"You've got a nerve. He pretty well did for Ralph Bevan. He's worse than shell-shock when he once gets going." "I expect I can stand him. He can't be worse than the War Office." "Oh, isn't he? You wait." At that moment his father came in, late, and betraying the first symptoms of excitement. Barbara saw that the boy's eyes took them in. As they sat down to dinner Mr. Waddington pretended to ignore Horace. But Horace wouldn't be ignored. He drew attention instantly to himself. "Don't you think it's jolly decent of me, pater, to come over for your meeting?" "I shouldn't have thought," said Mr. Waddington, "that politics were much in your line. Not worth spoiling a half-holiday for." "I don't suppose I shall care two fags about your old League. What I've come for is to see you, pater, getting up on your hind legs and giving it them. I wouldn't miss that for a million half-holidays." "If that's all you've come for you might have saved yourself the trouble." "Trouble? My dear father, I'd have taken _any_ trouble." You could see he was laughing at him. And he was talking at Barbara, attracting her attention the whole time; with every phrase he shot a look at her across the table. Evidently he was afraid she might think he didn't know how funny his father was, and he had to show her. It wasn't decent of him. Barbara didn't approve of young Horace; yet she couldn't resist him; his eyes and mouth were full, like Ralph's, of such intelligent yet irresponsible joy. He wanted her to share it. He was an egoist like his father; but he had something of his mother's charm, something of Ralph Bevan's. "Nothing," he was saying, "nothing would have kept me away." "You're very good, sir." Horace could appreciate that biting sarcasm. "Not at all. I say, I wish you'd let me come on the platform." "What for? You don't propose yourself as a speaker, do you?" "Rather not. I simply want to be somewhere where I can see your face and old Grainger's at the same time, and Hitchin's, when you're going for their Socialism." "You shall certainly not come on the platform. And wherever you sit I must request you to behave yourself--if you can. You may not realize it, but this is going to be a serious meeting." "I know _that_. It's just the--the seriousness that gets me." He giggled. Mr. Waddington shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, if you've no sense of responsibility--if you choose to go on like an ill-bred schoolboy--but don't be surprised if you're reprimanded from the chair." "What? Old Corbett? I should like to see him.... Don't you worry, pater, I'll behave a jolly sight better than anybody else will. You see if I don't." "How did you suppose he'd behave, Horatio?" said Fanny. "When he's come all that way and given up a picnic to hear you." "Pater'll be a picnic, if you like," said Horace. Mr. Waddington waved him away with a gesture as if he flicked a teasing fly, and went out to collect his papers.