ng eyes and set lips, vigilant and resourceful, Eglington
listened to Jasper Kimber's opening remarks.

By unremitting industry Jasper had made a place for himself in the
House. The humour and vitality of his speeches, and his convincing
advocacy of the cause of the "factory folk," had gained him a hearing.
Thickset, under middle size, with an arm like a giant and a throat like
a bull, he had strong common sense, and he gave the impression that he
would wear his heart out for a good friend or a great cause, but that if
he chose to be an enemy he would be narrow, unrelenting, and persistent.
For some time the House had been aware that he had more than a gift for
criticism of the Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs.

His speech began almost stumblingly, his h's ran loose, and his grammar
became involved, but it was seen that he meant business, that he had
that to say which would give anxiety to the Government, that he had a
case wherein were the elements of popular interest and appeal, and that
he was thinking and speaking as thousands outside the House would think
and speak.

He had waited for this hour. Indirectly he owed to Claridge Pasha all
that he had become. The day in which David knocked him down saw the
depths of his degradation reached, and, when he got up, it was to start
on a new life uncertainly, vaguely at first, but a new life for all
that. He knew, from a true source, of Eglington's personal hatred of
Claridge Pasha, though he did not guess their relationship; and all his
interest was enlisted for the man who had, as he knew, urged Kate Heaver
to marry himself--and Kate was his great ambition now. Above and beyond
these personal considerations was a real sense of England's duty to the
man who was weaving the destiny of a new land.

"It isn't England's business?" he retorted, in answer to an interjection
from a faithful soul behind the ministerial Front Bench. "Well, it
wasn't the business of the Good Samaritan to help the man that had been
robbed and left for dead by the wayside; but he did it. As to David
Claridge's work, some have said that--I've no doubt it's been said
in the Cabinet, and it is the thing the Under-Secretary would say as
naturally as he would flick a fly from his boots--that it's a generation
too soon. Who knows that? I suppose there was those that thought John
the Baptist was baptising too soon, that Luther preached too soon, and
Savonarola was in too great a hurry, all because he me