One by one, Maraton got rid at last of the little crowd of journalists who had been waiting for him below.

The last on the list was perhaps the most difficult.

He pressed very hard for an answer to his direct question.
"War or peace, Mr.Maraton?
Which is it to be?
Just one word, that's all." Maraton shook his head.
"In less than an hour, the delegates from London will be here," he announced.

"We shall hold a conference and come to our decision then." "Will their coming make any real difference ?" the journalist persisted.
"You hadn't much to say to delegates in America." "The Labour Party over here is better organised, in some respects," Maraton told him.

"I have nothing to say until after the conference." His persistent visitor drew a little nearer to him.
"There's a report about that you've been staying with Foley." "And how does that affect the matter ?" Maraton enquired.
The journalist looked him in the face.
"The men never had a leader yet," he said, "whom Officialdom didn't spoil." All this time Maraton was standing with the door in one hand and his other hand upon the shoulder of the man whom he was endeavouring to get rid of.