oo," Aaron continued. "I can get half over
London, if necessary, while you stay here."

"Tell me about Ernshaw?" Maraton begged quickly.

"He's loyal--they all are," Aaron cried. "Oh, you should hear him talk
about Peter Dale and Graveling, and that lot! They're spread up north
now, all of them, trying to kill the strike. And the men won't move
anywhere. His own miners wouldn't listen to Dale. Mr. Foley sent him
up to Newcastle in his motor-car. They played a garden hose on him and
burned an effigy of himself, dressed in old woman's clothes. Mr.
Foley's had the railway men to Downing Street twice, but they've never
wavered. Ernshaw is splendid. There are seven of them, and Ernshaw's
own words were that they've made up their minds that grass could grow in
the tracks and hell fires scorch up the land before they'd go back to
slavery. They're for you, sir, body and soul. They won't give in."

"Thank God!" Maraton muttered. "What about the mob?"

"Loafers and wastrels," Aaron exclaimed indignantly, "dirty parasites of
humanity, thieves; not an honest worker amongst them! They're the sort
who shouted themselves hoarse on Mafeking night and hid in their holes
when the war drums were calling. The authorities got a hundred police
from somewhere, and they crumbled away like rats running for their
holes. Ernshaw asks you not to go back to Russell Square because of the
difficulty of getting at you, but this was his message to you, sir, when
I told him of your arrival. He begged me to tell you that they were the
scum of the earth; that from Newcastle to the Thames the men who stand
idle to-day wait in faith and trust for your word and yours only. He
will be here before long."

Selingman nodded ponderously. His mouth was very full, but he did not
delay his speech.

"You have brought a splendid message, young man," he pronounced. "Sit
down and eat with us. Exercise your imagination but a little and you
will indeed believe that you have been bidden to a feast of Lucullus.
Has any one, I wonder, ever appreciated the marvellous and yet subtle
sympathy which can exist between potted meat and biscuits--especially
when washed down with hock? Join us, my young friend Aaron. Abandon
yourself with us to the pleasure of the table. We will discuss any
subject upon the earth--except butter! Miss Julia, do you know where I
shall go when I leave here? No? I go to seek chocolates and flowers
for you."

She laughed gaily.

"Chocolates and