It was Mr Norie, the editor, who brought me into the discussion.

‘Our South African friend is very blate,’ he said in his boisterous way.  ’Andra, if this place of yours wasn’t so damned teetotal and we had a dram apiece, we might get his tongue loosened.  I want to hear what he’s got to say about the war.  You told me this morning he was sound in the faith.’

‘I said no such thing,’ said Mr Amos.  ’As ye ken well, Tam Norie, I don’t judge soundness on that matter as you judge it.  I’m for the war myself, subject to certain conditions that I’ve often stated.  I know nothing of Mr Brand’s opinions, except that he’s a good democrat, which is more than I can say of some o’ your friends.’

‘Hear to Andra,’ laughed Mr Norie.  ‘He’s thinkin’ the inspector in the Socialist State would be a waur kind of awristocrat then the Duke of Buccleuch.  Weel, there’s maybe something in that.  But about the war he’s wrong.  Ye ken my views, boys.  This war was made by the cawpitalists, and it has been fought by the workers, and it’s the workers that maun have the ending of it.  That day’s comin’ very near.  There are those that want to spin it out till Labour is that weak it can be pit in chains for the rest o’ time.  That’s the manoeuvre we’re out to prevent.  We’ve got to beat the Germans, but it’s the workers that has the right to judge when the enemy’s beaten and not the cawpitalists.  What do you say, Mr Brand?’

Mr Norie had obviously pinned his colours to the fence, but he gave me the chance I had been looking for.  I let them have my views with a vengeance, and these views were that for the sake of democracy the war must be ended.  I flatter myself I put my case well, for I had got up every rotten argument and I borrowed largely from Launcelot Wake’s armoury.  But I didn’t put it too well, for I had a very exact notion of the impression I wanted to produce.  I must seem to be honest and in earnest, just a bit of a fanatic, but principally a hard-headed businessman who knew when the time had come to make a deal.  Tombs kept interrupting me with imbecile questions, and I had to sit on him.  At the end Mr Norie hammered with his pipe on the table.

‘That’ll sort ye, Andra.  Ye’re entertain’ an angel unawares.  What do ye say to that, my man?’

Mr Amos shook his head.  ’I’ll no deny there’s something in it, but I’m not convinced that the Germans have got enough of a wheepin’.’  Macnab agreed with him; the others were with me.  Norie was for getting me to write an article for his paper, and the consumptive wanted me to address a meeting.

‘Wull ye say a’ that over again the morn’s night down at our hall in Newmilns Street?  We’ve got a lodge meeting o’ the I.W.B., and I’ll make them pit ye in the programme.’  He kept his luminous eyes, like a sick dog’s, fixed on me, and I saw that I had made one ally.  I told him I had come to Glasgow to learn and not to teach, but I would miss no chance of testifying to my faith.