“Tut! don’t be so confoundedly touchy,” said Gleam good-humouredly. “By ‘seriously’ I meant entirely, professionally. Would you like to devote all your time to the work?” “I should think I would,” replied Goddard quickly; “but I can’t. I have my bread and butter to earn. I don’t quite see why you ask me.” “Would you accept a position if your bread and butter were assured to you?” “As a paid agitator? Oh no, thanks! I couldn’t stand that. Work of that sort must be given, not sold.” “That’s rubbish,” said the Member lightly. “The labourer is worthy of his hire. The notion is as cranky as Tolstoi’s.” “It isn’t,” said Goddard. “The paid agitator is a fraud. He pretends to be a working-man and he isn’t. When I address a crowd I can say, ‘I am one of yourselves, the real thing. I belong to the Amalgamated Union of Cabinetmakers, and earn my forty bob a week with the work of my hands.’ Men listen to me, and respect me. What I could not swallow would be for a fellow to get up and tell me, ‘It’s all very well for you to talk; but you’re paid for talking, and make a jolly good thing of it. Instead of helping the working-man, you are simply growing fat on the working-man’s hard-earned money.’ I’ve heard that said to paid agitators myself.” “Well, who said I wanted you to become a paid agitator?” asked Gleam. “I don’t want you to stand on a barrel and address people as ‘fellow-sufferers.’ You are a cut above that kind of thing. What I wanted to propose to you was work on our new National Progressive League. Of course, scores of men are giving their services; but they are men of a certain amount of leisure. They can afford it. The working-man has no leisure to speak of, and we would give anything for the services of a few well-educated, clearheaded working-men like yourself. We could manage three pounds a week--perhaps more. Well, there’s a chance for you.” Goddard walked on a few steps in silence. He was young, earnest, a passionate champion of the great questions on the Progressive programme. He felt in himself a power to grip the attention of men. He had dreamed vague dreams of personal ambition. Gleam’s offer was a great temptation. But the consciousness that it was a temptation made him adhere all the more obstinately to his principles. “You are very kind,” he said at last, “and I am flattered by your opinion of me. But I shouldn’t feel justified in giving up my trade: it wouldn’t seem right.” “Well, do as you like, my good fellow,” replied the Member cheerily. “But I think you’re a bit of an idiot. You’ll find a thousand first-rate cabinetmakers for one competent politician. Anyhow, if you change your mind----” “I don’t like changing my mind,” returned Goddard, with a laugh, “as if it were a shirt.” “We are none of us infallible, not even the youngest,” quoted the Member below his breath.