‘Yes, I think so.’ ‘Now the first thing I shall get done,’ her husband pursued, a little disappointed that she gave no warmer assent, ‘is that book, “My Work at New Wanley.” The Union ‘ll publish it. It ought to have a good sale in Belwick and round about there. You see I must get my name well known; that’s everything. When I’ve got that off hand, then I shall begin on the East End. I mean to make the East End my own ground. I’ll see if something can’t be done to stir ‘em up. I haven’t quite thought it out yet. There must be some way of getting them to take an interest in Socialism. Now we’ll see what can be done in twelve months. What’ll you bet me that I don’t add a thousand members to the Union in this next year?’ ‘I dare say you can.’ ‘There’s no “dare say” about it. I mean to! I begin to think I’ve special good luck; things always turn out right in the end. When I lost my work because I was a Socialist, then came Wanley. Now I’ve lost Wanley, and here comes five hundred a year for ten years! I wonder who that poor fellow may be? I suppose he’ll die soon, and then no doubt we shall hear his name. I only wish there were a few more like him.’ ‘The East End!’ he resumed presently. ‘That’s my ground. I’ll make the East End know me as well as they know any man in England. What we want is personal influence. It’s no use asking them to get excited about a _movement_; they must have a _man_. Just the same in _bourgeois_ politics. It isn’t Liberalism they care for; it’s Gladstone. Wait and see!’ He talked for three hours, at times as if he were already on the platform before a crowd of East Enders who were shouting, ‘Mutimer for ever!’ Adela fell into physical weariness; at length she with difficulty kept her eyes open. His language was a mere buzzing in her ears; her thoughts were far away. ‘My Work at New Wanley’ was written and published; Keene had the glory of revising the manuscript. It made a pamphlet of thirty-two pages, and was in reality an autobiography. It presented the ideal working man; the author stood as a type for ever of the noble possibilities inherent in his class. Written of course in the first person, it contained passages of monumental self-satisfaction. Adela, too, was mentioned; to her horror she found a glowing description of the work she had done among the women and children. After reading that page she threw the pamphlet aside and hid her face in her hands. She longed for the earth to cover her.