ned his father.

'That butcher's a very decent sort of chap, you know, Dad,' he said.
'He wouldn't take a penny for the meat.'

'Is that what you were talking to him about?'

No; we were talking about Socialism. You see, this is the second time
he wouldn't take the money, and the first time he did it I thought he
must be a Socialist, but I didn't ask him then. But when he did it
again this time I asked him if he was. So he said, No. He said he
wasn't quite mad yet. So I said, "If you think that Socialists are all
mad, you're very much mistaken, because I'm a Socialist myself, and I'm
quite sure I'M not mad." So he said he knew I was all right, but he
didn't understand anything about Socialism himself--only that it meant
sharing out all the money so that everyone could have the same. So
then I told him that's not Socialism at all! And when I explained it
to him properly and advised him to be one, he said he'd think about it.
So I said if he'd only do that he'd be sure to change over to our side;
and then he laughed and promised to let me know next time he sees me,
and I promised to lend him some literature. You won't mind, will you,
Dad?'

'Of course not; when we get home we'll have a look through what we've
got and you can take him some of them.'

'I know!' cried Frankie eagerly. 'The two very best of all. Happy
Britain and England for the English.'

He knew that these were 'two of the best' because he had often heard
his father and mother say so, and he had noticed that whenever a
Socialist friend came to visit them, he was also of the same opinion.

As a rule on Saturday evenings they all three went out together to do
the marketing, but on this occasion, in consequence of Nora being
unwell, Owen and Frankie went by themselves. The frequent recurrence
of his wife's illness served to increase Owen's pessimism with regard
to the future, and the fact that he was unable to procure for her the
comforts she needed was not calculated to dispel the depression that
filled his mind as he reflected that there was no hope of better times.

In the majority of cases, for a workman there is no hope of
advancement. After he has learnt his trade and become a 'journeyman'
all progress ceases. He is at the goal. After he has been working ten
or twenty years he commands no more than he did at first--a bare living
wage--sufficient money to purchase fuel to keep the human machine
working. As he grows older he wil