"I'd jes' like to drop into the Eastry Arms, jes' when all those beggars in the parlour are sittin' down to whist, Ruck and Marbel and all, and give 'em ten minutes of my mind, George. Straight from the shoulder. Jes' exactly what I think of them. It's a little thing, but I'd like to do it—jes' once before I die." . . .
He rested on that for some time—Zzzz-ing.
Then he broke out at a new place in a tone of detached criticism.
"There's Boom," he reflected.
"It's a wonderful system—this old British system, George. It's staid and stable, and yet it has a place for new men. We come up and take our places. It's almost expected. We take a hand. That's where our Democracy differs from America. Over there a man succeeds; all he gets is money. Here there's a system—open to every one—practically. . . . Chaps like Boom—come from nowhere."
His voice ceased. I reflected upon the spirit of his words. Suddenly I kicked my feet in the air, rolled on my side and sat up suddenly on my deck chair with my legs down.
"You don't mean it!" I said.
"Mean what, George?"
"Subscription to the party funds. Reciprocal advantage. Have we got to that?"
"Whad you driving at, George?"
"You know. They'd never do it, man!"
"Do what?" he said feebly; and, "Why shouldn't they?"
"They'd not even go to a baronetcy. No! . . . And yet, of course, there's Boom! And Collingshead—and Gorver. They've done beer, they've done