“But,” he said, “but—but—” The extraordinary nature of the idea made him stammer. “But they are Loyalists.”
“As I figure it out,” said Conroy, “they mean to rebel. That’s what they say, anyhow, and I believe they mean it. I don’t care a cent whether they call themselves Loyalists or not. It’s up to them to twist the British Lion’s tail, and I’m with them.”
“Do you think they really mean it?” said Bob.
“Do you?”
“Well,” said Bob, after a slight hesitation, “I do. You see I happen to know one of them pretty well.”
Bob showed political discernment. It was the fashion in England and throughout three-quarters of Ireland to laugh at Belfast. Nobody believed that a community of merchants, manufacturers and artisans actually meant to take up arms, shoot off guns and hack at the bodies of their fellow-men with swords and spears. This thing, at the beginning of the twentieth century, seemed incredible. To politicians it was simply unthinkable. For politics are a game played in strict accordance with a set of rules. For several centuries nobody in these islands had broken the rules. It had come to be regarded as impossible that any one could break them. No one expects his opponent at the bridge table to draw a knife from his pocket and run amuck when the cards go against him. Nobody expected that the north of Ireland Protestants would actually fight. To threaten fighting is, of course, well within the rules of the game, a piece of bluff which any one is entitled to try if he thinks he will gain anything by it. Half the politicians in both countries, and half the inhabitants of England, were laughing at the Belfast bluff. The rest of the politicians and the other half of the inhabitants of England were pretending to believe what Belfast said so as to give an air of more terrific verisimilitude to the bluff. Conroy, guided by the instinct for the true meaning of things which had led him to great wealth, believed that the talk was more than bluff. Bob Power, relying on what he knew of the character of one man, came to the same conclusion.
“Who is the man you know?” said Conroy. “Not Babberly, is it?”
“Oh Lord! no,” said Bob. “Babberly is—well, Babberly talks a lot.”
“That’s so,” said Conroy. “But if it isn’t Babberly, who is it?”
“McNeice,” said Bob, “Gideon McNeice.”