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Caterham"; "The Boomfood Laws." "Who's this here Caterham?" he asked, in an attempt to make conversation. "He's all right," said his brother. "Ah! Sort of politician, eh?" "Goin' to turn out the Government. Jolly well time he did." "Ah!" He reflected. "I suppose all the lot I used to know Chamberlain, Rosebery all that lot What?" His brother had grasped his wrist and pointed out of the window.
"Brothers," came the voice of young Redwood, "what can we do but fight them, and if we beat them, make them take the Food? They cannot help but take the Food now. Suppose we were to resign our heritage and do this folly that Caterham suggests! Suppose we could!
"We shall put the whole thing before the Royal Society in the proper way," said Redwood. Winkles returned to that on a later occasion. "It's in many ways an Exceptional discovery." "That doesn't matter," said Redwood. "It's the sort of knowledge that could easily be subject to grave abuse grave dangers, as Caterham puts it." Redwood said nothing. "Even carelessness, you know "
Hardly had the man from prison settled into place and done his quarrel with an importunate stranger who elbowed, before Caterham came.
"You've seen that the Society for the Total Suppression of Boomfood claims to have several thousand members," said Winkles, changing the subject. "They've drafted a Bill," said Winkles. "They've got young Caterham to take it up readily enough. They're in earnest. They're forming local committees to influence candidates.
It is doubtful if Caterham really heard him at all. Round such interpolations Caterham's speech flowed indeed like some swift stream about a rock.
Thirty shots. Eh!" "I come from Caterham." "I know you do." He laughed with a note of bitterness. "I suppose he's wiping it up." "Where is my son?" said Redwood. "He is all right. The Giants are waiting for your message." "Yes, but my son ..."
There was a trolley, I am told, chasing up and down streets at that time, bearing rolls of chain and ship's cable to play the part of handcuffs in that great arrest. There was no intention then of killing him. "He is no party to the plot," Caterham had said. "I will not have innocent blood upon my hands." And added: " until everything else has been tried."
Abruptly Caterham seemed to contract, to shrivel up into a yellow-faced, fagged-out, middle-sized, middle-aged man. He stepped forward, as if he were stepping out of a picture, and with a complete assumption of that, friendliness that lies behind all the public conflicts of our race, he held out his hand to Redwood.
Then the eldest brother said, "This cooping up and cooping up grows more than I can bear. At last, I believe, they will draw a line round our boots and tell us to live on that." The middle brother swept aside a heap of pine boughs with one hand and shifted his attitude. "What they do now is nothing to what they will do when Caterham has power."
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