I talked, I remember, with Dr. Tumpany, a large young man in a still larger professional frock-coat, and with a great shock of very fair hair, who was candidate for some North Country constituency. We discussed the political outlook, and, like so many Socialists at that time, he was full of vague threatenings against the Liberal party. I was struck by a thing in him that I had already observed less vividly in many others of these Socialist leaders, and which gave me at last a clue to the whole business. He behaved exactly like a man in possession of valuable patent rights, who wants to be dealt with. He had an air of having a corner in ideas. Then it flashed into my head that the whole Socialist movement was an attempted corner in ideas....
8
Late that night I found myself alone with Margaret amid the debris of the gathering.
I sat before the fire, hands in pockets, and Margaret, looking white and weary, came and leant upon the mantel.
“Oh, Lord!” said Margaret.
I agreed. Then I resumed my meditation.
“Ideas,” I said, “count for more than I thought in the world.”
Margaret regarded me with that neutral expression behind which she was accustomed to wait for clues.
“When you think of the height and depth and importance and wisdom of the Socialist ideas, and see the men who are running them,” I explained.... “A big system of ideas like Socialism grows up out of the obvious common sense of our present conditions. It's as impersonal as science. All these men—They've given nothing to it. They're just people who have pegged out claims upon a big intellectual No-Man's-Land—and don't feel quite sure of the law. There's a sort of quarrelsome uneasiness.... If we professed Socialism do you think they'd welcome us? Not a man of them! They'd feel it was burglary....”
“Yes,” said Margaret, looking into the fire. “That is just what I felt about them all the evening.... Particularly Dr. Tumpany.”