th anger and distrust. They were all of
them realising the presence of a new force which had come amongst
them, and already, with the immeasurable selfishness of their class,
they were speculating as to its personal effect upon themselves. Peter
Dale, with his hands in his trousers pockets, and his pipe between
his teeth, elbowed his way to Maraton's side.

"Young man," he began solemnly, "we'd best have an understanding. Ask
any of these others and they'll tell you I'm the leader of the Labour
Party. Are you one of us or aren't you?"

"One of you, in a sense, I hope, Mr. Dale," Maraton answered simply.
"Only you must put me down as an Independent. I don't understand
conditions over here yet. Where my own way seems best, I am used to
following it."

Peter Dale removed his pipe from his mouth and spoke with added
distinctness.

"Politics over here," he said, "are a simpler game than in the States,
but there's one class of person we've got to do without, and that's the
Independent Member. You can't do anything over here except by sticking
together. If you'll come under the standard, you're welcome. I'll say
nothing about Parliament for a time, but we'll find you all the talking
you want and see that you're well paid for it."

Looking past the speaker's hard, earnest face, Maraton was conscious of
the scorn flashing in Julia's I eyes. Intuitively he felt her
appreciation of the coarse selfishness of these men, terrified at his
gifts, resisting stubbornly the unwelcome conviction of a new
mastership. Her lips even moved, as though she were signalling to him.
At that moment, indeed, he would have been glad of her guidance. He
needed the machinery which these men controlled, distasteful though
their ideals and methods might be to him.

"Mr. Dale," he declared, "I am a people's man. I cannot enroll myself
in your party because I fancy that in many ways we should think
differently. But with so many objects in common, it is surely possible
for us to be friends?"

Ross leaned suddenly forward in his chair, his grey face
passion-stirred, the sweat upon his forehead.

"Aye!" he cried, "it's the greatest friend or the bitterest enemy of the
people you'll be. You'll do more with that tongue of yours than a
library of books or a century of Parliament, and may it wither in your
mouth if they buy you--those others! God meant you for a people's man.
It'll be hell for you and for us if they buy you away."

Maraton changed his