ppens to be rather low just now. One cannot tell what might
happen. Do you greatly care? Wasn't it you who, in one of your
speeches, pointed out that a war in your country would be welcome? That
the class who would suffer would be the class who are your great
oppressors--the manufacturers, the middle classes--and that with their
downfall the working man would struggle upwards? Do you believe, Mr.
Maraton, that a war would hurt your own people?"

"My own ideas," Maraton replied, "are in a state of transition.
However, your offer is declined."

"Declined without conditions?" Mr. Beldeman enquired, taking up his
hat.

"For the present it is declined without conditions. I will be quite
frank with you. Your offer doesn't shock me as it might do if I were a
right-feeling Imperialist of the proper Jingo type. I believe that a
week ago I should have considered it very seriously indeed. Its
acceptance would have been in accordance with my beliefs. And yet,
since you have made it, you have made me wonder more than ever whether I
have been right. I find a revulsion of feeling in considering it, which
I cannot understand."

"I may approach you again," Mr. Beldeman asked, "if circumstances
should change? Possibly you yourself may, upon reflection, appreciate
my suggestion more thoroughly."

Maraton was silent for a moment. When he looked up he was alone. Mr.
Beldeman had not waited for his reply.

CHAPTER XV

One by one, Maraton got rid at last of the little crowd of journalists
who had been waiting for him below. The last on the list was perhaps
the most difficult. He pressed very hard for an answer to his direct
question.

"War or peace, Mr. Maraton? Which is it to be? Just one word, that's
all."

Maraton shook his head.

"In less than an hour, the delegates from London will be here," he
announced. "We shall hold a conference and come to our decision then."

"Will their coming make any real difference?" the journalist persisted.
"You hadn't much to say to delegates in America."

"The Labour Party over here is better organised, in some respects,"
Maraton told him. "I have nothing to say until after the conference."

His persistent visitor drew a little nearer to him.

"There's a report about that you've been staying with Foley."

"And how does that affect the matter?" Maraton enquired.

The journalist looked him in the face.

"The men never had a leader yet," he said, "whom Officialdom didn't
spoil." All