f. You half hate our little piffling customs, and yet they've
bound you hand and foot because they're what you're used to. And they're
the very devil, Alston, unless you're strong enough to fight against 'em
and live laborious days."

"What's the matter with us? Is it Addington?"

"Good old Addington! Not Addington, any more than the world. It's grown
too fat and selfish. Pretty soon somebody's going to upset the balance
and then we shall fight and the stern virtues will come back."

"You old Tartar," said Alston, "have we really got to fight?"

"We've got to be punished anyhow," said his mother. "And I suppose the
only punishment we should feel is the punishment of money and blood."

"Let's run away, mother," said Alston. "Let's pick up Mary and run away
to Europe."

"Oh, no," said she. "They're going to fight harder than we are. Don't
you see there's an ogre over there grinning at them and sharpening his
claws? They've got to fight Germany."

"England can manage Germany," said Alston, "through the pocket.
Industrial wars are the only ones we shall ever see."

"If you can bank on that you're not so clever as I am," said his mother.
"I see the cloud rising. Every morning it lies there thick along the
east. There's going to be war, and whether we're righteous enough to
stand up against the ogre, God knows."

Alston was impressed, in spite of himself. His mother was not given to
prophecy or passionate asseveration.

"But anyhow," said she, "you can't run away, for they're going to ask
you to stand for mayor."

"The dickens they are! Who said so?"

"Amabel. She was in here this afternoon, as guileless as a child. Weedon
Moore told her they were going to ask you to stand and she hoped you
wouldn't."

"Why?"

"Because Moore's the rival candidate, and she thinks he has an influence
with the working-man. She thinks the general cause of humanity would be
better served by Moore. That's Amabel."

"She needn't worry," said Alston, getting up. "I shouldn't take it."

"Alston," said his mother, "there's your chance. Go out into the
rough-and-tumble. Get on a soap box. Tell the working-man something that
will make him think you haven't lived in a library all your life. It
may not do him any good, but it'll save your soul alive."

She had at last surprised him. He was used to her well-bred acquiescence
in his well-bred actions. She knew he invited only the choice between
two equally irreproachable goods: not betwe