"Thank you," replied that lady. "May we take it from you?"
When it was over the Colonel found that the walls of Jericho had fallen: the Liberal Citadel had been stormed. Mr. Geddes took the chair at a meeting at St. Andrew's Hall to discuss the programme of the League.
"It looks as if you were right after all," the tall minister said to the Colonel gravely.
"Pray heaven I'm not," the other answered in like tones.
The second significant incident of this time, which occurred during a lull before the final flare-up of the long-drawn Agadir crisis, had less happy results from the point of view of the old soldier.
In August, suddenly and without warning, the railway-men came out. The Colonel had been up to London for the night on the business of the League, and next morning had walked into Victoria Street Station to find it in possession of the soldiers: men in khaki in full marching order, rifle, bayonet, and bandolier; sentries everywhere; and on the platform a Union official in a blue badge urging the guard to come out.
The guard, a heavy-shouldered middle-aged fellow, was stubbornly lumping along the platform on flat feet, swinging his lantern.
"I've got a heart," he kept on reiterating. "I've got a wife and children to think of."
"So've I," replied the official, dogging him. "It's because I am thinking of them that I'm out."
"Silly 'aound!" said a bystander