He stopped, seeing the men at the gate.
“I was going to call first thing to-morrow, Mr. Dingle,” he said, “but since you’re here I can speak now.”
“And give me an arm afterwards,” declared Knox. For the moon had set and it was very dark.
“Only this: the leaders liked what I said to-night, and they liked how I said it. In a word they have offered me propaganda work. I’m to travel about and have my headquarters in London. My life’s begun in fact. I tell you this, because now you’re free to go back to the Mill, for I shall not.”
“Giving up paper-making?” asked Philander.
“Yes, Knox. I shall never touch a mould again.”
“Then you’ll never know if you’ve lost your stroke, or get it back.”
“All’s one now. There’s only Mrs. Dingle to consider. Have you been able to make up your mind in that matter yet, Mr. Dingle?”
“I have,” said Ned; “but she don’t know it and I’ll thank you not to tell her. That’s my job.”
“Thank God,” said Kellock.