9

It was the news of this explosive emergence of Rud that the old doctor read in his garden. The particulars were not very accurately given, they had been given by Rud, and the triumph of Rud had become much more effective and complete in the telling. And more portentous. In his own admirable phrase he had "clarified the facts." His experiences in number seventeen were entirely omitted from the story, because evidently the reporter had learnt nothing about them. And there was no doubt whatever of the aggressive intentions of the renascent Popular Socialist Party. It meant to "modernise and remake the world," no less, "under the rule of common sense," as interpreted by Rud. "Modern common sense"; he bad apparently said it three times. And first of all he—Rud Whitlow if you please—meant to challenge the country on the American issue…

"And so exit Bohun," reflected old Doctor Carstail. "I guess this ends him…

"If half this stuff about him is true, he's certifiable…Thumbscrews!…Whips!…"

He had been a safety valve. He had put a foolish face in front of all that snobbish, middle–class riff–raff of his. He had wasted money that might have worked mischief. He had been a mask, he had been a gag upon the Fascist drive here. Now it had fairly got loose…

"This young Whitlow will be different. He's ugly as an octopus but he's not ridiculous. There's a tenacity about him. And malice. He reeks, Dick said, of social malice. In these days he may get almost anywhere. He may get a lot of power. What will he do with it?…

"That fellow—I brought him into the world—and he was a trouble even then. Twenty–five hours of it she had with him, and not worth one. (Nowadays I suppose it would be a Csarian—and over in an hour. Progress goes on—even when it's a case of bringing monsters into the world.) He's a nasty little creature—essentially a nasty little creature.

"Intelligent perhaps…

"Some of the stuff he has been telling the interviewers has a kind of plausibility…

"No doubt our government has been making a mess of this American business. No doubt this idea of our governing class getting into touch with some imaginary governing class over there is all wrong—and we're getting ourselves up against an angry real democracy…

"Maybe he has a sort of rightness.

"The last thing one will consent to do is to realise that anyone else is more intelligent than oneself. Maybe I'm wrong. That little beast may be more intelligent than I suppose. Like some of those calculating boys or musical prodigies. A political quick–thinker…"

He picked up the newspaper and began to read over again the account of Rud's coup, as the news–hawks had seen it and heard about if from him. Much about the meeting there was, more about Rud, and nothing about that meditation in the cellar. Rud had explained how he himself had thought out that masked caricature as a means of "bringing Bohun up to the scratch."

"It's indecent! Who ever heard of caricaturing a man on a political platform in Gladstone's time? Making up to imitate him! Outrageous. And then the come–back. Fifteen hospital cases. In the good old days the only people who were carried out of political meetings were the ones who fainted. Bohun—kicked in the groin. Whitlow serious contusions. Almost broken his jaw. I wish they had broken his jaw. These are political leaders up to date! Shade of Mr. Gladstone!"