inner in an indifferent eating-house in a street off the
Broomielaw, and thereafter had a drink with him in a public-house, and
was introduced to some of his less reputable friends.

About tea-time I went back to Amos's lodgings, and spent an hour or so
writing a long letter to Mr Ivery. I described to him everybody I had
met, I gave highly coloured views of the explosive material on the
Clyde, and I deplored the lack of clearheadedness in the progressive
forces. I drew an elaborate picture of Amos, and deduced from it that
the Radicals were likely to be a bar to true progress. 'They have
switched their old militancy,' I wrote, 'on to another track, for with
them it is a matter of conscience to be always militant.' I finished up
with some very crude remarks on economics culled from the table-talk of
the egregious Tombs. It was the kind of letter which I hoped would
establish my character in his mind as an industrious innocent.

Seven o'clock found me in Newmilns Street, where I was seized upon by
Wilkie. He had put on a clean collar for the occasion and had partially
washed his thin face. The poor fellow had a cough that shook him like
the walls of a power-house when the dynamos are going.

He was very apologetic about Amos. 'Andra belongs to a past worrld,' he
said. 'He has a big reputation in his society, and he's a fine fighter,
but he has no kind of Vision, if ye understand me. He's an auld
Gladstonian, and that's done and damned in Scotland. He's not a Modern,
Mr Brand, like you and me. But tonight ye'll meet one or two chaps
that'll be worth your while to ken. Ye'll maybe no go quite as far as
them, but ye're on the same road. I'm hoping for the day when we'll
have oor Councils of Workmen and Soldiers like the Russians all over
the land and dictate our terms to the pawrasites in Pawrliament. They
tell me, too, the boys in the trenches are comin' round to our side.'

We entered the hall by a back door, and in a little waiting-room I was
introduced to some of the speakers. They were a scratch lot as seen in
that dingy place. The chairman was a shop-steward in one of the
Societies, a fierce little rat of a man, who spoke with a cockney
accent and addressed me as 'Comrade'. But one of them roused my
liveliest interest. I heard the name of Gresson, and turned to find a
fellow of about thirty-five, rather sprucely dressed, with a flower in
his buttonhole. 'Mr Brand,' he said, in a rich American voice which
recalled B