Part 15 (2/2)

It was then, and then only, that young Horace giggled. But he covered his collapse with a shout of ”Hear! Hear!” that caused f.a.n.n.y and Barbara to blow their noses simultaneously. As for Ralph, he hid his face in his hands.

”Like him,” said Mr. Waddington, ”you will be helping to save England.

And what can any of us do more?”

He sat down suddenly in a perfect uproar of applause, and drank water.

In spite of the applause he was haunted by a sense of incompleteness.

There was something he had left out of his speech, something he had particularly wanted to say. It seemed to him more vital, more important, than anything he _had_ said.

A solitary pair of hands, Mrs. Levitt's hands, conspicuously lifted, were still clapping when Mr. Hitchin's face rose like a red moon behind and a little to the left of her; followed by the grey check shoulders and red tie. He threw back his head, stuck a thumb in each armhole of his waistcoat, and spoke. ”Ladies and gentlemen. The speaker has quoted President Wilson about the world being made safe for democracy. He seems to be concerned about the future, to be, if I may say so, in a bit of a funk about the future. But has he paid any attention to the past? Has he considered the position of the working man in the past? Has he even considered the condition of many working men at the present time, for instance, of the farm labourer now in this country? If he had, if he knew the facts, if he cared about the facts, he might admit that, whether he's going to like it or not, it's the working man's turn. Just about his turn.

”I needn't ask Mr. Waddington if he knows the parable of Dives and Lazarus. But I should like to say to him what Abraham said to the rich man: 'Remember that thou in thy life-time receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted and thou art tormented.'

”I don't want Mr. Waddington to be tormented. To be tormented too much.

Not more than is reasonable. A little torment--say, his finger scorched for the fraction of a second in that hot, unpleasant place--would be good for him if it made him think. I say I don't want to torment him, but I'll just ask him one question: Does he think that a world where it's possible for a working man, just because he _is_ a working man and not an English gentleman, a world where it's still possible for him, and his wife and his children, to be turned out of house and home to suit the whim of an English gentleman; does he think that a world where things like that can happen is a safe place for anybody?

”I can tell him it isn't safe. It isn't safe for you and me. And if it isn't safe for you and me, it isn't safe for the people who make these things happen; and it isn't any safer for the people who stand by and let them happen.

”And if the Socialist--if the Bolshevist is the man who's going to see to it that they don't happen, if a Soviet Government is the only Government that'll see to that, then the Socialist, or the Bolshevist, is the man for my money, and a Soviet Government is the Government for my vote. I don't say, mind you, that it _is_ the only Government--I say, if it were.

”Mr. Waddington doesn't like Bolshevism. None of us like it. He doesn't like Socialism. I think he's got some wrong ideas about that. But he's dead right when he tells you, if you're afraid of Bolshevism and a Soviet Government, that the remedy lies in your own hands. If there ever is a day of reckoning, what Mr. Waddington would call a revolution in this country, you, we, ay, everyone of us sitting here, will be done with according as we do.”

He sat down, and Mr. Waddington rose again on his platform, solemn and a little pale. He looked round the hall, to show that there was no person there whom he was afraid to face. It might have been the look of some bold and successful statesman turning on a turbulent House, confident in his power to hold it.

”Unless I have misheard him, what Mr. Hitchin has just said, ladies and gentlemen, sounded very like a threat. If that is so, we may congratulate Mr. Hitchin on providing an unanswerable proof of the need for a National League of Liberty.”

There were cries of ”Hear! Hear!” from Sir John Corbett and from Mr.

Hawtrey of Medlicott.

Then a horrible thing happened. Slight and rustling at first, then gathering volume, there came a hissing from the back rows packed with Colonel Grainger's and Mr. Hitchin's men. Then a booing. Then a booing and hissing together.

Sir John scrabbled on to his little legs and cried: ”Ordah, there!

Ordah!” Mr. Waddington maintained an indomitably supercilious air while Sir John brought his fist down on the table (probably the most energetic thing he had ever done in his life), with a loud shout of ”Ordah!”

Colonel Grainger and Mr. Hitchin were seen to turn round in their places and make a sign to their men, and the demonstration ceased.

Mr. Waddington then rose as if nothing at all had happened and said, ”Any ladies and gentlemen wis.h.i.+ng to join the League will please come up to the platform and give their names to Miss Madden. Any persons wis.h.i.+ng to subscribe at once, may pay their subscriptions to Miss Madden.

”I will now call your attention to the last item on the programme, and ask you all to join with me very heartily in singing 'G.o.d Save the King.'”

Everybody, except Colonel Grainger and Mr. Hitchin, rose, and everybody, except the extremists of the opposition, sang. One voice--it was Mrs.

Levitt's voice--was lifted arrogantly high and clear above the rest.

”Send--him--vic-torious, Hap-py--and--glorious.

Long--to-oo rei-eign overious Gaw-aw-awd--Save--ther King.”

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