There came that evening a man to visit him from Totnes. He was an earnest and serious-minded person, well known to Jordan, and in his leisure he did secretarial work for the local branch of the Independent Labour Party. Upon that organisation, in the opinion of Kellock, the hope and future prosperity of his class now hung. By its activities alone salvation might presently be welcomed. And now his friend, acting as mouth-piece of the party, invited Kellock to deliver a lecture at Totnes, on “Our Aims and Hopes.” It was understood that county men of authority in the movement would be present, and Kellock did not need his fellow politician to point out that herein their side designed the young vatman an opportunity to show what he was good for. “You’ll jump at it, of course, and do your very best. It may be worth a lot to you if you get ’em. Lawson and Jenkins will be there from Plymouth, and very likely Sawdye, from Newton. I’ll beat up the Totnes crowd. Give ’em an hour of your hottest stuff, and keep the shop-stewards to the front. We want to get a move on the unions all round. They’re growing a bit mouldy in their ideas; but Labour can’t stand still for them.” “The trades unions were made for Labour, not Labour for trades unions,” declared Kellock. “That’s right; you rub that into them.” The young man stayed to supper, and he and Kellock soared to heights that Medora had not yet imagined. Jordan was full of life, and displayed a vivacity that he had never displayed in conversation on his private affairs. It was clear that nothing personal would ever light such fires. They were reserved for the cause and the cause alone. When the man from Totnes had departed, Kellock addressed Medora. “You may say that this is the biggest thing that has ever happened to me,” he began. “I didn’t expect it yet, and I must confess I’m a good bit gratified.” “So it seems,” she said. “Yes; because the people who are running our show in Devon are very jealous, naturally, that we shall give a good account of ourselves. There’s a feeling in some quarters that nothing much in the way of fighting intellect comes from the West Country. Londoners and Northerners think it’s a sort of Turkish bath all the time down here—a place for holidays and Devonshire cream and playing about. So if I’m to be reported, as I shall be, that means a pretty good advertisement and a pretty high compliment. It’s come sooner than I expected, and I must rise to it, Medora.” “You ain’t frightened to get up and talk to a crowd of men?” “Not if I know I’m saying the right thing. I’d be frightened to do it if I wasn’t dead sure I was right, and that my ideas—our ideas—will rule the world before I’m an old man; but they will. I must prepare my speech with my heart and soul. Everything must give way to it.” “Including me, I suppose?” she said.