“We’re business men,” said Cahoon, “and we don’t throw away our money.”
“But,” I said, “who are you going to shoot at? It would be silly to attack a tax collector with a gun like that. I don’t see who—”
“Oh,” said Cahoon, “don’t fret about that. We’ll find somebody to shoot at.”
“There’ll be plenty,” said McConkey, “when the time comes.”
“The real difficulty,” said Cahoon, “is that—”
“They’ll no be wanting to stand up till us,” said McConkey.
The relations of Capital with Labour are, I understand, strained in other parts of the United Kingdom. Here, with Home Rule on the horizon, they seem to be actually cordial. There is certainly a good deal to be said for Lady Moyne’s policy. So long as Cahoon and McConkey have a common taste for making domestic pets of machine guns they are not likely to fall out over such minor matters as wages and hours of work.
I had a good deal to think of as Cahoon drove me back to Castle Affey. My main feeling was one of great personal thankfulness. I shall never, I hope, take part in a battle. If I do I hope I shall be found fighting against some properly organized army, the men and officers of which have taken up the business of killing in a lofty professional spirit. I cannot imagine anything more likely to shatter my nerve than to be pitted against men like McConkey, who neither drink nor smoke, but save and spend their savings on machine guns. The regular soldier has his guns bought for him with other people’s money. He does not mind much if no gory dividend is earned. McConkey, on the other hand, spends his own money, and being a business man, will hate to see it wasted. He would not be satisfied, I imagine, with less than fifty corpses per cent. as a return on his expenditure.
At dinner that evening Conroy made a suggestion for our evening’s entertainment.
“Lady Moyne,” he said, “ought to read us the speech which she is to make next week to the Unionist women.”