Somers could not get it very clear, from Jack Callcott’s description. But it seemed to him as if all the principal ideas originated with the chief, went round the circuit of the clubs, disguised as general topics for debate, and returned as confirmed principles, via the section meetings and the state meetings. All the debates had been a slow, deliberate crystallising of a few dominant ideas in all the members. In the actual putting into practice of any principle, the chief was an autocrat, though he might, if he chose, send his propositions through the section meetings and the state meetings for criticism and amendment.
“What I feel,” said Somers to Jack, “is that the bulk of you just don’t care what the chief does, so long as he does something.”
“Oh, we don’t lose our sleep at nights. If he likes to be the boss, let him do the thinking. We know he’s our man, and so we’ll follow him. We can’t all be Peter and Paul and know all about it.”
“You just feel he’s your man?”
“Oh, we do.”
“But supposing you go in and win—and he is the boss of Australia. Shall you still leave things to him?”
Jack thought lazily for a time.
“I should think so,” he replied, with a queer, mistrustful tone.
And Somers felt again so distinctly they were doing it all just in order to have something to do, to put a spoke in the wheel of the present bosses, to make a change. Just temporary. There would be a change, and that was what they wanted. There was all the time the excitement. Damn the consequences.
“You don’t think it would be as well to have a Soviet and Willie Struthers?”