“And so,” I said, turning to O’Donovan, “in mere despair of nationality you have gone over to the side of the Unionists.”
“I’ve gone over,” said O’Donovan, “to the side of the only people in Ireland who mean to fight.”
Supposing that Ulster really did mean to fight O’Donovan’s position was quite reasonable. But Babberly says it will never come to fighting. He is quite confident of his ability to bluff the conscientious Liberal into dropping the Home Rule Bill for fear of civil war. O’Donovan, and possibly McNeice, will be left out in the cold if Babberly is right. The matter is rather a tangled one. With Babberly is Lady Moyne, working at her ingenious policy of dragging a red herring across the path along which democracy goes towards socialism. On the other hand there is McNeice with fiery intelligence, and O’Donovan, a coldly consistent rebel against English rule in any shape and form. They have their little paper with money enough behind it, with people like Crossan circulating it for them. It is quite possible that they may count for something. Then there is Malcolmson, a man of almost incredible stupidity, but with a knowledge, hammered into him no doubt with extra difficulty, of how to handle guns.
O’Donovan and McNeice were bending over some proof sheets and talking in low whispers; there was a knock at the office door, and a moment later Malcolmson entered. He looked bristlier than ever, and was plainly in a state of joyous excitement. He held a copy of the first number of The Loyalist in his hand. He caught sight of me at once.
“I’m damned,” he said, “if I expected to see you here, Kilmore. You’re the last man in Ireland—”
“I’m only here by accident,” I said, “and I’m going away almost at once. Let me introduce you to Mr. McNeice and Mr. O’Donovan.”
Malcolmson shook hands with the two men vigorously. I never shake hands with Malcolmson if I can possibly help it, because he always hurts me. I expect he hurt both McNeice and O’Donovan. They did not cry out, but they looked a good deal surprised.
“I happened to be in Dublin,” said Malcolmson, “and I called round here to congratulate the editor of this paper. I only came across it the day before yesterday, and—”
“You couldn’t have come across it any sooner,” I said, “for it’s only just published.”
“And to put down my name as a subscriber for twenty copies. If you want money—”