Maraton wrote it and passed it over. Selingman thrust it into his pocket.
"I go to work," he cried. "Some part of the genius of your voice shall
tremble to-morrow in the genius of my prose. I promise you that.
'Listen,' our friend Maxendorf would say, 'to the vainest man in
Europe!' But I know. No man knows himself save himself. Adieu!"
CHAPTER XXVII
The lengthy reports of his Sheffield visit and speeches, of which the newspapers made great capital, an extraordinary impression of the same in Selingman's wonderful prose, and the caprice of a halfpenny paper, made Maraton suddenly the most talked about man in England. A notoriety which he would have done much to have avoided was forced upon him. Early on the morning following his return, his house was besieged with a little stream of journalists, photographers, politicians, men and women of all orders and degrees, seeking for a few moments' interview with the man of the hour. Maraton retreated precipitately into his smaller study at the back of the house, and left Aaron to cope as well as he might with the assailing host. Every now and then the telephone bell rang, and Aaron made his report.
"There are fourteen men here who want to interview you," he announced, "all from good papers. If you won't be interviewed, some of them want a photograph."
"Send them away," Maraton directed. "Tell them the only photograph I ever had taken is in the hands of the Chicago police."
"There's the editor here himself from the Bi-Weekly."
"My compliments and excuses," Maraton replied. "I will be interviewed by no one."
"There's a representative from the Oracle here," Aaron continued, "who wants to know your exact position in connection with the Labour Party. What shall I say?"
"Tell him to apply to Mr. Dale!" Maraton answered.