“Yes, there is. These unrecognizable fragments of stone, the once majestic statue, Ulster’s loyalty.”
“Good,” said Bland. “I have it now.” He began to write rapidly. “‘To the thoughtful mind there was something infinitely tragic in the shattered statue of the great queen, symbol of the destruction of an ideal. England bought the friendship of Nationalist Ireland at a heavy price when the guns of her Fleet annihilated the loyalty of Ulster.’ That’s your idea.”
“You’ve got it exactly,” I said.
“I’ll send it off at once.”
“Yes. You’d better hurry. It’s almost certain to occur to Babberly, and the moment it does he’ll put it into a speech. If he does, the whole credit will go to him.”
This impressed Bland. He hurried away towards the post-office. I felt that I was not likely to get anything more out of the statue. I put a small bit of it in my pocket to keep as a souvenir, and then strolled along Donegal Place.
I met Crossan, who saluted me gravely.
“The provisional Government,” he said, “desires your lordship’s presence in the City Hall.”
“I’m glad there’s a provisional Government,” I said. “We want something of the sort. Do you happen to know if I’m a member of it?”
“I’ve been looking for you, my lord,” said Crossan, severely, “for over an hour, and there’s no time to waste.”