A frail, twisted figure of a man hobbles into the House of Commons. Doorkeepers pity his crippled body, and portals open as the tapping thump of his two rubber-tipped canes approaches. But statesmen do not pity the Right Honorable Philip Snowden. They respect the power and swiftness of his mind, fear the sting of his unpleasant, rasping tongue. He, as Britain's only Laborite Chancellor of the Exchequer, presented a maiden budget (TIME, May 12, 1924), so clear and masterful that cheers rang from every quarter of the House. Now, since Labor has...
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