proper phrase, I believe. There are the people, with clothing enough
for comfort and--ahem!--good manners, but, mark you, no more. No
manufacture of luxurious skirts and hulsters and togs o' that kind
by the exploited classes. No, for no exploited classes don't exist!
All are equal, my friends. Up an' down the fields they goes, all day
long, arm-in-arm, Jack and Jerry, aye, and Liza an' Sairey Ann; for
they have equality of the sexes, mind you! Up an' down the fields, I
say, in a devil-may-care sort of way, with their sweethearts and
their wives. No factory smoke, 0 dear no! There's the rivers, with
tropical plants a-shading the banks, 0 my! There they goes up an'
down in their boats, devil-may-care, a-strumming on the banjo,'--he
imitated such action,--'and a-singing their nigger minstrelsy with
light 'earts. Why? 'Cause they ain't got no work to get up to at
'arf-past five next morning. Their time's their own! _That's_ the
condition of an unexploited country, my friends!'

Mr. Kitshaw had put everyone in vast good humour. You might wonder
that his sweetly idyllic picture did not stir bitterness by
contrast; it were to credit the English workman with too much
imagination. Resonance of applause rewarded the sparkling
rhetorician. A few of the audience availed themselves of the noise
to withdraw, for the clock showed that it was close upon ten, and
public-houses shut their doors early on Sunday.

But Richard Mutimer was on his feet again, and this time without
regard to effect; there was a word in him strongly demanding
utterance. It was to the speech of the unfortunate prophet that he
desired to reply. He began with sorrowful admissions. No one
speaking honestly could deny that--that the working class had its
faults; they came out plainly enough now and then. Drink, for