After the Wittenburg article I was not inclined to raise a finger on Beresford's behalf. And so I told O'Rane.
"But do you want him to die?" he asked. "If they shove him in prison and he hunger-strikes again, you may never see him alive."
"I think I could endure that," I said. "The man's mind is perverted."
"Ah, then, you mustn't treat him as if he were normal," O'Rane put in quickly. "I want you to go to him and tell him to drop the whole business. Lord knows, I've been up against authority in one form or another most of my life, but there's nothing heroic in getting shot, if you don't achieve anything by it. You can get him to see that, surely."
By this time I confess that I had become one of many who found it hard to refuse O'Rane anything; perhaps it was because he never asked for himself.
"I'll try,—as a favour to you," I said. "Though I've no idea why I should want to do you a favour. O'Rane, you're making a considerable mess of your life."
The expression on his face suddenly changed, and he became courteously unapproachable.
"Do you think we shall do any good by discussing it?" he asked.
"Every day that you let slip makes it harder to mend the breach. This term's running out. What are you going to do in the holidays?"
"I'm going home."