When I arrived
at Number 6, Harcourt street, I saw black-clad Mrs. Sheehy-Sheffington, in
somewhat agitated absorption of thought, coming down the worn steps of the
old Georgian house. In the upper back room, earnest young secretaries
worked in swift silence. One of them, a curly-haired girl with her mouth
o-ed about a cigarette, puffed unceasingly. At last Harry Boland, secretary
of Sinn Fein, entered.
"The council decides tonight," he admitted. His eyes were bright and
faraway like one whose mind is on a coming crisis. When I told him I would
drop in again to hear the decision, he protested that they would be at it
till late. On my counter protest that time made no difference to me, he
promised that if I would not come he would send me word at eleven that
night. "But I think," he added, "we won't know till morning."
At ten that night, Boots knocked at my door. I concluded that there had
been a stampeded decision. But on going out I discovered the Associated
Press correspondent there. He told me that he heard that I was to receive
the news and that he did not believe that there was any necessity of
bothering the Sinn Feiners twice for the same decision.
"I think the reception is quite likely," he volunteered. "This afternoon a
good many of the Sinn Fein army were at University chapel at confession.
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