“You see,” he explained, stopping in front of Datcherd and frowning down on him, “truth is so pervasive; it gets everywhere; leaks into everything. Like cod-liver oil spilt in a trunk of clothes; everything’s saturated with it. (Is that a nasty comparison? I thought of it because it happened to me the other day.) The clothes are all different from each other, but the cod-liver oil is in all of them for ever and ever. Truth is like that—pervasive. Isn’t it?”
“No,” said Datcherd, with vehemence. “No. Truth is not like that. If it were, it would mean that one thing was no better and no worse than another; that all progress, moral and otherwise, was illusive. We should all become fatalists, torpid, uncaring, dead, sitting with our hands before us and drifting with the tide. There’d be an end of all fight, all improvement, all life. But truth is not like that. One thing is better than another, and always will be. Democracy is a better aim than oligarchy; freedom is better than tyranny; work is better than idleness. And, because it fights, however slowly and hesitatingly, on the side of those better things, Liberalism is better than Toryism, the League of Young Liberals a better thing to encourage among the young men of the country than the Primrose League. You say truth is everywhere. Frankly, I look at the Primrose League, and all your Tory Associations, and I can’t find it. I see only a monumental tissue of lies. Lying to the people for their good—that’s what all honest Tories would admit they do. Lying to them for their harm—that’s what we say they do. Truth! It isn’t named among them. They’ve not got minds that can know truth when they see it. It’s not their fault. They’re mostly good men warped by a bad creed. And you say one creed is as good as another.”
“I say there’s truth in all of them,” said Eddy. “Can’t you see the truth in Toryism? I can, so clearly. It’s all so hackneyed, so often repeated, but it’s true in spite of that. Isn’t there truth in government by the best for the others? If that isn’t good what is? If it’s not true that one man’s more fitted by nature and training to manage difficult political affairs than another, nothing’s true. And it’s true that he can do it best without a mass of ignorant, uninstructed, sentimental people for ever jerking at the reins. Put the best on top—that’s the gist of Toryism.” Datcherd was looking at him cynically.
“And yet—you belong to the Young Liberals’ League.”
“Of course I do. Do you want me to enlarge on the gist and the beauties of Liberalism too? I could, only I won’t, because you’ve just done so yourself. All that you’ve said about its making for freedom and enlightenment is profoundly true, and is why I am a Liberal. I insist on my right to be both. I am both. I hope I shall always be both.”
Datcherd said, after a thoughtful moment, “I wish we had had this conversation three months ago. We didn’t; I was reckless and hasty, and so we’ve made this mess of things.”
“Is it a mess?” asked Eddy. “I’m sorry if so. It hasn’t struck me in that light all this time.”
“Don’t think me ungrateful, Oliver,” said Datcherd, quickly. “I’m not. Looking at things as you do, I suppose it was natural that you should have done as you have. Perhaps you might have let me a little more into your views beforehand than you did—but never mind that now. The fact that matters is that I find the Club in a state of mental confusion that I never expected, and it will take some time to settle it again, if we ever do. We want, as you know, to make the Club the nucleus of a sound Radical constituency. Well, upon my word, if there was an election now, I couldn’t say which way some of them would vote. You may answer that it doesn’t matter, as so few are voters yet; but it does. It’s what I call a mess; and a silly mess, too. They’ve been playing the fool with things they ought to be keen enough about to take in deadly earnest. That’s your doing. You seem to have become pretty popular, I must say; which is just the mischief of it. All I can do now is to try and straighten things out by degrees.”
“You’d rather I didn’t come and help any more, I suppose,” said Eddy.
“To be quite frank, I would. In fact, I wouldn’t have you at any price. You don’t mind my speaking plainly? The mistake’s been mine; but it has been a pretty idiotic mistake, and we mustn’t have any more of it.... I ought never to have gone away. I shan’t again, whatever any fools of doctors say.”