He's the sort that makes a noise one way or another."

"Yes. Obituary: 'At his residence in Babbslow Square, yesterday, Sir S.
G. Babbs, M. P., member of the London County Council. Sir S. G. Babbs,
it will be remembered, gave L100,000 to build a home for the propagation
of Vice, and--'"

"That's droll!"

"Why not Vice? 'Twould be just the same in his mind. He doesn't give
from a sense of moral duty. Not he; he's a bungowawen!"

"What is that?"

"That's Indian. You buy a lot of Indian or halfbreed loafers with
beaver-skins and rum, go to the Mount of the Burning Arrows, and these
fellows dance round you and call you one of the lost race, the Mighty
Men of the Kimash Hills. And they'll do that while the rum lasts.
Meanwhile you get to think yourself a devil of a swell--you and the
gods!... And now we had better listen to this bungowawen, hadn't we?"

The room was full, and on the platform were gentlemen come to support
Sir William Belward. They were interested to see how Gaston would carry
it off.

Mr. Babbs's speech was like a thousand others by the same kind of man.
More speeches--some opposing--followed, and at last came the chairman to
close the meeting. He addressed himself chiefly to a bunch of farmers,
artisans, and labouring-men near. After some good-natured raillery at
political meetings in general, the bigotry of party, the difficulty in
getting the wheat from the chaff, and some incisive thrusts at those
who promised the moon and gave a green cheese, who spent their time in
berating their opponents, he said:

"There's a game that sailors play on board ship--men-o'-war and
sailing-ships mostly. I never could quite understand it, nor could any
officers ever tell me--the fo'castle for the men and the quarter-deck
for the officers, and what's English to one is Greek to the other. Well,
this was all I could see in the game. They sat about, sometimes talking,
sometimes not. All at once a chap would rise and say, 'Allow me to
speak, me noble lord,' and follow this by hitting some one of the party
wherever the blow got in easiest--on the head, anywhere! [Laughter.]
Then he would sit down seriously, and someone else spoke to his noble
lordship. Nobody got angry at the knocks, and Heaven only knows what
it was all about. That is much the way with politics, when it is played
fair. But here is what I want particularly to say: We are not all born
the same, nor can we live the same. One man is born a brute, and anot