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"Geisner shall do the political and get his editor ten years for sedition. Stratton will supply the mild fatherly sociological leaders. Mrs. Stratton shall prove that there can't be any true Art so long as we don't put the police on to everything that is ugly and repulsive. Nellie, here, shall blossom out as the Joan of Arc of women's rights, with a pen for a sword.
"I think that's the official version," observed Geisner, running his fingers softly over the keys again. "It's above disputation, whatever it is," remarked Ford. "Why should it be, if all true music isn't? And why should not this be the best rendering?" He struck the grand melody again and it sounded softened, spiritualised, purified. Its fierce clamour, its triumphant crashing, were gone.
It takes a woman to understand it all, Ned," and she laughed at the angry man. "Why do you say such things to Geisner? He does not deserve them." Ned did not answer. "I'm not defending the rest of us, only Geisner. If you only knew all he has done you would think of him as we do." "Connie!" exclaimed Geisner, flushing. "Don't." "Oh! I shall.
You know how those things are fixed. But she wouldn't have it. You see she is trying to get the girls into unions." "Then she is in the movement?" asked Geisner, looking up quickly. Mrs. Stratton lifted her eye-brows. "In the movement! Why, haven't you understood? My dear Geisner, here we've been talking for fifteen minutes and there's Nellie's ring.
You hear us getting overwhelmed by these English heresies, and you don't come to the rescue. We have talked ourselves dry and you haven't said a word. Who says wine?" Geisner slowly put down his book and went to the piano. "This is the only argument worth the name," he said. He ran his fingers over the keys, struck two or three chords apparently at hap-hazard, then sat down to play.
"I'll be there," answered Ned, shaking hands again with Geisner and Stratton and with Josie, noticing that that young lady had a very warm clinging hand. "Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!" From the three on shore. "Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!" From the three in the boat as George shoved off. "Good-bye!" cried Connie's clear voice from the verandah. "Put up the umbrella, Ned!"
Then they loosened hands and without a word Geisner commenced to walk slowly backwards and forwards, his hands behind him, his head bent down. Ned watched him, studying him feature by feature. Yes, he had been handsome. He was ugly only because of great wrinkles that scored his cheeks and disfigured the fleshless face and discoloured skin. His eyebrows and eyelashes were very thin, too.
Start with good machinery, get a subsidy of 6d. a month for a year and 3d. a month afterwards, if necessary, from the unions for every member, and then bring out a small-sized, neat, first-rate daily for a ha'penny, three-pence a week, and knock the penny evenings off their feet." "A grand idea!" said Geisner, his eyes sparkling. "It sounds practical. It would revolutionise politics."
Besides, they are often intelligent enough to sympathise thoroughly with the Labour movement in spite of the surroundings which tend to separate them from it. Certainly, the most popular exponents of Socialism are nearly all press writers." "We are only just beginning to hear about these things in the bush," said Ned. "What is Socialism?" "That's a big question," answered Geisner. "Socialism is "
I don't wish them any harm individually but just the same we're fighting them and they're fighting us and what I feel sorest about is that it's just because the New Unionism is teaching our chaps to think and to be better and to have ideas that they are trying so hard to down it." "They don't know any better," repeated Nellie. "That's what Geisner says, I recollect.
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