"
Here the orator was encouraged by a burst of applause.
"Now, gentlemen," he continued, "isn't it hard--devilish hard, don't
you know, that so little is made of us? I feel it--I feel it, gentlemen;
our lives are being frittered away. I don't know whether you fellows
feel it. You see, we ain't a melancholy lot. We're a glorious
combination against the blue devils, that's what we are. Only sometimes
I feel, don't you know, that all the rum in the place can't quite kill
them. I can't help thinking of jolly days on the other side of the
water. Now, don't you fellows look at me as if you thought I was going
to blubber. I'm not going to make such a confounded ass of myself,
don't you know. But what I want you fellows to tell me is this: Are
we to go on all our lives making beasts of ourselves, guzzling rum--I--I
beg your pardon, gentlemen. I didn't mean to say that, really. Rum is
about the only decent thing in this place. Rum keeps us alive. If any
man says a word against rum, I'll call him an infernal ass. I meant
to say the country, gentlemen--this rotten old country, don't you know.
No cricket, no society, no Bass, no anything. Supposing we had gone
to Canada with our--our capital and energies, wouldn't they have
received us with open arms? And what's the reception we get here? Now,
gentlemen, what I propose is this: let's protest. Let's get up a
what-d'you-call-it to the thing they call a government.
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