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Our Interjectors.

The quality of interjections at our debates is apt to vary very considerably. For instance, the remarks (or remark) of the gentleman who vociferates "Hear! Hear!" at indiscriminate intervals tend to monotony. It is all very well for Mr Mountjoy when he says "that the past is not only inherent in, but, indeed, is the very spirit and life-blood of the future to which we of the present are directing our efforts," to greeted by a detonating "Hear! hear!"—he accepts it—but we feel that the same remark as applied to Mr. Hurley's statement that "the number of beds supplied to the poor by the Salvation Army in 1924 was 8,838,536"—is lacking in sincerity. Another interjection which has lost its first fine rapture is the inquiry, Who is this Mr. Coates?" "Who is this George Bernard Shaw;?" For one thing, were the speaker to attempt to give the interjectors any useful biographical details concerning Mr. Coates or Mr. Shaw, he would probably be told to address his remarks to the chairman. What the procedure is in such a case seems doubtful. It would possibly run like this:

Speaker: Mr. Shaw is a Fabian Socialist, Mr. Chairman, a playwright, novelist, economist, theo-logian and journalist-critic. He was born in . . . etc."

Chairman: "I have to inform the interjector, on behalf of the speaker, that Mr. Shaw is a Fabian Socialist, a playwright . . . etc."

Interjector: "Thank you, Mr. Chairman" (possibly). I know such a situation doesn't take place, but how else can a speaker have a chat with his hecklers while being told to address the chair? Another disadvantage of this form of interjection is the amount of information it expects the speaker to display. It is tantamount to a demand that a debater should know something. Suppose our Mr. Bannister were to quote Dewey and some indiscreet interjector were to request for information as to who Mr. Dewey is. The situation is unthinkable.

Still more interesting are the reactions of the speakers, orators, debaters or mud-slingers to heck-ling. Mr. Mountjoy pursues his majestic course, supremely contemptuous of the remarks hurled at him. "Such a policy, if once adopted, would affect not only the moral and mental susceptibilities of the nation, but would cripple the very—" suitable pause for questions, cat-calls, applause and groans —"nobility of our thought and actions." Hecklers may shout themselves hoarse, but Mr. Mountjoy's punctuation is shattered never. He deftly weaves his way through a net of brackets, semi-colons and exclamation marks to a goal where the hecklers cease from heckling and the jeerers jeer no more. Mr. Crossley and Mr Bishop, on the other hand, revel in interjectors, while Miss Davidson gives one the impression that she would be glad to chat to friends in the audience all night. Most debaters, however, regard the interjector as a necessary evil and are glad not to encourage him. If Miss Forde is sketching for us the relations between biology and education, does she want to be requested by a bored voice to "tell us the one about the judge and the three milliners?" If Mr. Riske is telling us just where Mr. Reardon goes wrong in relation to religion (or vice versa), is he pleased by a pleading sound. "Oh! please don't be rude to Mr. Reardon (or Mr. Riske)?" If Mr. Hurley has risen on a crest of oratory to "Why should such an abuse be allowed in a civilised country?" does he really like to hear a brightly intelligent request, "I'll be the mug. Why?" I submit, no. He curses the interjector to himself and tries to recollect whether he is on page three or four of his notes.

Nevertheless, the common or garden heckler serves a useful purpose. Only those who suffered in silent agony during the interminable hours of the Joynt Scholl can realise to what debating may sink without intelligent interjecting. It was a truly terrible experience, and one which no one would willingly undergo twice.