"Go on; don't mince words; we're
used to them."
"Yes," said Mr. Lavender, kindling, "a shirker. Excuse me! A renegade
from the camp of Liberty, a deserter from the ranks of Humanity, if you
will pardon me."
"Say a Christian, and have done with it," said the young man.
"No," said Mr. Lavender, who had risen to his feet, "I will not go so
far as that. You are not a Christian, you are a Pharisee. I abhor you."
"And I abhor you," said the young man suddenly. "I am a Christian
Socialist, but I refuse to consider you my brother. And I can tell
you this: Some day when through our struggle the triumph of Christian
Socialism and of Peace is assured, we shall see that you firebrands
and jingoes get no chance to put up your noxious heads and disturb the
brotherhood of the world. We shall stamp you out. We shall do you in. We
who believe in love will take jolly good care that you apostles of hate
get all we've had and more--if you provoke us enough that is."
He stopped, for Mr. Lavender's figure had rigidified on the other side
of the table into the semblance of one who is about to address the House
of Lords.
"I can find here," he cried, "no analogy with religious persecution.
This is a simple matter.
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