stuff, he has the gift of putting
the words together, and his heart's where it should be."

"There is no one," Penn said; his voice trembling a little, "who has a
greater admiration for Paul Fiske's writings than I have, but I still
contend that he is not Labour."

"Sit down, lad," Cross enjoined. "We'll have a vote on that. I'm for
saying that Mr. Julian Orden here, who has written them articles under
the name of `Paul Fiske', is a full member of our Council and eligible
to act as our messenger to the Prime Minister. I ask the Bishop to put
it to the meeting."

Eighteen were unanimous in agreeing with the motion. Fenn sat down,
speechless. His cheeks were pallid. His hands, which rested upon the
table, were twitching. He seemed like a man lost in thought and only
remembered to fill up his card when the Bishop asked him for it. There
was a brief silence whilst the latter, assisted by Cross and Sands,
counted the votes. Then the Bishop rose to his feet.

"Mr. Julian Orden," he announced, "better known to you all under the
name of `Paul Fiske', has been chosen by a large majority as your
representative to take the people's message to the Prime Minister."

"I protest!" Fenn exclaimed passionately. "This is Mr. Orden's first
visit amongst us. He is a stranger. I repeat that he is not one of us.
Where is his power? He has none. Can he do what any one of us can--stop
the pulse of the nation? Can he still its furnace fires? Can he empty
the shipyards and factories, hold the trains upon their lines, bring the
miners up from under the earth? Can he--"

"He can do all these things," Phineas Cross interrupted, "because he
speaks for us, our duly elected representative. Sit thee down, Fenn. If
you wanted the job, well, you haven't got it, and that's all there is
about it, and though you're as glib with your tongue as any here, and
though you've as many at your back, perchance, as I have, I tell you I'd
never have voted for you if there hadn't been another man here. So put
that in your pipe and smoke it, lad."

"All further discussion," the Bishop ruled, "is out of order. Julian
Orden, do you accept this mission?"

Julian rose to his feet. He leaned heavily upon his stick. His
expression was strangely disturbed.

"Bishop," he said, "and you, my friends, this has all come very
suddenly. I do not agree with Mr. Fenn. I consider that I am one with
you. I think that for the last ten years I have seen the place which
Labour sh