"We have no Colonies," Brooks answered, smiling. "You are only half an
Imperialist. Don't you know that they have been incorporated in the
British Empire?
"Hope they'll like it," his neighbour remarked, sardonically. "Plenty of glory and a good price to pay for it. What licks me is that every one seems to imagine that this Tariff Bill is going to give the working-classes a leg-up. To my mind it's the capitalist who's going to score by it."
"The capitalist manufacturer," Brooks answered. "But after all you can't under our present conditions dissociate capital and labour. The benefit of one will be the benefit of the other. No food stuffs are taxed, you know."
His neighbour grunted.
"Pity Cobden's ghost can't come and listen to the rot those fellows are talking," he remarked. "We shall see in a dozen years how the thing works."
The dinner ended with a firework of speeches, and an ovation to their popular townsman and member, which left Mr. Bullsom very red in the face and a little watery about the eyes. Brooks and he drove off together afterwards, and Mr. Bullsom occupied the first five minutes or so of the journey with a vigorous mopping of his cheeks and forehead.
"A great night, Brooks," he exclaimed, faintly. "A night to remember.
Don't mind admitting that I'm more than a bit exhausted though. Phew!"
Brooks laughed, and leaning forward looked out of the windows of the carriage.
"Are we going in the right direction?" he asked. "This isn't the way to
'Homelands.'"
Mr. Bullsom smiled.