er do I give? The answer I give,
ladies and gentlemen, is that I keep a spaniel at home, though not
for sporting purposes, and still less for purposes of Physiological
Research"--Every time the ass came to these two words he made
elaborate pretence of consulting his papers.

"Nine times out of ten this dumb friend and dependent of mine greets
me in the hall as I reach home after a hard day's business, wagging
his tail in a way almost more than human. And when I think of me
going home to-night, with this document--signed, as I say, by persons
of title and supported by this influential body of rate-payers--and
look into his dumb eyes and think it might happen to my Dash to be
laid on a board in the interests of this so-called Research, and
there vivisected alive, then I say--"

"_It's a lie!_"

Foe was on his legs, and he fairly shouted it. Shell-shock?
_Phut!_--It exploded right at our feet below the platform. Farrell
came staggering back, right on top of us; but the reason may have
been partly that Jimmy had reached forward, too late, and gripped his
coat-tails. Of course the man's offence was unpardonable; but I
could hardly recognise Jack's face, so drawn it was and twisted in
white-hot hate.

There was silence while you might count five, perhaps. The audience,
taken right aback for that space, had begun to rise and crane
forward. "Who is it?"--you could almost hear the question starting
to run.

Then again, for a few seconds, things happened just as they do in
rowdy public meetings. While the Chairman thumped the table, Farrell
wrenched his coat-tails from Jimmy's grip and stepped to the edge of
the platform.

"Who are you?" he demanded. There was a queer throaty sound in his
voice; yet he held himself (I thought) in fair control.

"My name is Foe," came the answer. Jack was still on his feet, his
face ashen, his eyes blazing behind his glasses. I had known him all
these years and never guessed him capable of such a white rage.
But the words came very slowly and deliberately. "My name is Foe.
I am the Professor with whom, just now, you said you hadn't the
pleasure to be acquainted--"

"Throw him out!" called a voice from one of the back rows.

I had expected that; had, as you might say, been waiting for it.
What caught me unprepared was its instant effect on Mr. Farrell.

He raised a fist and shook it. He fairly capered. "Yes, throw him
out! Throw him out!" He choked, spluttered and let