"O," she said disappointedly. "I thought you might be coming from Dublin, and would have some news."
"No," I said. "We haven't any; we left Drogheda this morning and there was no news there."
"Did you hear how things were going in Dublin?" she asked.
"No," I answered. "Did you?"
"Well," she said. "I heard they were surrendering in Dublin—that they were beaten. But I don't believe it," she added quickly.
"Nor do I," I said. "They couldn't be beaten so soon."
"That's what I've said all along," she said. Evidently she was a rebel and was trying to find out if we were, too. But before we could carry on any further conversation we heard the soldiers call "Halt," and then we saw a motor car stopping outside the window.
The waitress put her head out the window and began to chaff the occupants of the car.
"Are you bringing ammunition to the Sinn Feiners?" she asked them.
"How many Sinn Feiners have you hidden in the car?"—and so forth.