"How long have you been like this, Harry? It sounds uncomfortable!" "Oh, ages!" replied Harry loosely. "You said nothing about it when I saw you two Saturdays ago. Not that that's got anything to do with it, either! But still, lend a poor chap a hand! Where does it all want to get to?" "Oh, there's millions of books been written about it. You know you couldn't put poetry into a word or two, but it means something like 'Government of the People for the People by the People'--that sort of thing. No millionaires paddling about in fat motor-cars and boys getting consumptive in mines! No plush and palaces for the lords and sweat and a crust for the working people. No rotten old kings on thrones and dying men scrubbing on their knees in workhouses! ... Oh, don't you see how we want it in Doomington of all places in the world! _There's_ something--what is it you're always gassing about?--which is going to sweep away the muck and the chimneys quicker than mooning about with hollyhocks!" "Have you got a book about it?" asked Philip uneasily. "A book? Yes, I _suppose_ you'd better have a book to help you along. I've got a fine book all about it, by a chap called Blatchford. _Britain for the British_, that's what it's called! It'll knock you off your feet, first read. Oh damn, I've lent it to Segal! I don't think you've met Segal! No? Oh, he's a clever devil! Yes, I'll get it back from Segal and you can have it." "Right! I'd like to see what it's all about." "Look here! You've done your homework, haven't you? You haven't? Well, _I_ haven't, it doesn't matter! There's a Socialist meeting outside Ward's Engineering Works to-night! They're thinking of putting up a Socialist candidate instead of the lousy Liberal. What do you say to coming along just now?" "I'll never get home in time. The old man's getting a bit radgy again." "Well, of course, if you're always going to be tied to your father's apron strings...." "I didn't say I wasn't coming!" Philip broke in hotly. "Right-ho! We'll go through the back. It's nearer!" It is almost no exaggeration to say that when Philip came home that night, his head was clamorous with a new gospel, his eyes shone with revelation, his too inflammable nature was ablaze! He walked in unsteadily as if he had been drinking a heady wine. He looked towards his father with a certain pity in his glance. Was he not too a victim of these iniquitous conditions which the fiery-bearded man had described with such blood-freezing fury? Did Reb Monash know it? Of course he did not know it! "Hapathy!" the man had thundered, "Hapathy! 'Ere is the henemy! Your fathers is strangling their children. What for? Hapathy! Your children is drinking the blood of their fathers! What for? What for, I ask? Hapathy! Deny it who can!"