the stage--the illogical feeling that it is he and not the actor who is
floundering--had come over him in a wave. He liked Mr Waller, and it
made his gorge rise to see him exposing himself to the jeers of a
crowd. The fact that Mr Waller himself did not know that they were
jeers, but mistook them for applause, made it no better. Mike felt
vaguely furious.

His indignation began to take a more personal shape when the speaker,
branching off from the main subject of Socialism, began to touch on
temperance. There was no particular reason why Mr Waller should have
introduced the subject of temperance, except that he happened to be an
enthusiast. He linked it on to his remarks on Socialism by attributing
the lethargy of the masses to their fondness for alcohol; and the
crowd, which had been inclined rather to pat itself on the back during
the assaults on Rank and Property, finding itself assailed in its turn,
resented it. They were there to listen to speakers telling them that
they were the finest fellows on earth, not pointing out their little
failings to them. The feeling of the meeting became hostile. The jeers
grew more frequent and less good-tempered.

'Comrade Waller means well,' said a voice in Mike's ear, 'but if he
shoots it at them like this much more there'll be a bit of an
imbroglio.'

'Look here, Smith,' said Mike quickly, 'can't we stop him? These chaps
are getting fed up, and they look bargees enough to do anything.
They'll be going for him or something soon.'

'How can we switch off the flow? I don't see. The man is wound up. He
means to get it off his chest if it snows. I feel we are by way of