t, and in your eagerness to serve and please them, I think
that you sometimes forget the greater, the more universal truths. I may
be wrong. That is how the matter seems to me."

"Then since you're so frank," Peter Dale declared, with undiminished
wrath, "I'll just imitate your candour! I'll tell you how you seem to
us. You seem like a man with a gift, whose head has been turned by Mr.
Foley and his fine friends. You're full of great phrases, but there's
nothing practical about them or you. You're on your way to an easy
place for yourself in the world, and a seat in Foley's Cabinet."

"Have you any objection," Maraton asked, "to the people's cause being
represented in the Cabinet?"

It was the last straw, this! Peter Dale's voice shook with passion.

"It's been a promise," he shouted, "for this many a year! A sop to the
people it was, at the last election. There's one of us ought to be in
the Cabinet--one of us, I say, not a carpetbagger!"

"We're the wrong type of man," Graveling broke in sarcastically.
"That's what he said. He was heard to say it to the Home Secretary.
The wrong type of man he called us."

Maraton suddenly changed his attitude. He was momentarily conscious of
Julia listening, from her place in the background, to every word with
strained attention. After all, these men had doubtless done good work
according to their capacity.

"My friends," he protested, "why do we bandy words like this? Perhaps
it is my fault. I have had a long and tiring day, and I must confess
that I to some extent resented a Labour man being set up against me,
without a word of explanation. You mean well, all of you, I am sure,
even if we can't quite see the same way. Don't let's quarrel. I am not
used to Parties. I can't serve under any one. My vote's my own, and I
don't like the political juggery of selling it here and there for a quid
pro quo. We may sit on opposite benches, but I give you my word that
there isn't anything in the world which brings me into political life or
will keep me there, save the welfare of the people. Now shake hands,
all of you. Let us have a drink together and part friends."

Peter Dale shook his head doggedly. He had risen to his feet--a man
filled with slow burning but bitter anger.

"No, sir!" he declared. "Me and my mates have stood for the people for
this many a year, and we've no fancy for a fine gentleman springing up
like a Jack-in-the-box from somewhere else in the House, without any