all the capitalistic competitive system like a wound inflamed, and you spend your time gaping at the damned silly streak of nothing in the sky!"
Parload stared at me. "Yes, I do," he said slowly, as though it was a new idea. "Don't I? . . . I wonder why."
"I want to start meetings of an evening on Howden's Waste."
"You think they'd listen?"
"They'd listen fast enough now."
"They did n't before," said Parload, looking at his pet instrument.
"There was a demonstration of unemployed at Swathinglea on Sunday. They got to stone throwing."
Parload said nothing for a little while and I said several things. He seemed to be considering something.
"But after all," he said at last, with an awkward movement towards his spectroscope, "that does signify something."
"The comet?"
"Yes."
"What can it signify? You don't want me to believe in astrology. What does it matter what flames in the heavens—when men are starving on earth?"
"It's—it's science."
"Science! What we want now is socialism—not science."
