"I will do what I can," replied the Russian. "I do not understand
printing, but I will wheel the barrow, and do anything I may be told."

"That's right. Well, good luck to you, comrades. I will try and get round
about five. I suppose you will then be at the new place?"

"Oh, yes," I replied, "you will be in time to help us get things
ship-shape."

"Well, good-bye, Isabel; good-bye, comrades," and he was off.

For some time we all worked with a will. Kosinski was set to stowing away
the literature in packing-cases. Short "locked up" forms and "dissed" pie,
and I busied myself over various jobs. M'Dermott had come round, and he
stood at my elbow discussing the propaganda and the situation generally.
He was much rejoiced at the turn matters were taking on the Continent, and
deplored the lukewarmness of English Anarchists. "You cannot have a
revolution without revolutionists," was a favourite phrase of his, and he
was at no trouble to conceal his opinion of most of the comrades. I was as
yet too new to the movement and too enthusiastic to endorse all his
expressions, but the little man was congenial to me; his Irish wit made
him good company, and there was an air of independent self-reliance about
him that appealed to me.

"That Kosinski's a good fellow," he continued. "He knows what Revolution
means. Not but what there is good material in England too, but it is
_raw_ material, ignorant and apathetic, hoodwinked and bamboozled by
the political humbugs."

"Have you known Kosinski long?" I inquired, interrupting him, for I saw