“Really,” put in Mr. Murgatroyd, the dentist, “it’s rather late in the day, Mr. Chown”——­

His accents of studious moderation were interrupted by a shout from the dogmatic draper.

“Late? late?  I consider that nothing whatever has been decided.  I protest—­I protest, most emphatically, against any attempt to force a candidate on the advanced section of the Liberal party!  I will even go so far as to say—­purely on my own responsibility—­ that the advanced section of the Liberal party is the essence of the Liberal party, and must be recognized as such, if we are to fight this campaign in union.  I personally—­I speak for myself—­ do not feel prepared to vote for Tobias Liversedge.  I say it boldly, caring not who may report my words.  I compromise no man, and no body of men; but my view is that, if we are to win the next election against the Tory candidate, it must be with the help, and in the name, of a Radical candidate!”

At the close of each period Mr. Chown raised his hand and made it vibrate in the air, his head vibrating in company therewith.  His eyes glared, and his beard wagged up and down.

“Speaking as an individual,” replied Mr. Murgatroyd, who, among other signs of nervousness, had the habit of constantly pulling down his waistcoat, “I can’t say that I should regret to be called upon to vote for a really advanced man.  But I may say—­I really must say—­and I think Mr. Wykes will support me—­I think Mr. Vawdrey will bear me out—­that it wouldn’t be easy to find a candidate who would unite all suffrages in the way that Mr. Liversedge does.  We have to remember”——­

“Well,” broke in the coal-merchant, with his muffled bass, “if any one cares to know what I think, I should say that we want a local man, a popular man, and a Christian man.  I don’t know whom you would set up in preference to Liversedge; but Liversedge suits me well enough.  If the Tories are going to put forward such a specimen as Hugh Welwyn-Baker, a gambler, a drinker, and a profligate, I don’t know, I say, who would look better opposed to him than Toby Liversedge.”

Mr. Chown could not restrain himself.

“I fail altogether to see what Christianity has to do with politics!  Christianity is all very well, but where will you find it?  Old Welwyn-Baker calls himself a Christian, and so does his son.  And I suppose the Rev. Scatchard Vialls calls himself a Christian!  Let us have done with this disgusting hypocrisy!  I say with all deliberation—­I affirm it—­that Radicalism must break with religion that has become a sham!  Radicalism is a religion in itself.  We have no right—­no right, I say—­to impose any such test as Mr. Vawdrey insists upon!”

“I won’t quarrel about names,” returned Vawdrey, stolidly, “What I meant to say was that we must have a man of clean life, a moral man.”

“And do you imply,” cried Chown, “that such men are hard to find among Radicals?”