"What do I mean by limits? . . . I have here, in my hand, ladies and gentlemen, a document. It is signed by a number of influential persons, including several ladies of title. This document alleges-- er--certain practices going on in a certain University College not five hundred yards from where I stand at this moment; and it asks me what I think of them, and if public money--your money and mine-- should be voted to encourage that and similar forms of Research--" "Great Scott!" groaned Jimmy, and touched my arm. "Otty, look at the Professor's face! To think we--" "I have also," pursued Mr. Farrell, "a supplementary paper, extensively signed in the constituency, supporting the document mentioned and asking for a Public Inquiry; asking me if I am willing to press for a Royal Commission. It was put into my hands as I entered the hall; but I have no hesitation whatever in answering that question. "A certain Professor is mentioned--I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance--and a certain--er--" Mr. Farrell consulted his papers-- "Laboratory of Physiological Research. I made my own way in the world. But I am an Englishman, I hope; and when such a document as this, influentially signed, is put into my hands and an answer demanded of me, what sort of answer do I give? The answer I give, ladies and gentlemen, is that I keep a spaniel at home, though not for sporting purposes, and still less for purposes of Physiological Research"--Every time the ass came to these two words he made elaborate pretence of consulting his papers. "Nine times out of ten this dumb friend and dependent of mine greets me in the hall as I reach home after a hard day's business, wagging his tail in a way almost more than human. And when I think of me going home to-night, with this document--signed, as I say, by persons of title and supported by this influential body of rate-payers--and look into his dumb eyes and think it might happen to my Dash to be laid on a board in the interests of this so-called Research, and there vivisected alive, then I say--" "_It's a lie!_" Foe was on his legs, and he fairly shouted it. Shell-shock? _Phut!_--It exploded right at our feet below the platform. Farrell came staggering back, right on top of us; but the reason may have been partly that Jimmy had reached forward, too late, and gripped his coat-tails. Of course the man's offence was unpardonable; but I could hardly recognise Jack's face, so drawn it was and twisted in white-hot hate. There was silence while you might count five, perhaps. The audience, taken right aback for that space, had begun to rise and crane forward. "Who is it?"--you could almost hear the question starting to run. Then again, for a few seconds, things happened just as they do in rowdy public meetings. While the Chairman thumped the table, Farrell wrenched his coat-tails from Jimmy's grip and stepped to the edge of the platform.