"And papers."
"Hear, hear."
"A little idea just comes to my mind. There's a good number of men in the world pretty much like boxes, shut up tight, locked up tighter. We're going to open those boxes; we're going to unlock 'em; we're goin' to let panes of glass into 'em, that the light can be seen through."
"Bravo! bravo! bravo!" from all parts of the room.
"Because, mates, don't you make any mistake. The fault doesn't lie with the ladies and gentlemen I made mention of a minute or two ago, it lies with us; and if we don't help ourselves--constitutionally, mind--we can't expect anybody else to help us. They're not wrong. I don't blame 'em, much"--and there was a touch of humor in his manner of uttering this small word which caused general laughter--"I blame ourselves. I was saying that every man has the regulation number of limbs and members, the regulation measure of appetite, the regulation instincts, sentiments, and all that sort of thing, and I was going to say, when I was interrupted, that you'll find something in Coriolanus about the stomach which rather bears upon the point. I dare say there are one or two in the room who'll remember my mentioning this at a meeting before the last general election, when I spoke against the Conservative candidate. It was a Conservative meeting, and the hall was pretty well packed with one-siders, but the candidate--a gentleman, mates--got me a fair hearing, and I was listened to. Yes, you were there, and you"--pointing to two in the room who nodded gravely. "Well, when I'd done about this Coriolanus and the stomach business, up gets the Conservative candidate and says: 'I don't for a moment doubt that our good friend, Mr. Bartholomew'--he knew my name; I handed it up to him on paper, not having an engraved card--"
"Ha! ha! ha!" from the back of the room.
Mr. Bartholomew looked severely in that direction, and said:
"What are you ha-ha-ha-ing about? Do you think I want to make a point against gentlemen who carry cards? You're mistaken, though perhaps I too was wrong in the way I put it. 'I don't for a moment doubt,' said the Conservative candidate, 'that our good friend, Mr. Bartholomew, who I hope one day will blossom into a good Conservative'--between you and me, mates, that will be never."
"Hear, hear."
"'I don't for a moment doubt that he is right about what he says of Coriolanus and the application of it. I don't remember the lines myself, but I will take them from him, and I will give him an answer in an anecdote. There was a serpent once, a regulation serpent, a twining, slimy, creeping, crawling reptile, with head and tail, and all other necessary parts. Now, Mr. Bartholomew knows that it is a law of nature for serpents that in going through life the head goes first. I don't know exactly how old the serpent was when its tail ranged itself upon what I may call the opposition side. It said to the head: "Look here, I ain't going to be dragged about in this manner all day long, and all night long, just where you like to take me. I won't stand it. It's my turn for an innings; fair play is fair play." All the other parts of the serpent joined in the argument, and the tail was so noisy and blustering that it carried along with it every bit of the serpent but the head. Now, it unfortunately happened,' said the Conservative candidate, 'that this particular head of this particular serpent was weak-minded; anyhow, it was foolish enough to say: "Put it to the vote, and I'll stand by it. You shall decide who goes first, the tail or me." It was put to the vote, and it was decided by a large majority that the tail was right, and that it ought to have an innings. "Very well," says the head, I resign." Then the tail, crying, "Come along," took command. But, my friends,' said the Conservative candidate, 'you don't need to be told--though perhaps it will enlighten Mr. Bartholomew--that the eyes of a serpent's body are in its head, and not in its tail, and that as the tail dragged its way along it couldn't see where it was going. It got into a prickly hedge, and when the other portions of the body felt the sting and the pain they cried out: "What are you about?" "Oh, that's nothing," answered the tail, working its way out of the prickly hedge, I am new to the business, that's all; you must put up with a mistake or two--that's only fair, you know." "Yes, yes," said the other parts of the body; "go on, go on." He did, and came to a part of the forest where there was a smouldering fire. Straight into this fire crept the tail, and, maddened with pain, crept farther into it, hoping to escape, and in less than no time the tail and the other rebellious parts of the body were burned to ashes. The head alone remained.'"