I had
my way I'd take some of these blackguards who are fattening on the
country's helplessness and I'd put 'em in the front line
trenches. . . ."

"With a trench mortar bombardment on," supplemented Vane laughing.

"And I'd let 'em stop there and rot," continued Sir James. "It's
wicked; it's vile; it's abominable--exploiting their country's danger
for their own pockets. . . . What's going to happen when the war is
over, God alone knows."

"Your fish will get cold, Daddy, unless you go on with it," said Joan
soothingly.

But Sir James was started on his favourite hobby. It would have taken
more than the possibility of cold fish to stem the torrent, and Vane,
supported by the most fleeting of winks from Joan, made no attempt to
do so. He had heard it all before; the worthy Baronet's views, were
such as are delivered daily by the old order in every part of the
country. And the thing that perplexed Vane more and more as he
listened, and periodically returned a non-committal "Yes" or "No," was
where the fallacy lay. These were the views he had been brought up on;
they were the views with which, in his heart of hearts, he agreed. And
yet he felt dimly that there must be another side to the question: he
knew there was another side. Otherwise . . . but Sir James, when he
got into his stride, did not permit much meditation on the part of his
audience.

"Organised labour," he thundered, "has found itself, because we are at
war, all powerful. We depend on the organised workers, and they know
it. The lives of our men are at stake. . . . Their brothers, mark
you, Vane. What do they care? Not a dam, sir, not a dam. More money,
money--that's all they want. They know the State won't dare a
lock-out--and they trade on it. . . . Why don't they conscript 'em,
sir?--why don't they put the whole cursed crowd into khaki? Then if
they strike send 'em over into the trenches as I said, and let 'em rot
there. That would soon bring 'em to their senses. . . ." Sir James
attacked his chicken viciously.

"What's going to happen," he went on after a moment, "when we return to
peace conditions? The private employer can't pay these inflated
wages. . . . He simply can't do it, and that's an end of it. But now,
of necessity it's been a case of surrender--surrender--surrender to any
demands the blackguards like to put up. And they've got it each time.
Do you suppose they're going to stop?"

"But surely there's such a thin