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Meanwhile at any rate there was Caterham to stare at, and one could
stand and study the distant prospect of the great man's features. He was
easy to draw was this man, and already the world had him to study at
leisure on lamp chimneys and children's plates, on Anti-Boomfood medals
and Anti-Boomfood flags, on the selvedges of Caterham silks and cottons
and in the linings of Good Old English Caterham hats. He pervades all
the caricature of that time. One sees him as a sailor standing to an
old-fashioned gun, a port-fire labelled "New Boomfood Laws" in his hand;
while in the sea wallows that huge, ugly, threatening monster,
"Boomfood;" or he is cap-a-pie in armour, St. George's cross on shield
and helm, and a cowardly titanic Caliban sitting amidst desecrations at
the mouth of a horrid cave declines his gauntlet of the "New Boomfood
Regulations;" or he comes flying down as Perseus and rescues a chained
and beautiful Andromeda (labelled distinctly about her belt as
"
Civilisation") from a wallowing waste of sea monster bearing upon its
various necks and claws "Irreligion," "Trampling Egotism," "Mechanism,"
Monstrosity," and the like. But it was as "Jack the Giant-killer" that
"
the popular imagination considered Caterham most correctly cast, and it
was in the vein of a Jack the Giant-killer poster that the man from
prison, enlarged that distant miniature.
The "Wawawawa" came abruptly to an end.
He's done. He's sitting down. Yes! No! Yes! It's Caterham! "Caterham!"
"Caterham!" And then came the cheers.
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