If you think we’re a pack of dirty rebels,” said Ginty, “you’re making a big mistake. We’re loyal men.”
“But if you are not going to fight the English,” said Von Edelstein, “God in heaven, who are you going to fight?”
“Young man,” said McMunn, “you’re drinking beer in my ship, a thing which is clean contrary to my principles, though I’m putting up with it; but you’re going beyond the beyonds when you sit here and take the name of the Almighty in vain. I’ll trouble you not to swear.”
Von Edelstein stared at him in blank amazement. Then very slowly a look of intelligence came over his face. He turned to Lord Dunseverick.
“I think I understand,” he said. “You do not quite trust me. You fear that I may be a spy in the pay of infamous Englishmen. But you are mistaken—entirely mistaken. I offer you proof of my good faith. General, be so kind as to read my commission.”
He drew a folded document from his pocket, and spread it out before Lord Dunseverick.