, but does not come back to finish his speech.
    There is an interval of disorder. But surely we are not going to let the
meeting end in this way. The chairman calls for the next speaker, and he stands
forth in the person of a rather smug little shopkeeper, who declares that he
knows of no single particular in which the working class needs correction. The
speech undeniably falls flat. Will no one restore the tone of the meeting?
    Mr. Kitshaw is the man! Now we shall have broad grins. Mr. Kitshaw enjoys a
reputation for mimicry; he takes off music-hall singers in the bar-parlour of a
Saturday night. Observe, he rises, hems, pulls down his waistcoat; there is
bubbling laughter. Mr. Kitshaw brings back the debate to its original subject;
he talks of the Land. He is a little haphazard at first, but presently hits the
mark in a fancy picture of a country still in the hands of aborigines, as yet
unannexed by the capitalist nations, knowing not the meaning of the verb
exploit.
    »Imagine such a happy land, my friends; a land, I say, which nobody hasn't
ever thought of developing the resources of, - that's the 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, O dear no! There's the rivers, with tropical plants a-shading the banks,
O 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