sober moments he was quick with his pen. He was not a working man;
nay, it was said he had been at Oxford. His present profession was
that of attorney's clerk. He got up and began a harangue about
Brutus.

"There's one way of dealing with tyrants--the old way, Mr. Chairman.
Death to them all, say I; the short cut; none of your palaver; what's
the use of palavering?"

He was a little shaky, took hold of the rail of his chair, and as he
sat down broke his pipe.

Some slight applause followed; but the majority were either against
him, or thought it better to be silent.

The discussion continued irregularly, and Zachariah noticed that
about half-a-dozen of those present took no part in it. At about ten
o'clock the chairman declared the meeting at an end; and it was quite
time he did so, for the smoke and the drink had done their work.

As Zachariah came out, a man stood by his side whom he had scarcely
noticed during the evening. He was evidently a shoemaker. There was
a smell of leather about him, and his hands and face were grimy. He
had a slightly turned-up nose, smallish eyes, half hidden under very
black eyebrows, and his lips were thin and straight. His voice was
exceedingly high-pitched, and had something creaking in it like the
sound of an ill-greased axle. He spoke with emphasis, but not quite
like an Englishman, was fond of alliteration, and often, in the
middle of a sentence, paused to search for a word which pleased him.
Having found it, the remainder of the sentence was poised and cast