The ill-timed remark from the other end of the table was drowned in a chorus of stern dissent. Even to these ardent minds such a contingency was not to be thought of. But on one point the great man at the table head was emphatic. Until the U. P. was brought under control there could be no security for any nation, any body of persons, any private individual. And the moment being opportune, Sir Munt clinched his argument with the story of the recent singular occurrence in that city. Several of those who heard it, although not among the admirers of John Endor--his views were much too “woolly” for thoroughgoing Imperialists--had been present at the famous luncheon. These now bore reluctant witness to the fact that he had been misreported. Not that it particularly mattered. Speechifying didn’t cut much ice in these times. And it was reasonable to allow every orator a certain amount of latitude at a champagne luncheon. “All very well,” growled Sir Munt. “But that speech has gone round the world. His friends here, knowing the man and knowing the circumstances in which the speech was made, are content to believe that some one has blundered. I don’t put it higher than that. But at Hellington the next day he got a broken head instead of a hearing.” Honest Sir Munt, having made his point, subsided now in a brief period of deglutition. A few minutes later, in a favorite corner of the smoking room, he had a little serious talk with Alderman Murrell. “I don’t like voting Yellow,” the Imperialist confided in a rather perplexed voice. “Somehow it goes against the grain, as it did against that of my father before me, but if Mr. Endor can satisfy us that he is not in favor of playing tricks with the Navy and the two-power standard will be maintained, I’m not sure it isn’t my duty on this occasion”--even in the sanctity of the Club precincts the worthy alderman could not resist a rhetorical flourish--“on this occasion to record my vote for the Clean, the Decent, the Aboveboard.” Sir Munt looked in quite “an old-fashioned way” at his friend. “You must be careful, Murrell, my boy,”--the grin of the great man was almost saturnine--“you must be vur-ry careful how you interfere wi’ the liberties o’ the Press.” XXXVIII