men. Yet Australia, the wonderful, lonely Australia, with her seven million people only—it might begin here. And the Australians, so queer, so absent, as it were, leaving themselves out all the time—they might be capable of a beautiful unselfishness and steadfastness of purpose. Only—his heart refused to respond.
"What is your aim, though? What do you want, finally?" he asked rather lamely.
Jack hesitated, and his grip on the other man's arm tightened.
"Well," he said. "It's like this. We don't talk a lot about what we intend: we fix nothing. But we start certain talks, and we listen, so we know more or less what most of the ordinary members feel like. Why, the plan is more or less this. The Labour people, the reds, are always talking about a revolution, and the Conservatives are always talking about a disaster. Well, we keep ourselves fit and ready for as soon as the revolution comes—or the disaster. Then we step in, you see, and we are the revolution. We've got most of the trained fighting men behind us, and we can make the will of the people, don't you see: if the members stand steady. We shall have 'Australia' for the word. We stand for Australia, not for any of your parties."
Somers at once felt the idea was a good one. Australia is not too big—seven millions or so, and the biggest part of the seven concentrated in the five or six cities. Get hold of your cities and you've got hold of Australia. The only thing he mistrusted was the dryness in Jack's voice: a sort of that's-how-it's-got-to-be dryness, sharp and authoritative.
"What d'yer think of it?" said Jack.
"Good idea," said Somers.
"I know that—if we can bite on to it. Feel like joining in, d'yer think?"
Somers was silent. He was thinking of Jack even more than of the venture. Jack was trying to put something over him—in some way, to get a hold over him. He felt like a animal that is being lassoed. Yet here was his chance, if he wanted to be a leader of men. He had only to give himself, give himself up to it and to the men.
