I did not want bloodshed, of course. I do not suppose that anybody did. What Clithering could not understand was that some people—without wanting bloodshed—might prefer it to Home Rule. He left me, still I fancy relying on my well-known moderation. No man ever relied on a more utterly useless crutch. Moderation has never been of the slightest use anywhere in Ireland and was certainly a vain thing in Belfast that day.
I walked round to the club and found nobody in it except Conroy. He alone, among the leading supporters of the Loyalist movement, had failed to go to church. I thought I might try how he would regard the policy of moderation.
“I suppose,” I said, “that you’ll have to give up this meeting to-morrow.”
“I don’t think so,” said Conroy.
“I’ve just been talking to Sir Samuel Clithering,” I said, “and he thinks there’ll be bloodshed if you don’t.”
“I reckon he’s right there. We’re kind of out for that, aren’t we?”
“It won’t be so pleasant,” I said, “when it’s your blood that’s shed. I don’t mean yours personally, I mean your friends.”
“The other side will do some of the bleeding,” said Conroy.
“Still,” I said, “in the end they’ll win.”
“I wouldn’t bet too heavy on that,” said Conroy.