ur propaganda. Is this really our opportunity, or is
it only the shadow of what is to come thrown before? If we show our hand
too soon all is lost for this generation. Don't look at me as though I
were insane, Grahame. Remember that the country is only just free from a
long era of Conservative rule."

"The better our opportunity," Grahame answered vigorously. "Two decades
of puppet government are enervating, I admit, but they only pave the
way more surely to the inevitable reaction. What is the matter with
you, Brott? Are you ill? This is the great moment of our lives. You must
speak at Manchester and Birmingham within this week. Glasgow is already
preparing for you. Everything and everybody waits for your judgment.
Good God, man, it's magnificent! Where's your enthusiasm? Within a month
you must be Prime Minister, and we will show the world the way to a new
era."

Brott sat quite still. His friend's words had stirred him for the
moment. Yet he seemed the victim of a curious indecision. Grahame leaned
over towards him.

"Brott, old friend," he said, "you are not ill?"

Brott shook his head.

"I am perfectly well," he said.

Grahame hesitated.

"It is a delicate thing to mention," he said. "Perhaps I shall pass even
the bounds of our old comradeship. But you have changed. Something is
wrong with you. What is it?"

"There is nothing," Brott answered, looking up. "It is your fancy. I am
well enough."

Grahame's face was dark with anxiety.

"This is no idle curiosity of mine," he said. "You know me better than
that. But the cause which is nearer my heart than life itself is at
stake. Brott, you are the people's man, their promised redeemer. Think
of them, the toilers, the oppressed, God's children, groaning under the
iniquitous laws of generations of evil statesmanship. It is the dawn of
their new day, their faces are turned to you. Man, can't you hear them
crying? You can't fail them. You mustn't. I don't know what is the
matter with you, Brott, but away with it. Free yourself, man."

Brott sighed wearily, but already there was a change in him. His
face was hardening--the lines in his face deepened. Grahame continued
hastily--eagerly.

"Public men," he said, "are always at the mercy of the halfpenny press,
but you know, Brott, your appearance so often in Society lately has set
men's tongues wagging. There is no harm done, but it is time to stop
them. You are right to want to understand these people. You mus