g allowed here."

Lord Dunseverick took his cigarette out of his mouth, but he did not
throw it away. He held it between his fingers.

"Just tell Mr. McMunn," he said, "that Lord Dunseverick is here."

The clerk's manner altered suddenly. He drew himself up, squared his
shoulders, and saluted.

The discovery that a stranger is a man of high rank often produces this
kind of effect on men of strong democratic principles, principles of
the kind held by clerks in all business communities, quite as firmly in
Belfast as elsewhere. But it would have been a mistake to suppose that
Mr. McMunn's junior clerk was a mere worshipper of title. His salute
was not the tribute of a snob to the representative of an aristocratic
class. It was the respect due by a soldier, drilled and disciplined,
to his superior officer. It was also the expression of a young man's
sincere hero-worship. The redhaired clerk was a Volunteer, duly
enrolled, one of the signatories of the famous Ulster Covenant Lord
Dunseverick had made speeches which moved his soul to actual rapture.

"Come inside, my lord," he said. "I'll inform Mr. McMunn at once."

Lord Dunseverick passed through a door which was held open for him. He
entered a large office, very grimy, which is the proper condition of a
place where documents concerning coal are dealt with. Six other clerks
were at work there. When Lord Dunseverick entered, all six of them stood
up and saluted. They, too, so it appeared, were members of the Volunteer
Force. The red-haired junior clerk crossed the room towards a door
marked "Private." Then he paused, and turned to Lord Dunseverick.

"Might I be so bold as to ask a question?" he said.

"A dozen if you like," said Lord Dunseverick.

"What about the rifles? It's only them we're wanting now. We're drilled
and we're ready, but where's the rifles?"

"You shall have them," said Lord Dunseverick.

The clerks in Mr. McMunn's office were accustomed to behave
with decorum. No more than a low murmur of approval greeted Lord
Dunseverick's words; but the men looked as if they wished to cheer
vehemently. The red-haired boy tapped at the door which was marked
"Private." A minute later he invited Lord Dunseverick to pass through
it.

Andrew McMunn is a hard-faced, grizzled little man, with keen blue
eyes. He can, when he chooses, talk excellent English. He prefers, when
dealing with strangers, to speak with a strong Belfast accent, and to
use, if possible, nort