Lying half asleep on
the House of Commons benches, or strolling on the Terrace, he pursued
often an inner existence, from which he could spring in a moment to full
mundane life--arguing passionately for some Socialist proposal, scathing
an opponent, or laughing and "ragging" with a group of friends, like a
school-boy on an _exeat_. But whatever he did, an atmosphere went with
him that made him beloved. He was extremely poor, and wrote for his
living. His opinions won the scorn of moderate men; and every year his
influence in Parliament--on both sides of the House and with the Labor
party--increased. On his rare appearance in such houses as Tallyn Hall
every servant in the house marked and befriended him. The tall footman,
for instance, who had just been endeavoring to make the threadbare cuffs
of Lankester's dress coat present a more decent appearance, had done it
in no spirit of patronage, but simply in order that a gentleman who
spoke to him as a man and a brother should not go at a disadvantage
among "toffs" who did nothing of the kind.
But again--why had he come down?
During the last months of Parliament, Lankester had seen a good deal of
Oliver.
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