first found himself holding a couple of hundred villagers in the
grip of his impassioned utterance he felt that the awakening of
England had begun. It was a delicious moment. As a canvasser he
performed prodigies of cajolery. Extensive paper mills, a hotbed of
raging Socialism, according to Colonel Winwood, defaced (in the
Colonel's eyes) the outskirts of the little town.

"They're wrong 'uns to a man," said the Colonel, despondently.

Paul came back from among them with a notebook full of promises.

"How did you manage it?" asked the Colonel.

"I think I got on to the poetical side of politics," said Paul.

"What the deuce is that?"

Paul smiled. "An appeal to the imagination," said he.

When Colonel Winwood got in by an increased majority, in spite of
the wave of Liberalism that spread over the land, he gave Paul a
gold cigarette case; and thenceforward admitted him into his
political confidence. So Paul became familiar with the Lobby of the
House of Commons and with the subjects before the Committees on
which Colonel Winwood sat, and with the delicate arts of
wire-pulling and intrigue, which appeared to him a monstrously fine
diversion. There was also the matter of Colonel Winwood's speeches,
which the methodical warrior wrote out laboriously beforehand and
learned by heart. They were sound, weighty pronouncements, to which
the House listened with respect; but they lacked the flashes which