have an immense middle class here in England, who are living in fatness and content.  The keynote of my creed is that these people have twice the incomes they ought to have, and Labour half as much.  That, of course, is just the simple, oldfashioned, illogical Socialism with which you probably all started life, and which doubtless lies in some forgotten chamber of the minds of all of you.  You’ve given it up because you’ve decided that it was unpractical.  I haven’t.  I believe that if we were to pull down the pillars which hold up the greatness of this nation, I believe that if we were to lay her in ruins about us, that in the years to come—­perhaps I ought to say the generations to come—­the rebuilding, stone by stone, would be on the sane principle which, once established, would last for eternity, of an absolute partnership between Capital and Labour, a partnership which I say would be eternal because, in course of time, the two would become one.”

They all looked at one another a little blankly.  Peter Dale grunted with expressionless face and relit his pipe, which had gone out during these few moments of intense listening.  Graveling reached out his hand and took a cigar from a box which had been placed upon the table.  Henneford and his neighbour exchanged glances, which culminated in a stealthy wink.  Alone at the table David Ross sat like a figure of stone, his mouth a little open, something of the light in his face.

“I’m too much of an Englishman, for one,” Graveling said, “to want to pull the country down.  Now where does this universal strike come in?”

“The universal strike,” Maraton explained quietly, “is the doctrine I came to England to preach.  It is the doctrine I meant to preach to-night.  If your coal strike and your iron strike and your railway strike were declared within the next few days, the pillars would indeed be pulled down.”

“Why, I should say so!” Peter Dale declared gruffly.  “Half the people in the country would be starving; there’d be no subscriptions to the Unions; the blooming Germans would be over here in no time, and we should lose our jobs.”

“It wouldn’t do, Mr. Maraton,” Borden said briskly.  “It’s our job to improve the position of our constituents, but it’s jolly certain we shouldn’t do that by bringing ruin upon the country.”

David Ross suddenly struck the table with his fist.

“You are wrong, all of you,” he cried hoarsely.  “You are ignorant men, thick-headed, fat, narrow fools, full of self-interest and prejudice.  You want your jobs; they come first.  I tell you that the man’s right.  Purge the country; get rid of the poison of ill-distributed capital, start again a new nation and a new morning.”

Dale looked across the table, pityingly.

“What you need, Ross, is a drink,” he remarked.  “I noticed you weren’t doing yourself very well coming down.”

David Ross rose heavily to his feet.  His arm was stretched out towards Dale and it was the arm of an accuser.