“If you were in Germany, you wouldn’t be allowed to have empty rooms. And, if you were in Russia, you wouldn’t be allowed twenty coats when the next man has nothing but a shirt between him and the rain.” I reminded him that we were in England and that he had called to demonstrate how little provocation his manifesto contained. “If the government orders me to find accommodation for people without homes,” I said, “if I have to clothe them and feed them, I’ll do it to the best of my ability. I put obedience to the law above all things.” The little red eyes glowed in anticipation of an attack. “My criticism of you is the criticism I’ve brought before now against the people who preach a general strike for political objects. That’s not the way to proceed in a constitutional country. There’s no end to it short of revolution. You object to the word ‘provocative’. . .” “Did you _read_ what I said?,” he interrupted. “Every word. It was admirably phrased. A single letter more would have had you prosecuted. You’re careful not to provoke anybody in words; but I tell you that you’re inciting people to violence by your actions. You know their temper far better than I do. You know what you’ve taught them to regard as the minimum standard of housing, feeding, wages and out-of-work pay. Do you believe you’ll get it by bringing a hundred thousand men to London?” Griffiths hesitated perceptibly. If he said “no”, he condemned himself for inflating his followers with false hopes; if he said “yes”, he was confessing himself the prophet of intimidation in its crudest form. “In time,” he answered at length. “Do your men realize that they’ll have to wait?” He hesitated again for fear of admitting that he had taught them too well or not well enough. “No government in the world can submit to the dictation of a mass-meeting. You know that. If it surrendered to-morrow, you’d have another mass-meeting the day after. I think you know that too.” “And still they wouldn’t have all they’re entitled to,” he murmured. “That’s another question. My charge is that you’re bringing thousands of men to London on false pretences. They’re probably not in the sweetest of moods; and small blame to them. They won’t get what you’re promising them; and they’ll turn on you.” The red eyes flashed defiantly: “I can look after myself.” So far, we had kept fairly free from personal attacks, but something in Griffiths’ manner or voice exasperated me. I had not admitted him in order to be lectured about the number of servants who were needed to keep me alive; the angry, ferret’s eyes gave me a curious feeling that I must bite before I was bitten; and, seeing him—perhaps quite unjustifiably as a vindictive, treacherous little animal, I fixed a quality of untrustworthiness on the man.