to boot. But
there were cheers also from the back of the room, where a body of roughly
dressed sturdy fellows sat sucking at black clay pipes; these were men
from the various works, from Dunn's and from Japhet's own.

As Japhet proceeded Sir Winterton's handsome face had grown ruddier and
ruddier; when Japhet finished, he sat still through the hubbub, but his
hand twitched and he clutched the elbow of his chair tightly. The
platform collectively looked uncomfortable. The chairman--he was Green,
the linen-draper in High Street--glanced uneasily at Sir Winterton and
then whispered in his ear. Sir Winterton threw a short remark at him,
the chairman shrank back with the appearance of having been snubbed. Sir
Winterton rose slowly to his feet, still very red in the face, still
controlling himself to a calmness of gesture and voice. But all he said
in answer to that most respected and influential townsman Mr. Japhet
Williams was,

"No, I won't."

And down he plumped into his chair again.

Not a word of courtesy, not a word of respect for Japhet's motives, not
even an appeal for trust, not even a simple pledge of his word! A curt
and contemptuous "No, I won't," was all that Sir Winterton's feelings, or
Sir Winterton's sensitiveness, or his temper, or his obstinacy, allowed
him to utter. Sir Winterton was a great man, no doubt, but at election
times the People also enjoys a transient sense of greatness and of power.
The cheers were less hearty now, the groans more numerous; the audience
felt that, in its own person and in the person of Japhet Williams, it was
being treated with disrespect; already one or two asked, "If he's got a
fair and square answer, why don't he give it?" The superfine sense of
honour, which feels itself wounded by being asked for a denial and soiled
by condescending to give one, is of a texture too delicate for common
appreciation. "No, I won't," said Sir Winterton, red in the face, and the
meeting felt snubbed. Why did he snub them? The meeting began to feel
suspicious. There were no more questions; the proceedings were hurried
through; Sir Winterton drove off, pompous in his anger, red from his hurt
feelings, stiff in his obstinacy. The cheer that followed him had not its
former heartiness.

"I only did my duty," said Japhet to a group who surrounded him.

"That's right, Mr. Williams," he was answered. "We know you. Don't you
let yourself be silenced, sir." For everybody now remembered the Sinnett