Liberty ain't the window-tax, is it?
The Lords ain't the Commons, are they ?' And the red-faced man, gradually bursting into a radiating sentence, in which such adjectives as 'dastardly,' 'oppressive,' 'violent,' and 'sanguinary,' formed the most conspicuous words, knocked his hat indignantly over his eyes, left the room, and slammed the door after him.
'Wonderful man!' said he of the sharp nose.
'Splendid speaker!' added the broker.
'Great power!' said everybody but the greengrocer.

And as they said it, the whole party shook their heads mysteriously, and one by one retired, leaving us alone in the old parlour.
If we had followed the established precedent in all such instances, we should have fallen into a fit of musing, without delay.

The ancient appearance of the room--the old panelling of the wall--the chimney blackened with smoke and age--would have carried us back a hundred years at least, and we should have gone dreaming on, until the pewter-pot on the table, or the little beer-chiller on the fire, had started into life, and addressed to us a long story of days gone by.

But, by some means or other, we were not in a romantic humour; and although we tried very hard to invest the furniture with vitality, it remained perfectly unmoved, obstinate, and sullen.

Being thus reduced to the unpleasant necessity of musing about ordinary matters, our thoughts reverted to the red-faced man, and his oratorical display.
A numerous race are these red-faced men; there is not a parlour, or club-room, or benefit society, or humble party of any kind, without its red-faced man.