r constituency, an ardent Venturist, and the
laughing-stock of his capitalist family, with whom, however, he was
still on more or less affectionate terms. His father thought him an
incorrigible fool, and his mother wailed over him to her friends. But
they were still glad to see him whenever he would condescend to visit
them; and all friction on money matters was avoided by the fact that
Denny had for long refused to take any pecuniary help from his father,
and was nevertheless supporting himself tolerably by lecturing and
literature.

Denny was admitted into the brothers' debate, and had indeed puzzled
himself a good deal over the matter already. He had taken a lively
interest in the strike, and the articles in the _Clarion_ which led to
its collapse had seemed to him both inexplicable and enraging.

After his talk with the Cravens, he went away, determined to dine at
home on the earliest possible opportunity. He announced himself
accordingly in Hertford Street, was received with open arms, and then
deliberately set himself, at dinner and afterwards, to bait his father
on social and political questions, which, as a rule, were avoided
between them.

Old Denny fell into the trap, lost his temper and self-control
completely, and at a mention of Harry Wharton--skilfully introduced at
the precisely right moment--as an authority on some matter connected
with the current Labour programme, he threw himself back in his chair
with an angry laugh.

"Wharton? _Wharton_? You quote that fellow to _me?_"

"Why shouldn't I?" said the son, quietly.

"Because, my good sir,--he's a _rogue_,--that's all!--a common rogue,
from my point of view even--still more from yours."

"I know that any vile tale you can believe about a Labour leader you do,
father," said George Denny, with dignity.

Whereupon the older man thrust his hand into his coat-pocket, and
drawing out a small leather case, in which he was apt to carry important
papers about with him, extracted from it a list containing names and
figures, and held it with a somewhat tremulous hand under his son's
eyes.

"Read it, sir! and hold your tongue! Last week my friends and I _bought_
that man--and his precious paper--for a trifle of 20,000 _l._ or
thereabouts. It paid us to do it, and we did it. I dare say _you_ will
think the preceding questionable. In my eyes it was perfectly
legitimate, a piece of _bonne guerre_. The man was ruining a whole
industry. Some of us had taken h