'Look 'ere! See 'ere!' he rolled his shapeless body up and down the stone platform, taking in great draughts of cheer from some invisible fountain. 'Any men here belongin' to the Labour Party?' he inquired.
To an accompaniment of shouts and applause he went on, smiling and rubbing his hands in a state of bubbling Brotherliness.
'Well, I don't need tell those men the vote 'as done us some good. They know it. And it'll do us a lot more good w'en you know 'ow to use the power you got in your 'and.'
'Power!' grumbled an old fellow. 'It's those fellows at the bottom of the street'—he hitched his head toward St. Stephen's—'it's them that's got the power.'
The speaker pounced on him. 'It's you and men like you that give it to them. Wot did you do last election? You carried the Liberals into Parliament Street on your own shoulders. You believed all their fine words. You never asked yerselves, "Wot's a Liberal, anyway?"'
In the chorus of cheers and booing some one sang out, 'He's a jolly good fellow!'
'No 'e ain't,' said the Labour man, with another wheel about and a pounce. 'No 'e ain't, or, if 'e's jolly, it's only because 'e thinks you're such a cod-fish you'll go swellin' 'is majority again.'
Stonor joined in that laugh. He rather liked the man.
'Yes, it's enough to make any Liberal "jolly" to see a sheep like you lookin' on, proud and 'appy, while you see Liberal leaders desertin' Liberal principles.'