“What Ireland wants,” said Malcolmson dramatically, “is another Oliver Cromwell.”
He drew himself up and puffed out his chest as he spoke. He must, I think, have rather fancied himself in the part of a twentieth century Puritan horse soldier. I looked round at O’Donovan to see how he was taking the suggestion. Oliver Cromwell I supposed, could not possibly be one of his favourite heroes. But I had misjudged O’Donovan. His sympathy with rebels of all nations was evidently stronger than his dislike of the typical Englishman. After all, Cromwell, however objectionable his religious views may have been, did kill a king. O’Donovan smiled quite pleasantly at Malcolmson. I dare say that even the idea of a new massacre of Drogheda was agreeable enough to him, provided the inhabitants of the town were the people to whom he denied the title of Nationalists and Malcolmson wanted to have a slap at because they were rebels.
Then McNeice got us all back to practical business in a way that would have delighted Cahoon. McNeice, though he does live in Dublin, has good Belfast blood in his veins. He likes his heroics to be put on a business basis. The immediate and most pressing problem, he reminded us, was to secure as large a circulation as possible for The Loyalist.
“You get the paper into the people’s hands,” he said to Malcolmson, “and we’ll get the ideas into their heads.”
Malcolmson, who is certainly prepared to make sacrifices in a good cause, offered to hire a man with a motorcycle to distribute the paper from house to house over a wide district.
“I know the exact man we want,” he said. “He knows every house in County Antrim, and the people like him. He’s been distributing Bibles and selling illuminated texts among the farmers and labourers for years. He’s what’s called a colporteur. That,” he turned to O’Donovan with his explanation, “is a kind of Scripture reader, you know.”
If any one in the world except Malcolmson had suggested the employment of a Scripture reader for the distribution of The Loyalist, I should have applauded a remarkable piece of cynicism. But Malcolmson was in simple earnest.
“Will you be able to get him?” I said. “The society which employs him may perhaps—”
“Oh, that will be all right,” said Malcolmson. “There can’t be any objection. But if there is—I happen to be a member of the committee of the society. I’m one”—he sunk his voice modestly—“of the largest subscribers.”
I am inclined to forget sometimes that Malcolmson takes a leading part in Church affairs. At the last meeting of the General Synod of the Church of Ireland he said that the distribution of the Bible among the people of Ireland was the surest means of quenching the desire for Home Rule. Free copies of The Loyalist for the people who already have Bibles and a force of artillery are, so to speak, his reserves.