Samuel Clithering. He staggered into the room and looked deadly white.
For a moment I thought he must be blind. He plunged straight into a
table which stood in the middle of the room in front of him.

"My God! My God!" he cried.

Then he was violently sick. He must have got into the club somehow
from the back. I went over to him, intending to get him out of the
room before he was sick again. He clutched my arm and held me tight.

"Stop it," he said. "Stop it. Promise them anything, anything at all;
only get them to stop."

I did not quite know what Clithering wanted me to do. It seemed absurd
to go down to Bob Power and offer, on behalf of the Government, to
introduce amendments into the Home Rule Bill. Yet something of the
sort must have been in Clithering's mind when he urged me to promise
anything. He probably had some vague idea of consulting the wishes of
the electorate. That is the sort of thing Clithering would think of
doing in an emergency.

"It's horrible, too horrible," he said. "Oh God! Bloodshed!
Bloodshed!"

"Cheer up," I said, "I don't think a single man on either side has
been hit yet."

"I say," said Bland from the window, "did the soldiers get orders to
fire over the people's heads?"

"Yes," said Clithering. "Strict orders. The Cabinet was unanimous. The
Prime Minister telegraphed this morning."

"Rather rough on the peaceable inhabitants of the town," said Bland,
"the men who have kept out of the battle. I suppose you forgot that
bullets come down again somewhere."

"I was in one of the back streets," wailed Clithering, "far away--"

"Exactly," said Bland, "it's just in back streets that those things
happen."

"It was a woman," said Clithering, "a girl with a baby in her arms. I
did not know what had happened. I ran over to her. She and the
baby--both of them. I shall never forget it. Oh!"

Then he was sick again. Clithering is a highly civilized man. I
suppose one must be highly civilized if one is to keep pace with the
changing fashions in stockings. It was out of what is called "Fancy
Hosiery" that Clithering made most of his money. I felt very sorry for
him, but his performances were making me feel sick too. I joined Bland
again at the window.

"They've got a machine gun," said Bland. "Things will get brisker
now."

I looked out anxiously and saw with a sense of relief that it was
Bob's side which had got the new gun. McConkey and his assistants had
turned up from somewhere an