“It was my sign angered them. They couldn’t abide the sight of Dumouriez’ honest face in a Belfast street.
“Then let us fight about, Dumouriez;
Then let us fight about, Dumouriez;
Then let us fight about,
Till freedom’s spark is out,
Then we’ll be damned no doubt—Dumouriez.”
“You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know about your sign or you either, unless someone told them?”
There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at the street door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host.
“It’s all right,” said Matlier, “I know that knock. It’s James Bigger, a safe man.”
He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced to Donald Ward.
“We were just talking about the riot,” said Donald. “What’s your opinion about it, Mr. Bigger?”
“There are five houses wrecked,” said Bigger, “and every one of them the house of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union.”
Donald and Matier exchanged glances.
“They were well informed,” said Donald. “They knew what they were at, and where to go.”