“Comrades,” began Jameson Jameson, “we have, I hope, all spent this time in thinking things out and making ourselves more devoted to the cause. But now is the time for action. We’ve got to do something. If we had any money ’cept the mean bit that our fathers allow us we could make people jolly well sit up—we could——”
Here William, who had just inhaled a large mouthful of dust, sneezed loudly, and Robert made a dive beneath the bed. In the scuffle that ensued William embedded his teeth deeply into Jameson Jameson’s ankle, and vengeance was vowed on either side.
WILLIAM MADE ELOQUENT SPEECHES TO AN AUDIENCE
OF DEPRESSED DAFFODIL ROOTS AND THE CAT FROM
NEXT DOOR.
“Well, why can’t I come? I’m a Bolshevist too like wot all you are!”
“Well, you’ve got a Branch of your own,” said Robert fiercely.
Jameson Jameson was still standing on one leg and holding the other in two hands with an expression of (fortunately) speechless agony on his face.
“Look!” went on Robert, “you may have maimed him for life for all you know, and he’s the life and soul of the Cause, and what can he do with a maimed foot? You’ll have to keep him all his life if he is maimed for life, and when the Bolshevists get in power he’ll have your blood—and I shan’t mind,” he added, darkly.
Jameson Jameson gave a feeble smile.
“It’s all right, Comrade,” he said, “I harbour no thoughts of vengeance. I hope I can bear more than this for the Cause.”