He looked anxious. “Remains of trouble?”
“Not a vestige,” I laughed.
“That's all right,” he said breezily. “Now come along and hear Milligan speak.”
It did not occur to him that I might have work, worries, or engagements, or that the evening's entertainment which he offered me might be the last thing I should appreciate. His head, for the moment, was full of Milligan, and it seemed to him only natural that the head of all humanity should be full of Milligan too. I made a wry face.
“That son of thunder?”
Milligan was a demagogue who had twice unsuccessfully attempted to get into Parliament in the Labour interest.
“Have you ever heard him?”
“Heaven forbid!” said I in my pride.
“Then come. He's speaking in the Hall of the Lambeth Biblical Society.”
I was tempted, as I wanted company. In spite of my high resolve to out-Ishmael Ishmael, I could not kill a highly developed gregarious instinct. I also wanted a text for an article. But I wanted my dinner still more. Campion condemned the idea of dinner.