He said it was
our only chance of getting a telegram 'Radprop is In' to-night."
At half-past seven the next morning the Prime Minister and the Chief
Organiser sat at breakfast, making a perfunctory meal, and awaiting the
return of the Home Secretary, who had gone in person to superintend the
releasing of Platterbaff. Despite the earliness of the hour a small
crowd had gathered in the street outside, and the horrible menacing
Trelawney refrain of the "Fifteen Hundred Voting Men" came in a steady,
monotonous chant.
"They will cheer presently when they hear the news," said the Prime
Minister hopefully; "hark! They are booing some one now! That must be
McKenna."
The Home Secretary entered the room a moment later, disaster written on
his face.
"He won't go!" he exclaimed.
"Won't go? Won't leave gaol?"
"He won't go unless he has a brass band. He says he never has left
prison without a brass band to play him out, and he's not going to go
without one now."
"But surely that sort of thing is provided by his supporters and
admirers?" said the Prime Minister; "we can hardly be supposed to supply
a released prisoner with a brass band. How on earth could we defend it
on the Estimates?"
"His supporters say it is up to us to provide the music," said the Home
Secretary; "they say we put him in prison, and it's our affair to see
that he leaves it in a respectable manner.
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