"Well," said the doctor, "Isabel and I think that would be the best plan. You see the Bomb seems thoroughly disorganised, and we think it would be easier and better to start afresh. I was just saying that I would go round and hunt up some of the comrades and get their views on the subject."
"Oh," rejoined Short, "you can save yourself that trouble. One half of them will accuse you of being a police spy, the others will be ill or occupied—in short, will have some excuse for not seeing you. They are all frightened out of their lives. Since the arrest of Banter and O'Flynn I have not seen one of them near the place, though I have been here all the time."
This remark confirmed what we both half suspected; and as Short, who by right of possession seemed authorised to speak on behalf of the Bomb, seemed willingly to fall in with our idea of starting a new paper, taking it for granted—which I was not exactly prepared for—that he would install himself in the new premises as compositor, we decided to take practical steps towards the move. Short informed us that six weeks' rent was owing, and that the landlord threatened a distraint if his claims were not immediately satisfied; and in spite of the advice, "Don't pay rent to robber landlords," which stared us in the face, inscribed in bright red letters on the wall, I and Armitage between us sacrificed the requisite sum to the Cause.
Whilst we were discussing these matters the dog warned us by a prolonged bark that some one was approaching, and the new-comer soon appeared. He greeted Short, who introduced him to us as Comrade M'Dermott. He shot a scrutinising glance at us from his keen grey eyes and proceeded to shake hands with friendly warmth.
He was a very small man, certainly not more than five feet high, thin and wiry, with grey hair and moustache, but otherwise clean-shaven. His features were unusually expressive and mobile from his somewhat scornful mouth to his deep-set, observant eyes, and clearly denoted the absence of the stolid Saxon strain in his blood. His accent too, though not that of an educated man, was quite free from the hateful Cockney twang. His dress was spare as his figure, but though well worn there was something spruce and trim about his whole demeanour which indicated that he was not totally indifferent to the impression he created on others. He looked round the "office," took a comprehensive glance at Short, who was occupying the only available stool and smoking hard with a meditative air, and then walked over to me, and addressing me in an undertone, with the same ease as if he had known me all my life, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, jerking his head in the direction of Short, "There's a rotten product of a decaying society, eh?" This remark was so unexpected and yet so forcibly true, that I laughed assent.
"So you're the only ones up here," he continued. "I expected as much when I heard of the raid on the office. I was up in the North doing a little bit of peddling round the country, when I read the news, and I thought I'd come to London to see what was up. What do you think of doing with the paper anyway? It seems a pity the old Bomb should die. It would mean the loss of the only revolutionary organ in England."
"Oh, it must not die," I replied, "or at least if it cannot be kept up, another paper must take its place. Comrade Armitage agrees with me in thinking that that would be the best plan. You see this place looks altogether hopeless."
Armitage, who had been engaged in looking over some papers, now joined us and the conversation became general.
"Well, how did you get on up North?" inquired Short, who seemed to wake up to a sense of actuality. "How did you hit it off with young Jackson? Did you find him of much use?"
"Use!" retorted M'Dermott with an infinite depth of scorn in his voice. "A fat lot of use he was. If it was a matter of putting away the grub, I can tell you he worked for two, but as to anything else, he made me carry his pack as well as my own, on the pretext that he had sprained his ankle, and his only contribution to the firm was a frousy old scrubbing-brush which he sneaked from a poor woman whilst I was selling her a ha'p'orth of pins. He seemed to think he'd done something mighty grand—'expropriation' he called it; pah, those are your English revolutionists!" and he snorted violently.