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The conversation maintained among the officers and the others on board the Susquehanna, was pretty much of the same nature. It is almost needless to say that all heads except Belfast's, whose scientific mind rejected the Projectile theory with the most serene contempt were filled with the same idea, all hearts throbbed with the same emotion. Wouldn't it be glorious to fish them up alive and well?
The very sound of Belfast's phrases, for instance, "satellite," "lunar attraction," "immutable path of its orbit," etc, convinced the greater part of the "intelligent" community that he who used them so flippantly must be an exceedingly great man. Therefore, he had completely proved his case.
Gorman, after winking at me, appealed to Ascher on the subject of Belfast's prosperity. In his opinion the apparent wealth of that city is built up on an insecure foundation of credit.
Last week a girl of twelve years old was fined the usual forty shillings and costs for proclaiming in the public streets that she was "a Protestant." The usual cry is, "To hell with the Pope!" or "To hell with the Protestants!" according to the utterer's system of salvation. One of Belfast's local jokes was very good.
The Secretary of the Gun Club declared for the thousandth time that he had just perceived the projectile, adding even that Michel Ardan's face had appeared at one of the port-lights. He was emphasising his arguments by a series of gestures which his redoubtable hook rendered dangerous. At that moment Belfast's servant appeared upon the platform it was 10 p.m. and gave him a telegram.
"Keep him away from me," said James Wait at last in his fine baritone voice, and leaning with all his weight on Belfast's neck. "I've been better this last week:... I am well... I was going back to duty... to-morrow now if you like Captain." Belfast hitched his shoulders to keep him upright. "No," said the master, looking at him, fixedly. Under Jimmy's armpit Belfast's red face moved uneasily.
Now, whatever may be thought of such sentiments, there can be no doubt whence they originated, for they are sheer Carsonism through and through; and it was, as I have repeatedly pointed out, a pure stroke of luck that it was not Belfast's City Hall instead of Dublin's Post Office that was burnt to the ground.
When his engagement was announced to Dumbarton's cousin, Lady Ermyntrude Stanley-Dalrymple, elder daughter of Lord Belfast, a social personage and a power in the inner councils of the Conservative Party, it was suggested that there might be some connection between this rather unexpected event and Lord Belfast's heavy losses on the Stock Exchange and subsequent directorships and holdings of shares in his future son-in-law's companies.
Only his eyes roamed over faces: his eyes disdainful, penetrating and sad. It was at that time that Belfast's devotion and also his pugnacity secured universal respect. He spent every moment of his spare time in Jimmy's cabin. He tended him, talked to him; was as gentle as a woman, as tenderly gay as an old philanthropist, as sentimentally careful of his nigger as a model slave-owner.
Vice-President Wilcox took the chair, and all was comparatively quiet until Colonel Bloomsbury, the Honorary Secretary in Marston's absence, commenced to read Belfast's dispatch. Then the scene, according to the account given in the next day's Sun, from whose columns we condense our report, actually "beggared description."
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