ith peculiar indignation. Not only did
this poster tramp in again on his cherished convictions about Peace,
but he saw in it something more than met the unphilosophic eye. It
symbolized for him all that was catch-penny in the national life-an
epitaph on the grave of generosity, unutterably sad. Yet from a Party
point of view what could be more justifiable? Was it not desperately
important that every blue nerve should be strained that day to turn
yellow nerves, if not blue, at all events green, before night fell?
Was it not perfectly true that the Empire could only be saved by
voting blue? Could they help a blue paper printing the words, 'New
complications,' which he had read that morning? No more than the yellows
could help a yellow journal printing the words 'Lord Miltoun's Evening
Adventure.' Their only business was to win, ever fighting fair. The
yellows had not fought fair, they never did, and one of their most
unfair tactics was the way they had of always accusing the blues of
unfair fighting, an accusation truly ludicrous! As for truth! That which
helped the world to be blue, was obviously true; that which didn't,
as obviously not. There was no middle policy! The man who saw things
neither was a softy, and no proper citizen. And as for giving the
yellows credit for sincerity--the yellows never gave them credit! But
though Courtier knew all that, this poster seemed to him particularly
damnable, and he could not for the life of him resist striking one of
the sandwich-boards with his cane. The resounding thwack startled a
butcher's pony standing by the pavement. It reared, and bolted forward,
with Courtier, who had naturally seized the rein, hanging on. A dog
dashed past. Courtier tripped and fell. The pony, passing over, struck
him on the head with a hoof. For a moment he lost consciousness; then
coming to himself, refused assistance, and went to his hotel. He felt
very giddy, and, after bandaging a nasty cut, lay down on his bed.

Miltoun, returning from that necessary exhibition of himself, the
crowning fact, at every polling centre, found time to go and see him.

"That last poster of yours!" Courtier began, at once.

"I'm having it withdrawn."

"It's done the trick--congratulations--you'll get in!"

"I knew nothing of it."

"My dear fellow, I didn't suppose you did."

"When there is a desert, Courtier, between a man and the sacred city,
he doesn't renounce his journey because he has to wash in dirty water