there were scarcely any newspapers, were not fools, and there was not
a Nottingham weaver who put a morsel of bread in his hungry belly who
did not know that two morsels might have gone there if there were no
impost on foreign corn to maintain rents, and if there were no
interest to pay on money borrowed to keep these sacred kings and
lords safe in their palaces and parks. Opinion at the Red Lion
Friends of the People Club was much divided. Some were for
demonstrations and agitation, whilst others were for physical force.
The discussion went on irregularly amidst much tumult.

"How long would they have waited over the water if they had done
nothing but jaw? They met together and tore down the Bastile, and
that's what we must do."

"That may be true," said a small white-faced man who neither smoked
nor drank, "but what followed? You don't do anything really till
you've reasoned it out."

"It's my belief, parson," retorted the other, "that you are in a d---
d funk. This is not the place for Methodists."

"Order, order!" shouted the chairman.

"I am not a Methodist," quietly replied the other; "unless you mean
by Methodist a man who fears God and loves his Saviour. I am not
ashamed to own that, and I am none the worse for it as far as I know.
As for being a coward, we shall see."

The Secretary meanwhile had gone on with his beer. Despite his
notorious failing, he had been chosen for the post because in his