Extensive paper mills, a hotbed of raging Socialism, according to Colonel Winwood, defaced (in the Colonel's eyes) the outskirts of the little town.
"They're wrong 'uns to a man," said the Colonel, despondently.
Paul came back from among them with a notebook full of promises.
"How did you manage it ?" asked the Colonel.
"I think I got on to the poetical side of politics," said Paul.
"What the deuce is that ?" Paul smiled.

"An appeal to the imagination," said he.
When Colonel Winwood got in by an increased majority, in spite of the wave of Liberalism that spread over the land, he gave Paul a gold cigarette case; and thenceforward admitted him into his political confidence.

So Paul became familiar with the Lobby of the House of Commons and with the subjects before the Committees on which Colonel Winwood sat, and with the delicate arts of wire-pulling and intrigue, which appeared to him a monstrously fine diversion.

There was also the matter of Colonel Winwood's speeches, which the methodical warrior wrote out laboriously beforehand and learned by heart.

They were sound, weighty pronouncements, to which the House listened with respect; but they lacked the flashes which lit enthusiasm.