"How do you know?"
"I crept into the porch, and there were two gentlemen of the Bodyguard, talking. They turned me away into the rain. D'you know there was something going on. All night I saw ships and private yachts, hundreds of them, reporting at the Palace towers. The air was black with them coming and going."
"It may be," muttered the lawyer. "Ulster dead!"
"Once," the curate went on bubbling with news, "a Guardsman rode out with his servant, and the orderly stopped behind to tighten a girth. I helped him. D'you know I smelt bread and real cold beef in his wallet. He told me that the trades unions have proclaimed a Republic—yes, at Manchester. Then I asked him for some of the meat, and he was so rude."
"The Republic proclaimed already? Then Ulster must be dead. My friend, do you realize what this means? The Republic? It means that the Territorials have revolted, five hundred thousand men in arms against the Government."
"We have the Fleet." The curate lifted his head and answered proudly.
"The Fleet, Mr. Parson? And when the Republicans seize the power station, when they cut off the whole supply of electric force—what becomes of your Fleet? Answer me that!"
"Oh, but my dear man, really, don't y'know, we have Malta, Gibraltar, and the Newfoundland station. They can all flash electric power to our ships."
"If they had warning, yes; but all the telegraphs are cut. I tell you the power stations will be captured this very day, and nothing can save the Fleet. I wonder—when the London guardships founder, why, we may get some food from the wrecks! Yes, food! And the London Unionists, too—they'll be revolting to-day—they'll attack the departments of State. Parson, I know a house not far from here, with five barrels of flour. There'll be no police to-day—come on, let's rob that house!'
"Rob a house?" said the curate, wistfully. "Oh, but I'm in Holy Orders, don't y'know." Then rolling over exhausted, "My dear friend," he whispered, "couldn't you bring me just a little flour?"