"Do you happen to know a man called Gorman?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, "Michael Gorman. I've met him. In fact, I know him pretty well."
"Sits for Upper Offaly," I said. "Can't blame him for that. Four hundred a year is something these times."
"Bit of a blackguard, I suppose? All those fellows are."
Now, an Irishman can call another Irishman a blackguard without offence. We know each other intimately and are fond of strong language, but we do not like being called blackguards by Englishmen. They do not understand us and never will. Sir Bartholomew's description of Gorman was in bad taste and I resented it. However, there was no use trying to explain our point of view. You cannot explain anything to that kind of Englishman.
"He's a Member of Parliament," I said, "of your own English Parliament. I believe that all members are honourable gentlemen."
Sir Bartholomew is a wonderful man. He actually took that remark of mine as a testimonial to Gorman's character. The thing is almost incredible, but he evidently felt that the word honourable, as officially used, had a meaning something like that of trustworthy.
"I wonder," said Sir Bartholomew, "if he's a man to whom one could talk safely on a rather confidential subject?"
"There's always supposed to be a kind of honour among thieves," I said.
I was still rather nettled by the contemptuous assumption that Gorman must be a blackguard simply because he is an Irish Nationalist. After all, Sir Bartholomew's own profession is not a very respectable one. He is a diplomatist, and diplomacy is simply the name we have agreed to give to lying about national affairs. I cannot see that Sir Bartholomew has any right to take up a high moral tone when speaking of Gorman or any other Member of Parliament, Irish or English.
"I'll look up the man to-morrow," said Sir Bartholomew. "I daresay I'll find him in the House of Commons during the afternoon."
Sir Bartholomew gave me no hint about the nature of his confidential business. I suppose he did not feel I could be trusted. However, Gorman told me all about it next day.
Sir Bartholomew came on Gorman in the smoking-room of the House of Commons. He was wearing, so Gorman assures me, the very best kind of official manner, that interesting mixture of suavity and pomposity with which our mandarins approach the public. They hope, in this way, to induce us to believe that they have benevolent dispositions and immense ability. I do not know whether any one is ever deceived by this manner or thinks of a mandarin otherwise than as a fortunate person who earns a large salary by being stupid. Certainly Gorman was not in the very least impressed. Being an Irishman, Gorman knows the official class thoroughly. Ireland is a kind of laboratory for the culture of the mandarin bacillus.