A lank, rawboned Yorkshireman--
David Sands--a Wesleyan enthusiast, a local preacher, leaned
across the table, his voice shaking with earnestness:
"It's true!" he exclaimed. "It's the word of God! It's for us to
stop the war. If we stop it to-night instead of to-morrow, a
thousand lives may be saved, human lives, lives of our fellow
creatures. Our fellow labourers in Germany have given us the
chance. Don't let us delay five minutes. Let the one of us you
may select see the Prime Minister to-night and deliver the
people's message."
"There's no cause for delay that I can see," Cross approved.
"There is none," Fenn assented heartily. "I propose that we
proceed to the election of our representative; that, having
elected him, we send him to the Prime Minister with our message,
and that we remain here in the building until we have his report."
"You are unanimously resolved, then," the Bishop asked, "to take
this last step?"
There was a little chorus of assent. Fenn leaned forward in his
place.
"Everything is ready," he announced. "Our machinery is perfect.
Our agents in every city await the mandate."
"But do you imagine that those last means will be necessary?" the
Bishop enquired anxiously.
"Most surely I do," Fenn replied. "Remember that if the people
make peace for the country, it is the people who will expect to
govern the country. It will be a notice to the politicians to
quit. They know that. It is my belief that they, will resist,
tooth and nail.
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