"It comes natural, somehow, sir," said the other, with great simplicity. "There is not a man in any part of the country, but would say 'sir' to one of the Brands of Darlington. When Mr. Lind telegraphed to me you were coming down, I telegraphed back, 'Is he one of the Brands of Darlington?' and when I got his answer I said to myself, 'Here is the man to go to the Political Committee of the Trades-union Congress: they won't fight shy of him.'"
"Well, we have no great cause to grumble at what has been done in that direction; but that infernal Internationale is doing a deal of mischief. There is not a trades-unionist in the country who does not know what is going on in France. A handful of irresponsible madmen trying to tack themselves on to the workmen's association—well, surely the men will have more sense than to listen. The congres ouvrier to change its name, and to become the congres revolutionnaire! When I first went to Jackson, Molyneux, and the others, I found they had a sort of suspicion that we wanted to make Communists of them and tear society to pieces."
"You have done more in a couple of months, sir, than we all have done in the last ten years," his companion said.
"That is impossible. Look at—"
He named some names, certain of them well known enough.
The other shook his head.
"Where we have been they don't believe in London professors, and speech-makers, and chaps like that. They know that the North is the backbone and the brain of England,
and in the North they want to be spoken to by a North-countryman."
"I am a Buckinghamshire man."
"That may be where you live, sir: but you are one of the Brands of Darlington," said the other, doggedly.