ey, and have to live on the capital? If you can't sleep at night
for thinking that you may be in the workhouse to-morrow--like Slingsby?
The first duty of men in Mr. Churchill's position--as I see it--is to
see that we're able to be confident of honest dealing. That's what we
want, not Greenlands. That's how we all feel, and you know it, too, or
else you, a great lady, wouldn't stop to talk to a man like me. And,
mind you, I'm true blue, always have been and always shall be, and, if
it was a matter of votes, I'd give mine to Mr. Churchill to-morrow. But
there's a many that wouldn't, _and_ there's a many that believe the
hintings.'"

My lady stopped and sighed from a broad bosom. "What could I say?" she
went on again. "I know Mr. Churchill and I like him--and everyone that
knows him likes him. I'm one of the stalwarts, mind you; I'm not for
giving in to popular clamour; I'm for the 'saner policy,' like
Churchill. But, as the man said: 'There's a many that believe the
hintings.' And I almost wish Churchill.... However, you understand what
I meant when I said that one had had to suffer."

"Oh, I understand," I said. I was beginning to. "And Churchill?" I asked
later, "he gives no sign of relenting?"

"Would you have him?" she asked sharply; "would you make him if you
could?" She had an air of challenging. "I'm for the 'saner policy!' cost
what it may. He owes it to himself to sacrifice himself, if it comes to
that."

"I'm with you too," I answered, "over boot and spur." Her enthusiasm was
contagious, and unnecessary.

"Oh, he'll stick," she began again after consultation with the parasol
fringe. "You'll hear him after a minute. It's a field day to-day.
You'll miss the other heavy guns if you stop with me. I do it
ostentatiously--wait until they've done. They're all trembling; all of
them. My husband will be on the platform--trembling too. He is a type of
them. All day long and at odd moments at night I talk to him--out-talk
him and silence him. What's the state of popular feeling to him? He's
for the country, not the town--this sort of thing has nothing to do with
him. It's a matter to be settled by Jews in the City. Well, he sees it
at night, and then in the morning the papers undo all my work. He begins
to talk about his seat--which _I_ got for him. I've been the 'voice of
the county' for years now. Well, it'll soon be a voice without a
county.... What is it? 'The old order changeth.' So, I've arranged it
that I sh