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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16366-8.txt b/16366-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ec08849 --- /dev/null +++ b/16366-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9826 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Workingman's Paradise, by John Miller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Workingman's Paradise + An Australian Labour Novel + +Author: John Miller + +Release Date: July 27, 2005 [EBook #16366] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE *** + + + + +Produced by Col Choat + + + + + + +The Workingman's Paradise: An Australian Labour Novel +by 'John Miller' (William Lane) (1861-1917) + +* * * + +IN TWO PARTS. +PART I. THE WOMAN TEMPTED HIM. +PART II. HE KNEW HIMSELF NAKED. + +First published 1892 + +* * * + + + +PREFACE + +The naming and writing of THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE were both done +hurriedly, although delay has since arisen in its publishing. The +scene is laid in Sydney because it was not thought desirable, for +various reasons, to aggravate by a local plot, the soreness existing +in Queensland. + +While characters, incidents and speakings had necessarily to be adapted +to the thread of plot upon which they are strung, and are not put forward +as actual photographs or phonographs, yet many will recognise enough in +this book to understand how, throughout, shreds and patches of reality +have been pieced together. The first part is laid during the summer of +1888-89 and covers two days; the second at the commencement of the +Queensland bush strike excitement in 1891, covering a somewhat shorter +time. The intention of the plot, at first, was to adapt the old legend +of Paradise and the fall of man from innocence to the much-prated-of +"workingman's paradise"--Australia. Ned was to be Adam, Nellie to be Eve, +Geisner to be the eternal Rebel inciting world-wide agitation, the Stratton +home to be presented in contrast with the slum-life as a reason for +challenging the tyranny which makes Australia what it really is; and so on. +This plot got very considerably mixed and there was no opportunity to +properly re-arrange it. After reading the MSS. one friend wrote advising +an additional chapter making Ned, immediately upon his being sentenced for +"conspiracy" under George IV., 6, hear that Nellie has died of a broken +heart. My wife, on the contrary, wants Ned and Nellie to come to an +understanding and live happily ever after in the good old-fashioned style. +This being left in abeyance, readers can take their choice until the matter +is finally settled in another book. + +Whatever the failings of this book are it may nevertheless serve the +double purpose for which t was written: (1) to assist the fund being +raised for Ned's mates now in prison in Queensland and (2) to explain +unionism a little to those outside it and Socialism a little to all +who care to read or hear, whether unionists or not. These friends of +ours in prison will need all we can do for them when they are released, +be that soon or late; and there are too few, even in the ranks of +unionism, who really understand Socialism. + +To understand Socialism is to endeavour to lead a better life, to regret +the vileness of our present ways, to seek ill for none, to desire truth +and purity and honesty, to despise this selfish civilisation and to +comprehend what living might be. Understanding Socialism will not make +people at once what men and women should be but it will fill them with +hatred for the unfitting surroundings that damn us all and with passionate +love for the ideals that are lifting us upwards and with an earnest +endeavour to be themselves somewhat as they feel Humanity is struggling +to be. + +All that any religion has been to the highest thoughts of any people +Socialism is, and more, to those who conceive it aright. Without blinding +us to our own weaknesses and wickednesses, without offering to us any +sophistry or cajoling us with any fallacy, it enthrones love above the +universe, gives us Hope for all who are downtrodden and restores to us +Faith in the eternal fitness of things. Socialism is indeed a +religion--demanding deeds as well as words. Not until professing +socialists understand this will the world at large see Socialism as it +really is. + +If this book assists the Union Prisoners assistance Fund in any way or if +it brings to a single man or woman a clearer conception of the Religion of +Socialism it will have done its work. Should it fail to do either it will +not be because the Cause is bad, for the cause is great enough to rise +above the weakness of those who serve it. + +J.M. + + + +CONTENTS + +PART I. THE WOMAN TEMPTED HIM. + +CHAPTER I. Why Nellie Shows Ned Round. +CHAPTER II. Sweating In The Sydney Slums. +CHAPTER III. Shorn Like Sheep. +CHAPTER IV. Saturday Night In Paddy's Market. +CHAPTER V. Were They Conspirators? +CHAPTER VI. "We Have Seen The Dry Bones Become Men." +CHAPTER VII. A Medley of Conversation. +CHAPTER VIII. The Poet And The Pressman. +CHAPTER IX. "This Is Socialism!" +CHAPTER X. Where The Evil Really Lies. +CHAPTER XI. "It Only Needs Enough Faith." +CHAPTER XII. Love And Lust. + +PART II. HE KNEW HIMSELF NAKED. + +CHAPTER I. The Slaughter Of An Innocent. +CHAPTER II. On The Road To Queensland. +CHAPTER III. A Woman's Whim. +CHAPTER IV. The Why Of The Whim. +CHAPTER V. As The Moon Waned. +CHAPTER VI. Unemployed. +CHAPTER VII. "The World Wants Masters." +CHAPTER VIII. The Republican Kiss. +CHAPTER IX. Ned Goes To His Fate. + + + +"On the Flinders. + +"In a western billabong, with a stretch of plain around, a dirty waterhole +beside me, I sat and read the WORKER. Maxwellton Station was handy; and +sick with a fever on me I crawled off my horse to the shed on a +Sunday. They invited me to supper; I was too ill. One gave me medicine, +another the WORKER, the cook gave me milk and soup. If this is Unionism, +God bless it! This is the moleskin charity, not the squatter's dole. The +manager gave me quinine, and this is a Union station. I read 'Nellie's +Sister' (from THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE) in you last. A woman's tenderness +pervades it. Its fiction is truth. Although my feelings are blunted by a +bush life, I dropped a tear on that page of the WORKER." + +--FROM A LETTER. + + + +PART I. + +THE WOMAN TEMPTED HIM. + +* * * * * + +Ah thy people, thy children, thy chosen, Marked cross from the womb and +perverse! They have found out the secret to cozen The gods that constrain +us and curse; They alone, they are wise, and none other; Give me place, +even me, in their train, O my sister, my spouse, and my mother, Our Lady +of Pain.--SWINBURNE. + + + +THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +WHY NELLIE SHOWS NED ROUND. + +Nellie was waiting for Ned, not in the best of humours. + +"I suppose he'll get drunk to celebrate it," she was saying, +energetically drying the last cup with a corner of the damp cloth. "And I +suppose she feels as though it's something to be very glad and proud +about." + +"Well, Nellie," answered the woman who had been rinsing the breakfast +things, ignoring the first supposition. "One doesn't want them to come, +but when they do come one can't help feeling glad." + +"Glad!" said Nellie, scornfully. + +"If Joe was in steady work, I wouldn't mind how often it was. It's when +he loses his job and work so hard to get--" Here the speaker subsided +in tears. + +"It's no use worrying," comforted Nellie, kindly. "He'll get another job +soon, I hope. He generally has pretty fair luck, you know." + +"Yes, Joe has had pretty fair luck, so far. But nobody knows how long +it'll last. There's my brother wasn't out of work for fifteen years, and +now he hasn't done a stroke for twenty-three weeks come Tuesday. He's +going out of his mind." + +"He'll get used to it," answered Nellie, grimly. + +"How you do talk, Nellie!" said the other. "To hear you sometimes one +would think you hadn't any heart." + +"I haven't any patience." + +"That's true, my young gamecock!" exclaimed a somewhat discordant voice. +Nellie looked round, brightening suddenly. + +A large slatternly woman stood in the back doorway, a woman who might +possibly have been a pretty girl once but whose passing charms had long +been utterly sponged out. A perceptible growth of hair lent a somewhat +repulsive appearance to a face which at best had a great deal of the +virago in it. Yet there was, in spite of her furrowed skin and faded eyes +and drab dress, an air of good-heartedness about her, made somewhat +ferocious by the muscularity of the arms that fell akimbo upon her great +hips, and by the strong teeth, white as those of a dog, that flashed +suddenly from between her colourless lips when she laughed. + +"That's true, my young gamecock!" she shouted, in a deep voice, strangely +cracked. "And so you're at your old tricks again, are you? Talking +sedition I'll be bound. I've half a mind to turn informer and have the +law on you. The dear lamb!" she added, to the other woman. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Macanany," said Nellie, laughing. "We haven't got yet +so that we can't say what we like, here." + +"I'm not so sure about that. Wait till you hear what I came to tell you, +hearing from little Jimmy that you were at home and going to have a +holiday with a young man from the country. We'll sherrivvery them if he +takes her away from us, Mrs. Phillips, the only one that does sore eyes +good to see in the whole blessed neighborhood! You needn't blush, my +dear, for I had a young man myself once, though you wouldn't imagine it +to look at me. And if I was a young man myself it's her"--pointing +Nellie out to Mrs. Phillips--that I'd go sweethearting with and not +with the empty headed chits that--" + +"Look here, Mrs. Macanany!" interrupted Nellie. "You didn't come in to +make fun of me." + +"Making fun! There, have your joke with the old woman! You didn't hear +that my Tom got the run yesterday, did you?" + +"Did he? What a pity! I'm very sorry," said Nellie. + +"Everybody'll be out of work and then what'll we all do?" said Mrs. +Philips, evidently cheered, nevertheless, by companionship in misfortune. + +"What'll we all do! There'd never be anybody at all out of work if +everybody was like me and Nellie there," answered the amazon. + +"What did he get the run for?" asked Nellie. + +"What can we women do?" queried Mrs. Phillips, doleful still. + +"Wait a minute till I can tell you! You don't give a body time to begin +before you worry them with questions about things you'd hear all about it +if you'd just hold your tongues a minute. You're like two blessed babies! +It was this way, Mrs. Phillips, as sure as I'm standing here. Tom got +trying to persuade the other men in the yard--poor sticks of men they +are!--to have a union. I've been goading him to it, may the Lord +forgive me, ever since Miss Nellie there came round one night and +persuaded my Tessie to join. 'Tom,' says I to him that very night, 'I'll +have to be lending you one of my old petticoats, the way the poor weak +girls are beginning to stand up for their rights, and you not even daring +to be a union man. I never thought I'd live to be ashamed of the father +of my children!' says I. And yesterday noon Tom came home with a face on +him as long as my arm, and told me that he'd been sacked for talking +union to the men. + +"'It's a man you are again, Tom,' says I. 'We've lived short before and +we can live it again, please God, and it's myself would starve with you a +hundred times over rather than be ashamed of you,' says I. 'Who was it +that sacked you?' I asked him. + +"'The foreman,' says Tom. 'He told me they didn't want any agitators +about.' + +"'May he live to suffer for it,' says I. 'I'll go down and see the boss +himself.' + +"So down I went, and as luck would have it the boy in the front office +wasn't educated enough to say I was an old image, I suppose, for would +you believe it I actually heard him say that there was a lady, if you +please, wanting to see Mister Paritt very particularly on personal +business, as I'd told him. So of course I was shown in directly, the very +minute, and the door was closed on me before the old villain, who's a +great man at church on Sundays, saw that he'd made a little mistake. + +"'What do you want, my good woman?' says he, snappish like. 'Very sorry,' +says he, when I'd told him that I'd eleven children and that Tom had +worked for him for four years and worked well, too. 'Very sorry,' says +he, my good woman, 'but your husband should have thought of that before. +It's against my principles,' says he, 'to have any unionists about the +place. I'm told he's been making the other men discontented. I can't take +him back. You must blame him, not me,' says he. + +"I could feel the temper in me, just as though he'd given me a couple of +stiff nobblers of real old whisky. 'So you won't take Tom back,' says I, +'not for the sake of his eleven children when it's their poor +heart-broken mother that asks you?' + +"'No,' says he, short, getting up from his chair. 'I can't. You've +bothered me long enough,' says he. + +"I So then I decided it was time to tell the old villain just what I +thought of his grinding men down to the last penny and insulting every +decent girl that ever worked for him. He got as black in the face as if +he was smoking already on the fiery furnace that's waiting for him below, +please God, and called the shrimp of an office boy to throw me out. +'Leave the place, you disgraceful creature, or I'll send for the police,' +says he. But I left when I got ready to leave and just what I said to +him, the dirty wretch, I'll tell to you, Mrs. Phillips, some time when +she"--nodding at Nellie--"isn't about. She's getting so like a +blessed saint that one feels as if one's in church when she's about, +bless her heart!" + +"You're getting very particular all at once, Mrs. Macanany," observed +Nellie. + +"It's a wonder he didn't send for a policeman," commented Mrs. Phillips. + +"Send for a policeman! And pretty he'd look with the holy bible in his +hand repeating what I said to him, wouldn't he now?" enquired Mrs. +Macanany, once more placing her great arms on her hips and glaring with +her watery eyes at her audience. + +"Did you hear that Mrs. Hobbs had a son this morning?" questioned Mrs. +Phillips, suddenly recollecting that she also might have an item of news. + +"What! Mrs. Hobbs, so soon! How would I be hearing when I just came +through the back, and Tom only just gone out to wear his feet off, +looking for work? A boy again! The Lord preserve us all! It's the devil's +own luck the dear creature has, isn't it now? Why didn't you tell me +before, and me here gossiping when the dear woman will be expecting me +round to see her and the dear baby and wondering what I've got against +her for not coming? I must be off, now, and tidy myself a bit and go and +cheer the poor creature up for I know very well how one wants cheering at +such times. Was it a hard time she had with it? And who is it like the +little angel that came straight from heaven this blessed day? The dear +woman! I must be off, so I'll say good-day to you, Mrs. Phillips, and may +the sun shine on you and your sweetheart, Nellie, even if he does take +you away from us all, and may you have a houseful of babies with faces as +sweet as your own and never miss a neighbour to cheer you a bit when the +trouble's on you. The Lord be with us all!" + +Nellie laughed as the rough-voiced, kind-hearted woman took herself off, +to cross the broken dividing wall to the row of houses that backed +closely on the open kitchen door. Then she shrugged her shoulders. + +"It's always the way," she remarked, as she turned away to the other door +that led along a little, narrow passage to the street. "What's going to +become of the innocent little baby? Nobody thinks of that." + +Mrs. Phillips did not answer. She was tidying up in a wearied way. +Besides, she was used to Nellie, and had a dim perception that what that +young woman said was right, only one had to work, especially on Saturdays +when the smallest children could be safely turned into the street to play +with the elder ones, the baby nursed by pressed nurses, who by dint of +scolding and coaxing and smacking and promising were persuaded to keep it +out of the house, even though they did not keep it altogether quiet. Mrs. +Phillips "tidied up" in a wearied way, without energy, working stolidly +all the time as if she were on a tread-mill. She had a weary look, the +expression of one who is tired always, who gets up tired and goes to bed +tired, and who never by any accident gets a good rest, who even when dead +is not permitted to lie quietly like other people but gets buried the +same day in a cheap coffin that hardly keeps the earth up and is doomed +to he soon dug up to make room for some other tired body in that +economical way instituted by the noble philanthropists who unite a keen +appreciation of the sacredness of burial with a still keener appreciation +of the value of grave-lots. She might have been a pretty girl once or she +might not. Nobody would ever have thought of physical attractiveness as +having anything to do with her. Mrs. Macanany was distinctly ugly. Mrs. +Phillips was neither ugly nor pretty nor anything else. She was a poor +thin draggled woman, who tried to be clean but who had long ago given up +in despair any attempt at looking natty and had now no ambition for +herself but to have something "decent" to go out in. Once it was her +ambition also to have a "I room." She had scraped and saved and pared in +dull times for this "room" and when once Joe had a long run of steady +work she had launched out into what those who know how workingmen's wives +should live would have denounced as the wildest extravagance. A gilt +framed mirror and a sofa, four spidery chairs and a round table, a +wonderful display of wax apples under a glass shade, a sideboard and a +pair of white lace curtains hanging from a pole, with various ornaments +and pictures of noticeable appearance, also linoleum for the floor, had +finally been gathered together and were treasured for a time as household +gods indeed. In those days there was hardly a commandment in the +decalogue that Mephistopheles might not have induced Mrs. Phillips to +commit by judicious praise of her "room." Her occasional "visitors" were +ushered into it with an air of pride that was alone enough to illuminate +the dingy, musty little place. Between herself and those of her +neighbours who had "rooms" there was a fierce rivalry, while those of +inferior grade--and they were in the majority--regarded her with an +envy not unmixed with dislike. + +But those times were gone for poor Mrs. Phillips. We all know how they +go, excepting those who do not want to know. Work gradually became more +uncertain, wages fell and rents kept up. They had one room of the small +five-roomed house let already. They let another--"they" being her and +Joe. Finally, they had to let the room. The chairs, the round table and +the sofa wore bartered at a second-hand store for bedroom furniture. The +mirror and the sideboard were brought out into the kitchen, and on the +sideboard the wax fruit still stood like the lingering shrine of a +departed faith. + +The "room" was now the lodging of two single men, as the good old +ship-phrase goes. Upstairs, in the room over the kitchen, the Phillips +family slept, six in all. There would have been seven, only the eldest +girl, a child of ten, slept with Nellie in the little front room over the +door, an arrangement which was not in the bond but was volunteered by the +single woman in one of her fits of indignation against pigging together. +The other front room was also rented by a single man when they could get +him. Just now it was tenantless, an additional cause of sorrow to Mrs. +Phillips, whose stock card, "Furnished Lodgings for a Single Man," was +now displayed at the front window, making the house in that respect very +similar to half the houses in the street, or in this part of the town for +that matter. Yet with all this crowding and renting of rooms Mrs. +Phillips did not grow rich. She was always getting into debt or getting +out of it, this depending in inverse ratio upon Joe being in work or out. + +When the rooms were all let they barely paid the rent and were always +getting empty. The five children--they had one dead and another +coming--ate so much and made so much work. There were boots and clothes and +groceries to pay for, not to mention bread. And though Joe was not like +many a woman's husband yet he did get on the spree occasionally, a little +fact which in the opinion of the pious will account for all Mrs. +Phillips' weariness and all the poverty of this crowded house. But +however that may be she was a weary hopeless faded woman, who would not +cause passers-by to turn, pity-stricken, and watch her when she hurried +along on her semi-occasional escapes from her prison-house only because +such women are so common that it is those who do not look hopeless and +weary whom we turn to watch if by some strange chance one passes. The +Phillips' kitchen was a cheerless place, in spite of the mirror that was +installed in state over the side-board and the wax flowers. Its one +window looked upon a diminutive back yard, a low broken wall and another +row of similar two-storied houses. On the plastered walls were some +shelves bearing a limited supply of crockery. Over the grated fireplace +was a long high shelf whereon stood various pots and bottles. There were +some chairs and a table and a Chinese-made safe. On the boarded floor was +a remnant of linoleum. Against one wall was a narrow staircase. + +It was the breakfast things that Nellie had been helping to wash up. The +little American clock on the sideboard indicated quarter past nine. + +Nellie went to the front door, opened it, and stood looking out. The view +was a limited one, a short narrow side street, blinded at one end by a +high bare stone wall, bounded at the other by the almost as narrow +by-thoroughfare this side street branched from. The houses in the +thoroughfare were three-storied, and a number wore used as shops of the +huckstering variety, mainly by Chinese. The houses in the side street +were two-storied, dingy, jammed tightly together, each one exactly like +the next. The pavement was of stone, the roadway of some composite, hard +as iron; roadway and pavement were overrun with children. At the corner +by a dead wall was a lamp-post. Nearly opposite Nellie a group of excited +women were standing in an open doorway. They talked loudly, two or three +at a time, addressing each other indiscriminately. The children screamed +and swore, quarrelled and played and fought, while a shrill-voiced mother +occasionally took a hand in the diversion of the moment, usually to scold +or cull some luckless offender. The sunshine radiated that sickly heat +which precedes rain. + +Nellie stood there and waited for Ned. She was 20 or so, tall and slender +but well-formed, every curve of her figure giving promise of more +luxurious development. She was dressed in a severely plain dress of black +stuff, above which a faint line of white collar could be seen clasping +the round throat. Her ears had been bored, but she wore no earrings. Her +brown hair was drawn away from her forehead and bound in a heavy braid on +the back of her neck. But it was her face that attracted one, a pale sad +face that was stamped on every feature with the impress of a determined +will and of an intense womanliness. From the pronounced jaw that melted +its squareness of profile in the oval of the full face to the dark brown +eyes that rarely veiled themselves beneath their long-lashed lids, +everything told that the girl possessed the indefinable something we call +character. And if there was in the drooping corners of her red lips a +sternness generally unassociated with conceptions of feminine loveliness +one forgot it usually in contemplating the soft attractiveness of the +shapely forehead, dashed beneath by straight eyebrows, and of the +pronounced cheekbones that crossed the symmetry of a Saxon face. Mrs. +Phillips was a drooping wearied woman but there was nothing drooping +about Nellie and never could be. She might be torn down like one of the +blue gums under which she had drawn in the fresh air of her girlhood, but +she could no more bend than can the tree which must stand erect in the +fiercest storm or must go down altogether. Pale she was, from the close +air of the close street and close rooms, but proud she was as woman can +be, standing erect in the door-way amid all this pandemonium of cries, +waiting for Ned. Ned was her old playmate, a Darling Downs boy, five +years older to be sure, but her playmate in the old days, nevertheless, +as lads who have no sisters are apt to be with admiring little girls who +have no brothers. Selectors' children, both of them, from neighbouring +farms, born above the frost line under the smelting Queensland sun, +drifted hither and thither by the fitful gusts of Fate as are the +paper-sailed ships that boys launch on flood water pools, meeting here in +Sydney after long years of separation. Now, Nellie was a dressmaker in a +big city shop, and Ned a sun-burnt shearer to whom the great trackless +West was home. She thought of the old home sadly as she stood there +waiting for him. + +It had not been a happy home altogether and yet, and yet--it was better +than this. There was pure air there, at least, and grass up to the door, +and trees rustling over-head; and the little children were brown and +sturdy and played with merry shouts, not with these vile words she heard +jabbered in the wretched street. Her heart grew sick within her--a +habit it had, that heart of Nellie's--and a passion of wild revolt +against her surroundings made her bite her lips and press her nails +against her palms. She looked across at the group opposite. More children +being born! Week in and week out they seemed to come in spite of all the +talk of not having any more. She could have cried over this holocaust of +the innocents, and yet she shrank with an unreasoning shrinking from the +barrenness that was coming to be regarded as the most comfortable state +and being sought after, as she knew well, by the younger married women. +What were they all coming to? Were they all to go on like this without a +struggle until they vanished altogether as a people, perhaps to make room +for the round-cheeked, bland-faced Chinaman who stood in the doorway of +his shop in the crossing thorough-fare, gazing expressionlessly at her? +She loathed that Chinaman. He always seemed to be watching her, to be +waiting for something. She would dream of him sometimes as creeping upon +her from behind, always with that bland round face. Yet he never spoke to +her, never insulted her, only he seemed to be always watching her, always +waiting. And it would come to her sometimes like a cold chill, that this +yellow man and such men as he were watching them all slowly going down +lower and lower, were waiting to leap upon them in their last +helplessness and enslave them all as white girls were sometimes enslaved, +even already, in those filthy opium joints whose stench nauseated the +hurrying passers-by. Perhaps under all their meekness these Chinese were +braver, more stubborn, more vigorous, and it was doomed that they should +conquer at last and rule in the land where they had been treated as +outcasts and intruders. She thought of this--and, just then, Ned turned +the corner by the lamp. + +Ned was a Down's native, every inch of him. He stood five feet eleven in +his bare feet yet was so broad and strong that he hardly looked over the +medium height. He had blue eyes and a heavy moustache just tinged with +red. His hair was close-cut and dark; his forehead, nose and chin wore +large and strong; his lips were strangely like a woman's. He walked with +short jerky steps, swinging himself awkwardly as men do who have been +much in the saddle. He wore a white shirt, as being holiday-making, but +had not managed a collar; his pants were dark-blue, slightly belled; his +coat, dark-brown; his boots wore highly polished; round his neck was a +silk handkerchief; round his vestless waist, a discoloured leather belt; +above all, a wide-brimmed cabbage tree hat, encircled by a narrow leather +strap. He swung himself along rapidly, unabashed by the stares of the +women or the impudent comment of the children. Nellie, suddenly, felt all +her ill-humour turn against him. He was so satisfied with himself. He +had talked unionism to her when she met him two weeks before, on his way +to visit a brother who had taken up a selection in the Hawkesbury +district. He had laughed when she hinted at the possibilities of the +unionism he championed so fanatically. "We only want what's fair," he +said. "We're not going to do anything wild. As long as we get £1 a +hundred and rations at a fair figure we're satisfied." And then he had +inconsistently proceeded to describe how the squatters treated the men +out West, and how the union would make them civil, and how the said +squatters were mostly selfish brutes who preferred Chinese to their own +colour and would stop at no trick to beat the men out of a few shillings. +She had said nothing at the time, being so pleased to see him, though she +determined to have it out with him sometime during this holiday they had +planned. But somehow, as he stepped carelessly along, a dashing manliness +in every motion, a breath of the great plains coming with his sunburnt +face and belted waist, he and his self-conceit jarred to her against this +sordid court and these children's desolate lives. How dared he talk as he +did about only wanting what was fair, she thought! How had he the heart +to care only for himself and his mates while in these city slums such +misery brooded! And then it shot through her that he did not know. With a +rapidity, characteristic of herself, she made up her mind to teach him. + +"Well, Nellie," he cried, cheerily, coming up to her. "And how are you +again?" + +"Hello, Ned," she answered, cordially, shaking hands. "You look as though +you were rounding-up." + +"Do I?" he questioned, seriously, looking down at himself. "Shirt and +all? Well, if I am it's only you I came to round up. Are you ready? Did +you think I wasn't coming?" + +"It won't take me a minute," she replied. "I was pretty sure you'd come. +I took a holiday on the strength of it, anyway, and made an engagement +for you to-night. Come in a minute, Ned. You must see Mrs. Phillips while +I get my hat. You'll have to sleep here to night. It'll be so late when +we get back. Unless you'd sooner go to a hotel." + +"I'm not particular," said Ned, looking round curiously, as he followed +her in. "I'd never have found the place, Nellie, if it hadn't been for +that pub, near the corner, where we saw that row on the other night." + +The women opposite had suspended their debate upon Mrs. Hobbs' latest, a +debate fortified by manifold reminiscences of the past and possibilities +of the future. It was known in the little street that Nellie Lawton +intended taking a holiday with an individual who was universally accepted +as her "young man," and Ned's appearance upon the stage naturally made +him a subject for discussion which temporarily over-shadowed even Mrs. +Hobbs' baby. + +"I'm told he's a sort of a farmer," said one. + +"He's a shearer; I had it from Mrs. Phillips herself," said another. + +"He's a strapping man, whatever he is," commented a third. + +"Well, she's a big lump of a girl, too," contributed a fourth. + +"Yes, and a vixen with her tongue when she gets started, for all her prim +looks," added a fifth. + +"She has tricky ways that get over the men-folks. Mine won't hear a word +against her." This from the third speaker, eager to be with the tide, +evidently setting towards unfavorable criticism. + +"I don't know," objected the second, timidly. "She sat up all night with +my Maggie once, when she had the fever, and Nellie had to work next day, +too." + +"Oh, she's got her good side," retorted the fifth, opening her dress to +feed her nursing baby with absolute indifference for all onlookers. "But +she knows a great deal too much for a girl of her age. When she gets +married will be time enough to talk as she does sometimes." The chorus of +approving murmurs showed that Nellie had spoken plainly enough on some +subjects to displease some of these slatternly matrons. + +"She stays out till all hours, I'm told," one slanderer said. + +"She's a union girl, at any rate," hazarded Nellie's timid defender. +There was an awkward pause at this. It was an apple of discord with the +women, evidently. A tall form turning the corner afforded further reason +for changing the subject. + +"Here's Mrs. Macanany," announced one. "You'd better not say anything +against Nellie Lawton when she's about." So they talked again of Mrs. +Hobbs' baby, making it the excuse to leave undone for a few minutes the +endless work of the poor man's wife. + +And sad to tell when, a few minutes afterwards, Ned and Nellie came out +again and walked off together, the group of gossipers unanimously +endorsed Mrs. Macanany's extravagant praises, and agreed entirely with +her declaration that if all the women in Sydney would only stand by +Nellie, as Mrs. Macanany herself would, there would be such a doing and +such an upsetting and such a righting of things that ever after every man +would be his own master and every woman would only work eight hours and +get well paid for it. Yet it was something that of six women there were +two who wouldn't slander a girl like Nellie behind her back. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +SWEATING IN THE SYDNEY SLUMS. + +"Well! Where shall we go, Nellie?" began Ned jauntily, as they walked +away together. To tell the truth he was eager to get away from this poor +neighborhood. It had saddened him, made him feel unhappy, caused in him a +longing to be back again in the bush, on his horse, a hundred miles from +everybody. "Shall we go to Manly or Bondi or Watson's Bay, or do you know +of a better place?" He had been reading the newspaper advertisements and +had made enquiries of the waitress, as he ate his breakfast, concerning +the spot which the waitress would prefer were a young man going to take +her out for the day. He felt pleased with himself now, for not only did +he like Nellie very much but she was attractive to behold, and he felt +very certain that every man they passed envied him. She had put on a +little round straw hat, black, trimmed with dark purple velvet; in her +hands, enclosed in black gloves, she carried a parasol of the same +colour. + +"Where would you like to go, Ned?" she answered, colouring a little as +she heard her name in Mrs. Macanany's hoarse voice, being told thereby +that she and Ned were the topic of conversation among the jury of matrons +assembled opposite. + +"Anywhere you like, Nellie." + +"Don't you think, Ned, that you might see a little bit of real Sydney? +Strangers come here for a few days and go on the steamers and through the +gardens and along George-street and then go away with a notion of the +place that isn't the true one. If I were you, Ned, right from the bush +and knowing nothing of towns, I'd like to see a bit of the real side and +not only the show side that everybody sees. We don't all go picnicking +all the time and we don't all live by the harbour or alongside the +Domain." + +"Do just whatever you like, Nellie," cried Ned, hardly understanding but +perfectly satisfied, "you know best where to take a fellow." + +"But they're not pleasant places, Ned." + +"I don't mind," answered Ned, lightly, though he had been looking +forward, rather, to the quiet enjoyment of a trip on a harbour steamer, +or at least to the delight of a long ramble along some beach where he +thought he and Nellie might pick up shells. "Besides, I fancy it's going +to rain before night," he added, looking up at the sky, of which a long +narrow slice showed between the tall rows of houses. + +There were no clouds visible. Only there was a deepening grey in the hard +blueness above them, and the breathless heat, even at this time of day, +was stifling. + +"I don't know that you'd call this a pleasant place," he commented, +adding with the frankness of an old friend: "Why do you live here, +Nellie?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. The gesture meant anything and everything. + +"You needn't have bothered sending me that money back," said Ned, in +reply to the shrug. + +"It isn't that," explained Nellie. "I've got a pretty good billet. A +pound a week and not much lost time! But I went to room there when I was +pretty hard up. It's a small room and was cheap. Then, after, I took to +boarding there as well. That was pretty cheap and suited me and helped +them. I suppose I might get a better place but they're very kind, and I +come and go as I like, and--" she hesitated. "After all," she went on, +"there's not much left out of a pound." + +"I shouldn't think so," remarked Ned, looking at her and thinking that +she was very nicely dressed. + +"Oh! You needn't look," laughed Nellie. "I make my own dresses and trim +my own hats. A woman wouldn't think much of the stuff either." + +"I want to tell you how obliged I was for that money, Ned," continued +Nellie, an expression of pain on her face. "There was no one else I could +ask, and I needed it so. It was very kind--" + +"Ugh! That's nothing," interrupted Ned, hiding his bashfulness under a +burst of boisterousness. "Why, Nellie, I'd like you to be sending to me +regular. It might just as well come to you as go any other way. If you +ever do want a few pounds again, Nellie,"--he added, seriously, "I can +generally manage it. I've got plenty just now--far more than I'll ever +need." This with wild exaggeration. "You might as well have it as not. +I've got nobody." + +"Thanks, just the same, Ned! When I do want it I'll ask you. I'm afraid +I'll never have any money to lend you if you need it, but if I ever do +you know where to come." + +"It's a bargain, Nellie," said Ned. Then, eager to change the subject, +feeling awkward at discussing money matters because he would have been so +willing to have given his last penny to anybody he felt friends with, +much less to the girl by his side: + +"But where are we going?" + +"To see Sydney!" said Nellie. + +They had turned several times since they started but the neighborhood +remained much the same. The streets, some wider, some narrower, all told +of sordid struggling. The shops were greasy, fusty, grimy. The groceries +exposed in their windows damaged specimens of bankrupt stocks, discolored +tinned goods, grey sugars, mouldy dried fruits; at their doors, flitches +of fat bacon, cut and dusty. The meat with which the butchers' shops +overflowed was not from show-beasts, as Ned could see, but the cheaper +flesh of over-travelled cattle, ancient oxen, ewes too aged for bearing; +all these lean scraggy flabby-fleshed carcasses surrounded and blackened +by buzzing swarms of flies that invaded the foot-path outside in clouds. +The draperies had tickets, proclaiming unparalleled bargains, on every +piece; the whole stock seemed displayed outside and in the doorway. The +fruiterers seemed not to be succeeding in their rivalry with each other +and with the Chinese hawkers. The Chinese shops were dotted everywhere, +dingier than any other, surviving and succeeding, evidently, by sheer +force of cheapness. The roadways everywhere were hard and bare, +reflecting the rays of the ascending sun until the streets seemed to be +Turkish baths, conducted on a new and gigantic method. There was no green +anywhere, only unlovely rows of houses, now gasping with open doors and +windows for air. + +Air! That was what everything clamoured for, the very stones, the dogs, +the shops, the dwellings, the people. If it was like this soon after ten, +what would it be at noon? + +Already the smaller children were beginning to weary of play. In narrow +courts they lolled along on the flags, exhausted. In wider streets, they +sat quietly on door-steps or the kerb, or announced their discomfort in +peevish wailings. The elder children quarrelled still and swore from +their playground, the gutter, but they avoided now the sun and +instinctively sought the shade and it is pretty hot when a child minds +the sun. At shop doors, shopmen, sometimes shopwomen, came to wipe their +warm faces and examine the sky with anxious eyes. The day grow hotter and +hotter. Ned could feel the rising heat, as though he were in an oven with +a fire on underneath. Only the Chinese looked cool. + +Nellie led the way, sauntering along, without hurrying. Several times she +turned down passages that Ned would hardly have noticed, and brought him +out in courts closed in on all sides, from which every breath of air +seemed purposely excluded. Through open doors and windows he could see +the inside of wretched homes, could catch glimpses of stifling bedrooms +and close, crowded little kitchens. Often one of the denizens came to +door or window to stare at Nellie and him; sometimes they were accosted +with impudent chaff, once or twice with pitiful obscenity. + +The first thing that impressed him was the abandonment that thrust itself +upon him in the more crowded of these courts and alley-ways and +back-streets, the despairing abandonment there of the decencies of +living. The thin dwarfed children kicked and tumbled with naked limbs on +the ground; many women leaned half-dressed and much unbuttoned from +ground floor windows, or came out into the passage-ways slatternly. In +one court two unkempt vile-tongued women of the town wrangled and abused +each other to the amusement of the neighborhood, where the working poor +were huddled together with those who live by shame. The children played +close by as heedlessly as if such quarrels were common events, cursing +themselves at each other with nimble filthy tongues. + +"There's a friend of mine lives here," said Nellie, turning into one of +these narrow alleys that led, as they could see, into a busier and +bustling street. "If you don't mind we'll go up and I can help her a bit, +and you can see how one sort of sweating is done. I worked at it for a +spell once, when dressmaking was slack. In the same house, too." + +She stopped at the doorway of one of a row of three-storied houses. On +the doorstep were a group of little children, all barefooted and more or +less ragged in spite of evident attempts to keep some of them patched +into neatness. They looked familiarly at Nellie and curiously at Ned. + +"How's mother, Johnny?" asked Nellie of one of them, a small pinched +little fellow of six or seven, who nursed a baby of a year or so old, an +ill-nourished baby that seemed wilting in the heat. + +"She's working," answered the little fellow, looking anxiously at Nellie +as she felt in her pocket. + +"There's a penny for you," said Nellie, "and here's a penny for Dicky," +patting a little five-year-old on the head, "and here's one to buy some +milk for the baby." + +Johnny rose with glad eagerness, the baby in his arms and the pennies in +his hand. + +"I shall buy 'specks' with mine," he cried joyfully. + +"What's 'specks?'" asked Ned, puzzled, as the children went off, the +elder staggering under his burden. + +"'Specks!' Damaged fruit, half rotten. The garbage of the rich sold as a +feast to these poor little ones?" cried Nellie, a hot anger in her face +and voice that made Ned dumb. + +She entered the doorway. Ned followed her through a room where a man and +a couple of boys were hammering away at some boots, reaching thereby a +narrow, creaking stairway, hot as a chimney, almost pitch dark, being +lighted only by an occasional half-opened door, up which he stumbled +clumsily. Through one of these open doors he caught a glimpse of a couple +of girls sewing; through another of a woman with a baby in arms +tidying-up a bare floored room, which seemed to be bedroom, kitchen and +dining room in one; from behind a closed door came the sound of voices, +one shrilly laughing. Unused to stairways his knees ached before they +reached the top. He was glad enough when Nellie knocked loudly at a door +through which came the whirring of a sewing machine. The noise stopped +for a moment while a sharp voice called them to "come in," then started +again. Nellie opened the door. + +At the open window of a small room, barely furnished with a broken iron +bedstead, some case boards knocked together for a table and fixed against +the wall, a couple of shaky chairs and a box, a sharp featured woman sat +working a machine, as if for dear life. The heat of the room was made +hotter by the little grate in which a fire had recently been burning and +on which still stood the teapot. Some cups and a plate or two, with a cut +loaf of bread and a jam tin of sugar, littered the table. The scanty bed +was unmade. The woman wore a limp cotton dress of uncertain colour, +rolled up at the sleeves and opened at the neck for greater coolness. She +was thin and sharp; she was so busy you understood that she had no time +to be clean and tidy. She seemed pleased to see Nellie and totally +indifferent at seeing Ned, but kept on working after nodding to them. + +Nellie motioned Ned to sit down, which he did on the edge of the bed, not +caring to trust the shaky chairs. She went to the side of the +sharp-featured woman, and sitting down on the foot of the bed by the +machine watched her working without a word. Ned could see on the ground, +in a paper parcel, a heap of cloth of various colours, and on the bed +some new coats folded and piled up. On the machine was another coat, +being sewn. + +It was ten minutes before the machine stopped, ten minutes for Ned to +look about and think in. He knew without being told that this miserable +room was the home of the three children to whom Nellie had given the +pennies, and that here their mother worked to feed them. Their feeding he +could see on the table. Their home he could see. The work that gave it to +them he could see. For the first time in his life he felt ashamed of +being an Australian. + +Finally the machine stopped. The sharp-faced woman took the coat up, bit +a thread with her teeth, and laying it on her knee began to unpick the +tackings. + +"Let me!" said Nellie, pulling off her gloves and taking off her hat. "We +came to see you, Ned and I," she went on with honest truthfulness, +"because he's just down from the bush, and I wanted him to see what +Sydney was like. Ned, this is Mrs. Somerville." + +Mrs. Somerville nodded at Ned. "You're right to come here," she remarked, +grimly, getting up while Nellie took her place as if she often did it. +"You know just what it is, Nellie, and I do, too, worse luck. Perhaps +it's good for us. When we're better off we don't care for those who're +down. We've got to get down ourselves to get properly disgusted with it." + +She spoke with the accent of an educated woman, moving to the make-shift +table and beginning to "tidy-up." As she passed between him and the light +Ned could see that the cotton dress was her only covering. + +"How are the children?" asked Nellie. + +"How can you expect them to be?" retorted the other. + +"You ought to wean the baby," insisted Nellie, as though it was one of +their habitual topics. + +"Wean the baby! That's all very well for those who can buy plenty of +milk. It's a pity it's ever got to be weaned." + +"Plenty of work this week?" asked Nellie, changing the subject. + +"Yes; plenty of work this week. You know what that means. No work at all +when they get a stock ahead, so as to prevent us feeling too independent +I suppose." She paused, then added: "That girl downstairs says she isn't +going to work any more. I talked to her a little but she says one might +just as well die one way as another, and that she'll have some pleasure +first. I couldn't blame her much. She's got a good heart. She's been very +kind to the children." + +Nellie did not answer; she did not even look up. + +"They're going to reduce prices at the shop," went on Mrs. Somerville. +"They told me last time I went that after this lot they shouldn't pay as +much because they could easily get the things done for less. I asked what +they'd pay, and they said they didn't know but they'd give me as good a +show for work as ever if I cared to take the new prices, because they +felt sorry for the children. I suppose I ought to feel thankful to them." + +Nellie looked up now--her face flushed. "Reduce, prices again!" she +cried. "How can they?" + +"I don't know how they can, but they can," answered Mrs. Somerville. "I +suppose we can be thankful so long as they don't want to be paid for +letting us work for them. Old Church's daughter got married to some +officer of the fleet last week, I'm told, and I suppose we've got to help +give her a send-off." + +"It's shameful," exclaimed Nellie. "What they paid two years ago hardly +kept one alive, and they've reduced twice since then. Oh! They'll all pay +for it some day." + +"Let's hope so," said Mrs. Somerville. "Only we'll have to pay them for +it pretty soon, Nellie, or there won't be enough strength left in us to +pay them with. I've got beyond minding anything much, but I would like to +get even with old Church." + +They had talked away, the two women, ignoring Ned. He listened. He +understood that from the misery of this woman was drawn the pomp and +pride, the silks and gold and glitter of the society belle, and he +thought with a cruel satisfaction of what might happen to that society +belle if this half-starved woman got hold of her. Measure for measure, +pang for pang, what torture, what insults, what degradation, could atone +for the life that was suffered in this miserable room? And for the life +of "that girl downstairs" who had given up in despair? + +"How about a union now?" asked Nellie, turning with the first pieces of +another coat to the machine. + +"Work's too dull," was the answer. "Wait for a few months till the busy +season comes and then I wouldn't wonder if you could get one. The women +were all feeling hurt about the reduction, and one girl did start talking +strike, but what's the use now? I couldn't say anything, you know, but +I'll find out where the others live and you can go round and talk to them +after a while. If there was a paper that would show old Church up it +might do good, but there isn't." + +Then the rattle of the machine began again, Nellie working with an +adeptness that showed her to be an old hand. Ned could see now that the +coats were of cheap coarse stuff and that the sewing in them was not fine +tailoring. The cut material in Nellie's hands fairly flew into shape as +she rapidly moved it to and fro under the hurrying needle with her slim +fingers. Her foot moved unceasingly on the treadle. Ned watching her, saw +the great beads of perspiration slowly gather on her forehead and then +trickle down her nose and cheeks to fall upon the work before her. + +"My word! But it's hot!" exclaimed Nellie at last, as the noise stopped +for a moment while she changed the position of her work. "Why don't you +open the door?" + +"I don't care to before the place is tidy," answered Mrs. Somerville, who +had washed her cups and plates in a pan and had just put Ned on one of +the shaky chairs while she shook and arranged the meagre coverings of the +bed. + +"Is he still carrying on?" enquired Nellie, nodding her head at the +partition and evidently alluding to someone on the other side. + +"Of course, drink, drink, drink, whenever he gets a chance, and that +seems pretty well always. She helps him sometimes, and sometimes she +keeps sober and abuses him. He kicked her down stairs the other night, +and the children all screaming, and her shrieking, and him swearing. It +was a nice time." + +Once more the machining interrupted the conversation, which thus was +renewed from time to time in the pauses of the noise. The room being +"tidied," Mrs. Somerville sat down on the bed and taking up some pieces +of cloth began to tack them together with needle and thread, ready for +the machine. It never seemed to occur to her to rest even for a moment. + +"Nellie's a quick one," she remarked to Ned. "At the shop they always +tell those who grumble what she earned one week. Twenty-four and six, +wasn't it, Nellie? But they don't say she worked eighteen hours a day for +it." + +Nellie flushed uneasily and Ned felt uncomfortable. Both thought of the +repayment of the latter's friendly loan. The girl made her machine rattle +still more hurriedly to prevent any further remarks trending in that +direction. At last Mrs. Somerville, her tacking finished, got up and took +the work from Nellie's hands. + +"I'm not going to take your whole morning," she said. "You don't get many +friends from the bush to see you, so just go away and I'll get on. I'm +much obliged to you as it is, Nellie." + +Nellie did not object. After wiping her hands, face and neck with her +handkerchief she put on her gloves and hat. The sharp-faced woman was +already at the machine and amid the din, which drowned their good-byes, +they departed as they came. Ned felt more at ease when his feet felt the +first step of the narrow creaking stairway. It is hardly a pleasant +sensation for a man to be in the room of a stranger who, without any +unfriendliness, does not seem particularly aware that he is there. They +left the door open. Far down the stifling stairs Ned could hear the +ceaseless whirring of the machine driven by the woman who slaved +ceaselessly for her children's bread in this Sydney sink. He looked +around for the children when they got to the alley again but could not +see them among the urchins who lolled about half-suffocated now. The sun +was almost overhead for they had been upstairs for an hour. The heat in +this mere canyon path between cliffs of houses was terrible. Ned himself +began to feel queerly. + +"Let's get out of this, Nellie," he said. + +"How would you like never to be able to get out of it?" she answered, as +they turned towards the bustling street, opposite to the way they had +previously come. + +"Who's that Mrs. Somerville?" he asked, not answering. + +"I got to know her when I lived there," replied Nellie. "Her husband used +to be well off, I fancy, but had bad luck and got down pretty low. There +was a strike on at some building and he went on as a laborer, +blacklegging. The pickets followed him to the house, abusing him, and +made him stubborn, but I got her alone that night and talked to her and +explained things a bit and she talked to him and next day he joined the +union. Then he got working about as a labourer, and one day some rotten +scaffolding broke, and he came down with it. The union got a few pounds +for her, but the boss was a regular swindler who was always beating men +out of their wages and doing anything to get contracts and running +everything cheap, so there was nothing to be got out of him." + +"Did her husband die?" + +"Yes, next day. She had three children and another came seven months +after. One died last summer just before the baby was born. She's had a +pretty hard time of it, but she works all the time and she generally has +work." + +"It seems quite a favour to get work here," observed Ned. + +"If you were a girl you'd soon find out what a favour it is sometimes," +answered Nellie quietly, as they came out into the street. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +SHORN LIKE SHEEP. + +"How many hours do you work?" asked Nellie of the waitress. + +"About thirteen," answered the girl, glancing round to see if the manager +was watching her talking. "But it's not the hours so much. It's the +standing." + +"You're not doing any good standing now," put in Ned. "Why don't you sit +down and have a rest?" + +"They don't let us," answered the waitress, cautiously. + +"What do they pay?" asked Nellie, sipping her tea and joining in the +waitress' look-out for the manager. + +"Fifteen! But they're taking girls on at twelve. Of course there's meals. +But you've got to room yourself, and then there's washing, clean aprons +and caps and cuffs and collars. You've got to dress, too. There's nothing +left. We ought to get a pound." + +"What----" + +"S-s-s!" warned the waitress, straightening herself up as the manager +appeared. + +* * * * * + +They were in a fashionable Sydney restaurant, on George-street, a large, +painted, gilded, veneered, electro-plated place, full of mirrors and +gas-fittings and white-clothed tables. It was not busy, the hour being +somewhat late and the day Saturday, and so against the walls, on either +side the long halls, were ranged sentinel rows of white-aproned, +white-capped, black-dressed waitresses. + +They were dawdling over their tea--Ned and Nellie were, not the +waitresses--having dined exceedingly well on soup and fish and flesh +and pudding. For Ned, crushed by more sight-seeing and revived by a +stroll to the Domain and a rest by a fountain under shady trees, further +revived by a thunderstorm that suddenly rolled up and burst upon them +almost before they could reach the shelter of an awning, had insisted on +treating Nellie to "a good dinner," telling her that afterwards she could +take him anywhere she liked but that meanwhile they would have something +to cheer them up. And Nellie agreed, nothing loth, for she too longed for +the momentary jollity of a mild dissipation, not to mention that this +would be a favorable opportunity to see if the restaurant girls could not +be organised. So they had "a good dinner." + +"This reminds me," said Nellie, as she ate her fish, "of a friend of +mine, a young fellow who is always getting hard up and always raising a +cheque, as he calls it. He was very hard up a while ago, and met a friend +whom he told about it. Then he invited his friend to go and have some +lunch. They came here and he ordered chicken and that, and a bottle of +good wine. It took his last half-sovereign. When he got the ticket the +other man looked at him. 'Well,' he said, 'if you live like this when +you're hard up, how on earth do you live when you've got money?'" + +"What did he say?" asked Ned, laughing, wondering at the same time how +Nellie came to know people who drank wine and spent half-sovereigns on +chicken lunches. + +"Oh! He didn't say anything much, he told me. He couldn't manage to +explain, he thought, that when he was at work and easy in his mind he +didn't care what he had to eat but that when he didn't know what he'd do +by the end of the week he felt like having a good meal if he never had +another. He thought that made the half-sovereign go furthest. He's funny +in some things." + +"I should think he was, a little. How did you know him?" + +"I met him where we're going tonight. He's working on some newspaper in +Melbourne now. I haven't seen him or heard of for months." + +She chatted on, rather feverishly. + +"Did you ever read 'David Copperfield?'" + +Ned nodded, his mouth being full. + +"Do you recollect how he used to stand outside the cookshops? It's quite +natural. I used to. It's pretty bad to be hungry and it's just about as +bad not to have enough. I know a woman who has a couple of children, a +boy and a girl. They were starving once. She said she'd sooner starve +than beg or ask anybody to help them, and the little girl said she would +too. But the boy said he wasn't going to starve for anybody, and he +wasn't going to beg either; he'd steal. And sure enough he slipped out +and came back with two loaves that he'd taken from a shop. They lived on +that for nearly a week." Nellie laughed forcedly. + +"What did they do then?" asked Ned seriously. + +"Oh! She had been doing work but couldn't get paid. She got paid." + +"Where was her husband?" + +"Don't husbands die like other people?" she answered, pointedly. "Not +that all husbands are much good when they can't get work or will always +work when they can get it," she added. + +"Are many people as hard up as that in Sydney, Nellie?" enquired Ned, +putting down his knife and fork. + +"Some," she answered. "You don't suppose a lot of the people we saw this +morning get over well fed, do you? Oh, you can go on eating, Ned! it's +not being sentimental that will help them. They want fair play and a +chance to work, and your going hungry won't get that for them. There's +lots for them and for us if they only knew enough to stop people like +that getting too much." + +By lifting her eyebrows she drew his attention to a stout coarse loudly +jewelled man, wearing a tall silk hat and white waistcoat, who had +stopped near them on his way to the door. He was speaking in a loud +dictatorial wheezy voice. His hands were thrust into his trouser pockets, +wherein he jingled coins by taking them up and letting them fall again. +The chink of sovereigns seemed sweet music to him. He stared +contemptuously at Ned's clothes as that young man looked round; then +stared with insolent admiration at Nellie. Ned became crimson with +suppressed rage, but said nothing until the man had passed them. + +"Who is that brute?" he asked then. + +"That brute! Why, he's a famous man. He owns hundreds of houses, and has +been mayor and goodness knows what. He'll be knighted and made a duke or +something. He owns the block where Mrs. Somerville lives. You ought to +speak respectfully of your betters, Ned. He's been my landlord, though he +doesn't know it, I suppose. He gets four shillings a week from Mrs. +Somerville. The place isn't worth a shilling, only it's handy for her +taking her work in, and she's got to pay him for it being handy. That's +her money he's got in his pocket, only if you knocked him down and took +it out for her you'd be a thief. At least, they'd say you were and send +you to prison." + +"Who's the other, I wonder?" said Ned. "He looks more like a man." + +The other was a shrewd-looking, keen-faced, sparely-built man, with +somewhat aquiline nose and straight narrow forehead, not at all +bad-looking or evil-looking and with an air of strong determination; in +short, what one calls a masterful man. He was dressed well but quietly. A +gold-bound hair watch guard that crossed his high-buttoned waistcoat was +his only adornment; his slender hands, unlike the fat man's podgy +fingers, were bare of rings. He was sitting alone, and after the fat man +left him returned again to the reading of an afternoon paper while he +lunched. + +"His name's Strong," said. Nellie, turning to Ned with a peculiar smile. +"That fat man has robbed me and this lean man has robbed you, I suppose. +As he looks more like a man it won't be as bad though, will it?" + +"What are you getting at, Nellie?" asked Ned, not understanding but +looking at the shrewd man intently, nevertheless. + +"Don't you know the name? Of course you don't though. Well, he's managing +director of the Great Southern Mortgage Agency, a big concern that owns +hundreds and hundreds of stations. At least, the squatters own the +stations and the Agency owns the squatters, and he as good as owns the +Agency. You're pretty sure to have worked for him many a time without +knowing it, Ned." + +Ned's eyes flashed. Nellie had to kick his foot under the table for fear +he would say or do something that would attract the attention of the +unsuspecting lean man. + +"Don't be foolish, Ned," urged Nellie, in a whisper. "What's the good of +spluttering?" + +"Why, it was one of their stations on the Wilkes Downs that started +cutting wages two years ago. Whenever a manager is particularly mean he +always puts it down to the Agency. The Victorian fellows say it was this +same concern that first cut wages down their way. And the New Zealanders +too. I'd just like to perform on him for about five minutes." + +Ned uttered his wish so seriously that Nellie laughed out loud, at which +Ned laughed too. + +"So he's the man who does all the mischief, is he?" remarked Ned, again +glaring at his industrial enemy. "Who'd think it to look at him? He +doesn't look a bad sort, does he?" + +"He looks a determined man, I think," said Nellie. "Mr. Stratton says +he's the shrewdest capitalist in Australia and that he'll give the unions +a big fight for it one of these days. He says he has a terrible hatred of +unionism and thinks that there's no half-way between smashing them up and +letting them smash the employers up. His company pays 25 per cent. +regularly every year on its shares and will pay 50 before he gets through +with it." + +"How?" + +"How! Out of fellows like you, Ned, who think themselves so mighty +independent and can't see that they're being shorn like sheep, in the +same way, though not as much yet, as Mrs. Somerville is by old Church and +the fat brute, as you call him. But then you rather like it I should +think. Anyway, you told me you didn't want to do anything 'wild,' only to +keep up wages. You'll have to do something 'wild' to keep up wages before +he finishes." + +"That's all right to talk, Nellie, but what can we do?" asked Ned, +pulling his moustache. . + +"Hire him instead of letting him hire you," answered Nellie, oracularly. +"Those fat men are only good to put in museums, but these lean men are +all right so long as you keep them in their place. They are our worst +enemies when they're against us but our best friends when they're for us. +They say Mr. Strong isn't like most of the swell set. He is straight to +his wife and good to his children and generous to his friends and when he +says a thing he sticks to it. Only he sees everything from the other side +and doesn't understand that all men have got the same coloured blood." + +"How can we hire him?" said Ned, after a pause. "They own everything." + +Nellie shrugged her shoulders. + +"You think we might take it," said Ned. + +Nellie shrugged her shoulders again. + +"I don't see how it can be done," he concluded. + +"That's just it. You can't see how it can be done, and so nothing's done. +Some men get drunk, and some men get religious, and others get +enthusiastic for a pound a hundred. You haven't got votes up in +Queensland, and if you had you'd probably give them to a lot of ignorant +politicians. Men don't know, and they don't seem to want to know much, +and they've got to be squeezed by men like him"--she nodded at +Strong--"before they take any interest in themselves or in those who belong +to them. For those who have an ounce of heart, though, I should think +there'd been squeezing enough already." + +She looked at Ned angrily. The scenes of the morning rose before him and +tied his tongue. + +"How do you know all these jokers, Nellie?" he asked. He had been going +to put the question a dozen times before but it had slipped him in the +interest of conversation. + +"I only know them by sight. Mrs. Stratton takes me to the theatre with +her sometimes and tells me who people are and all about them." + +"Who's Mrs. Stratton? You were talking of Mr. Stratton, too, just now, +weren't you?" + +"Yes. The Strattons are very nice people, They're interested in the +Labour movement, and I said I'd bring you round when I go to-night. I +generally go on Saturday nights. They're not early birds, and we don't +want to get there till half-past ten or so." + +"Half-past ten! That's queer time." + +"Yes, isn't it? Only----" + +At that moment a waitress who had been arranging the next table came and +took her place against the wall close behind Nellie. Such an opportunity +to talk unionism was not to be lost, so Nellie unceremoniously dropped +her conversation with Ned and enquired, as before stated, into the +becapped girl's hours. The waitress was tall and well-featured, but +sallow of skin and growing haggard, though barely 20, if that. Below her +eyes were bluish hollows. She suffered plainly from the disorders caused +by constant standing and carrying, and at this end of her long week was +in evident pain. + +* * * * * + +"You're not allowed to talk either?" she asked the waitress, when the +manager had disappeared. + +"No. They're very strict. You get fined if you're seen chatting to +customers and if you're caught resting. And you get fined if you break +anything, too. One girl was fined six shillings last week." + +"Why do you stand it? If you were up in our part of the world we'd soon +bring 'em down a notch or two." This from Ned. + +"Out in the bush it may be different," said the girl, identifying his +part of the world by his dress and sunburnt face. "But in towns you've +got to stand it." + +"Couldn't you girls form a union?" asked Nellie. + +"What's the use, there's plenty to take our places." + +"But if you were all in a union there wouldn't be enough." + +"Oh, we can't trust a lot of girls. Those who live at home and just work +to dress themselves are the worst of the lot. They'd work for ten +shillings or five." + +"But they'd be ashamed to blackleg if once they were got into the union," +persisted Nellie. "It's worth trying, to get a rise in wages and to stop +fining and have shorter hours and seats while you're waiting." + +"Yes, it's worth trying if there was any chance. But there are so many +girls. You're lucky if you get work at all now and just have to put up +with anything. If we all struck they could get others to-morrow." + +"But not waitresses. How'd they look here, trying to serve dinner with a +lot of green hands?" argued Nellie. "Besides, if you had a union, you +could get a lot without striking at all. They know now you can't strike, +so they do just exactly as they like." + +"They'd do what they----" began the waitress. Then she broke off with +another "s-s-s" as the manager crossed the room again. + +"They'd do what they like, anyway," she began once more. "One of our +girls was in the union the Melbourne waitresses started. They had a +strike at one of the big restaurants over the manager insulting one of +the girls. They complained to the boss and wanted the manager to +apologise, but the boss wouldn't listen and said they were getting very +nice. So at dinner time, when the bell rang, they all marched off and put +on their hats. The customers were all waiting for dinner and the girls +were all on strike and the boss nearly went mad. He was going to have +them all arrested, but when the gentlemen heard what it was about they +said the girls were right and if the manager didn't apologise they'd go +to some other restaurant always. So the manager went to the girl and +apologised." + +"By gum!" interjected Ned. "Those girls were hummers." + +"I suppose the boss victimised afterwards?" asked Nellie, wiser in such +matters. + +"That's just it," said the girl, in a disheartened tone. "In two or three +weeks every girl who'd had anything to do with stirring the others up was +bounced for something or other. The manager did what he liked +afterwards." + +"Just talk to the other girls about a union, will you?" asked Nellie. +"It's no use giving right in, you know." + +"I'll see what some of them say, but there's a lot I wouldn't open my +mouth to," answered the waitress. + +"What time do you get away on Thursdays?" + +"Next Thursday I'm on till half-past ten." + +"Well, I'll meet you then, outside, to see what they say," said Nellie. +"My name's Nellie Lawton and some of us are trying to start a women's +union. You'll be sure to be there?" + +"All right," answered the waitress, a little dubiously. Then she added +more cordially, as she wrote out the pay ticket: + +"My name's Susan Finch. I'll see what I can do." + +So Ned and Nellie got up and, the former having paid at the counter, +walked out into the street together. It was nearly three. The rain had +stopped, though the sky was still cloudy and threatening. The damp +afternoon was chilly after the sultry broiling morning. Neither of them +felt in the mood for walking so at Nellie's suggestion they put in the +afternoon in riding, on trams and 'busses, hither and thither through the +mazy wilderness of the streets that make up Sydney. + +Intuitively, both avoided talking of the topics that before had engaged +them and that still engrossed their thoughts. For a while they chatted on +indifferent matters, but gradually relapsed into silence, rarely broken. +The impression of the morning walk, of Mrs. Somerville's poor room, of +Nellie's stuffy street, came with full force to Ned's mind. What he saw +only stamped it deeper and deeper. + +When, in a bus, they rode through the suburbs of the wealthy, past +shrubberied mansions and showy villas, along roads where liveried +carriages, drawn by high-stepping horses, dashed by them, he felt himself +in the presence of the fat man who jingled sovereigns, of the lean man +whose slender fingers reached north to the Peak Downs and south to the +Murray, filching everywhere from the worker's hard-earned wage. When in +the tram they were carried with clanging and jangling through endless +rows of houses great and small, along main thoroughfares on either side +of which crowded side-streets extended like fish-bones, over less crowded +districts where the cottages were generally detached or semi-detached and +where pleasant homely houses were thickly sprinkled, oven here he +wondered how near those who lived in happier state were to the life of +the slum, wondered what struggling and pinching and scraping was going on +behind the half-drawn blinds that made homes look so cosy. + +What started him on this idea particularly was that, in one train, a +grey-bearded propertied-looking man who sat beside him was grumbling to a +spruce little man opposite about the increasing number of empty houses. + +"You can't wonder at it," answered the spruce little man. "When the +working classes aren't prospering everybody feels it but the exporters. +Wages are going down and people are living two families in a house where +they used to live one in a house, or living in smaller houses." + +"Oh! Wages are just as high. There's been too much building. You building +society men have overdone the thing." + +"My dear sir!" declared the spruce little man. "I'm talking from facts. +My society and every other building society is finding it out. When men +can't get as regular work it's the same thing to them as if wages were +coming down. The number of surrenders we have now is something appalling. +Working men have built expecting to be able to pay from 6s. to 10s. and +12s. a week to the building societies, and every year more and more are +finding out they can't do it. As many as can are renting rooms, letting +part of their house and so struggling along. As many more are giving up +and renting these rooms or smaller houses. And apparently well-to-do +people are often in as bad a fix. It's against my interest to have things +this way, but it's so, and there's no getting over it. If it keeps on, +pretty well every workingman's house about Sydney will be a rented house +soon. The building societies can't stop that unless men have regular work +and fair wages." + +"It's the unions that upset trade," asserted the propertied-looking man. + +"It's the land law that's wrong," contended the spruce man. "If all taxes +were put on unimproved land values it would be cheaper to live and there +would be more work because it wouldn't pay to keep land out of use. With +cheap living and plenty of work the workingman would have money and +business would be brisk all round." + +"Nonsense!" exclaimed the propertied man, brusquely. + +"It's so," answered the spruce little man, getting down as the tram +stopped, "There's no getting away from facts and that's fact." + +So even out here, Ned thought, looking at the rows of cottages with +little gardens in front which they were passing, the squeeze was coming. +Then, watching the passengers, he thought how worried they all seemed, +how rarely a pleasant face was to be met with in the dress of the people. +And then, suddenly a shining, swaying, coachman-driven brougham whirled +by. Ned, with his keen bushman's eyes, saw in it a stout heavy-jawed +dame, large of arm and huge of bust, decked out in all the fashion, and +insolent of face as one replete with that which others craved. And by her +side, reclining at ease, was a later edition of the same volume, a girl +of 17 or so, already fleshed and heavy-jawed, in her mimic pride looking +for all the world like a well-fed human animal, careless and soulless. + +Opposite Nellie a thin-faced woman, of whose front teeth had gone, +patiently dandled a peevish baby, while by her side another child +clutched her dingy dust-cloak. This woman's nose was peaked and her chin +receded. In her bonnet some gaudy imitation flowers nodded a vigorous +accompaniment. She did not seem ever to have had pleasure or to have been +young, and yet in the child by her side her patient joyless sordid life +had produced its kind. + +They had some tea and buttered scones in a cheaper cafe, where Nellie +tried to "organise" another waitress. They lingered over the meal, both +moody. They hardly spoke till Ned asked Nellie: + +"I don't see what men can get to do but can't single women always get +servants' places?" + +"Some might who don't, though all women who want work couldn't be +domestic servants, that's plain," answered Nellie. "But by the number of +girls that are always looking for places and the way the registry offices +are able to bleed them, I should imagine there were any amount of servant +girls already. The thing is there are so many girls that mistresses can +afford to be particular. They want a girl with all the virtues to be a +sort of house-slave, and they're always grumbling because they can't get +it. So they're always changing, and the girls are always changing, and +that makes the girls appear independent." + +"But they have good board and lodging, as well as wages, don't they?" + +"In swell houses, where they keep two or three or wore girls, they +usually have good board and decent rooms, I think, but they don't in most +places. Any hole or corner is considered good, enough for a servant girl +to sleep in, and any scraps are often considered good enough for a +servant girl to eat. You look as though you don't believe it, Ned. I'm +talking about what I know. The average domestic servant is treated like a +trained dog." + +"Did you ever try it?" + +"I went to work in a hotel as chamber maid, once. I worked from about six +in the morning till after ten at night. Then four of us girls slept in +two beds in a kind of box under the verandah stairs in the back yard. We +had to leave the window open to get air, and in the middle of the first +night a light woke me up and a man was staring through the window at us +with a match in his hand. I wanted the twelve shillings so I stood it for +a week and, then got another place." + +"What sort was that?" + +"Oh! A respectable place, you know. Kept up appearances and locked up the +butter. The woman said to me, when I'd brought my box, 'I'm going to call +you Mary, I always call my girls Mary.' I slept in a dark close den off +the kitchen, full of cockroaches that frightened the wits out of me. I +was afraid to eat as much as I wanted because she looked at me so. I +couldn't rest a minute but she was hunting me up to see what I was doing. +I hadn't anybody to talk with or eat with and my one night out I had to +be in by ten. I was so miserable that I went back to slop-work. That's +what Mrs. Somerville is doing." + +"It isn't all honey, then. I thought town servant girls had a fair time +of it." + +"An occasional one does, though they all earn their money, but most have +a hard time of it. I don't mean all places are like mine were, but +there's no liberty. A working girl's liberty is scanty enough, goodness +knows"--she spoke scornfully--"but at least she mixes with her own +kind and is on an equality with most she meets. When her work is over, +however long it is, she can do just exactly as she likes until it starts +again. A servant girl hasn't society or that liberty. For my part I'd +rather live on bread again than be at the orders of any woman who +despised me and not be able to call a single minute of time my own. +They're so ignorant, most of these women who have servants, they don't +know how to treat a girl any more than most of their husbands know how to +treat a horse." + +The naive bush simile pleased Ned a little and he laughed, but soon +relapsed again into silence. Then Nellie spoke of "Paddy's Market," one +of the sights of Sydney, which she would like him to see. Accordingly +they strolled to his hotel, where he put on a clean shirt and a collar +and a waistcoat, while she waited, looking into the shops near by; then +they strolled slowly Haymarketwards, amid the thronging Saturday night +crowds that overflowed the George-street pavement into the roadway. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +SATURDAY NIGHT IN PADDY'S MARKET. + +Paddy's Market was in its glory, the weekly glory of a Sydney Saturday +night, of the one day in the week when the poor man's wife has a few +shillings and when the poor caterer for the poor man's wants gleans in +the profit field after the stray ears of corn that escape the +machine-reaping of retail capitalism. It was filled by a crushing, +hustling, pushing mass of humans, some buying, more bartering, most swept +aimlessly along in the living currents that moved ceaselessly to and fro. +In one of these currents Ned found himself caught, with Nellie. He +struggled for a short time, with elbows and shoulders, to make for +himself and her a path through the press; experience soon taught him to +forego attempting the impossible and simply to drift, as everybody else +did, on the stream setting the way they would go. + +He found himself, looking around as he drifted, in a long low arcade, +brilliant with great flaring lights. Above was the sparkle of glass +roofing, on either hand a walling of rough stalls, back and forward a +vista of roofing and stalls stretching through distant arches, which were +gateways, into outer darkness, which was the streets. On the stalls, as +he could see, were thousands of things, all cheap and most nasty. + +What were there? What were not there? Boots and bootlaces, fish and china +ornaments, fruit, old clothes and new clothes, flowers and plants and +lollies, meat and tripe and cheese and butter and bacon! Cheap +music-sheets and cheap jewellery! Stockings and pie-dishes and bottles of +ink! Everything that the common people buy! Anything by which a penny +could be turned by those of small capital and little credit in barter +with those who had less. + +One old man's face transfixed him for a moment, clung to his memory +afterwards, the face of an old man, wan and white, greybearded and +hollow-eyed, that was thrust through some hosiery hanging on a rod at the +back of a stall. Nobody was buying there, nobody even looked to buy as +Ned watched for a minute; the stream swept past and the grizzled face +stared on. It had no body, no hands even, it was as if hung there, a +trunkless head. It was the face of a generation grown old, useless and +unloved, which lived by the crumbs that fall from Demos' table and waited +wearily to be gone. It expressed nothing, that was the pain in it. It was +haggard and grizzled and worn out, that was all. It know itself no good +to anybody, know that labouring was a pain and thinking a weariness, and +hope the delusion of fools, and life a vain mockery. It asked none to +buy. It did not move. It only hung there amid the dark draping of its +poor stock and waited. + +Would he himself ever be like that, Ned wondered. And yet! And yet! + +All around were like this. All! All! All! Everyone in this swarming +multitude of working Sydney. On the faces of all was misery written. +Buyers and sellers and passers-by alike were hateful of life. And if by +chance he saw now and then a fat dame at a stall or a lusty huckster +pushing his wares or a young couple, curious and loving, laughing and +joking as they hustled along arm in arm, he seemed to see on their faces +the dawning lines that in the future would stamp them also with the brand +of despair. + +The women, the poor women, they were most wretched of all; the poor +housewives in their pathetic shabbiness, their faces drawn with +child-bearing, their features shrunken with the struggling toil that +never ceases nor stays; the young girls in their sallow youth that was +not youth, with their hollow mirth and their empty faces, and their sharp +angles or their unnatural busts; the wizened children that served at the +stalls, precocious in infancy, with the wisdom of the Jew and the +impudence of the witless babe; the old crones that crawled along--the +mothers of a nation haggling for pennies as if they had haggled all their +lives long. They bore baskets, most of the girls and housewives and +crones; with some were husbands, who sometimes carried the basket but not +always; some even carried children in their arms, unable even for an hour +to escape the poor housewife's old-man-of-the-seas. + +The men were absorbed, hidden away, in the flood of wearied women. There +were men, of course, in the crowd, among the stallkeepers--hundreds. +And when one noticed them they were wearied also, or sharp like ferrets; +oppressed, overborne, or cunning, with the cunning of those who must be +cunning to live; imbruted often with the brutishness of apathy, +consciousless of the dignity of manhood, only dully patient or viciously +keen as the ox is or the hawk. Many sottish-looking, or if not sottish +with the beery texture of those whose only recreation is to be bestially +merry at the drink-shop. This was the impression in which the few who +strode with the free air of the ideal Australian workman were lost, as +the few comfortable--seeming women were lost in the general weariness +of their weary sex. + +Jollity there was none to speak of. There was an eager huckling for +bargains, or a stolid calculation of values, or a loud commendation of +wares, or an oppressive indifference. Where was the "fair" to which of +old the people swarmed, glad-hearted? Where was even the relaxed caution +of the shopping-day? Where was the gay chaffering, the boisterous +bandying of wit? Gone, all gone, and nothing left but care and sadness +and a careful counting of hard-grudged silver and pence. + +Ned turned his head once or twice to steal a glance at Nellie. He could +not tell what she thought. Her face gave no sign of her feeling. Only it +came home to him that there were none like her there, at least none like +her to him. She was sad with a stern sadness, as she had been all day, +and in that stern sadness of hers was a dignity, a majesty, that he had +not appreciated until now, when she jostled without rudeness in this +jostling crowd. This dark background of submissive yielding, of hopeless +patience, threw into full light the unbending resolution carved in every +line of her passionate face and lithesome figure. Yet he noticed now on +her forehead two faint wrinkles showing, and in the corners of her mouth +an overhanging fold; and this he saw as if reflected in a thousand +ill-made mirrors around, distorted and exaggerated and grotesqued indeed +but nevertheless the self-same marks of constant pain and struggle. + +They reached the end of the first alley and passed out to the pavement, +slippery with trodden mud. There was a little knot gathered there, a +human eddy in the centre of the pressing throng. Looking over the heads +of the loiterers, he could see in the centre of the eddy, on the kerb, by +the light that came from the gateway, a girl whose eyes were closed. She +was of an uncertain age--she might be twelve or seventeen. Beside her +was a younger child. Just then she began to sing. He and Nellie waited. +He knew without being told that the singer was blind. + +It was a hymn she sang, an old-fashioned hymn that has in its music the +glad rhythm of the "revival," the melodious echoing of the Methodist day. +He recollected hearing it long years before, when he went to the +occasional services held in the old bush schoolhouse by some itinerant +preacher. He recalled at once the gathering of the saints at the river; +mechanically he softly hummed the tune. It was hardly the tune the blind +girl sang though. She had little knowledge of tune, apparently. Her +cracked discordant voice was unspeakably saddening. + +This blind girl was the natural sequence to the sphinx-like head that he +had seen amid the black stockings. Her face was large and flat, +youthless, ageless, crowned with an ugly black hat, poorly ribboned; her +hands were clasped clumsily on the skirt of her poor cotton dress, +ill-fitting. There was no expression in her singing, no effort to +express, no instinctive conception of the idea. The people only listened +because she was blind and they were poor, and so they pitied her. The +beautiful river of her hymn meant nothing, to her or to them. It might +be; it might not be; it was not in question. She cried to them that she +was blind and that the blind poor must eat if they would live and that +they desire to live despite the city by-laws. She begged, this blind +girl, standing with rent shoes in the sloppy mud. In Sydney, in 1889, in +the workingman's paradise, she stood on the kerb, this blind girl, and +begged--begged from her own people. And in their poverty, their +weariness, their brutishness, they pitied her. None mocked, and many +paused, and some gave. + +They never thought of her being an impostor. They did not pass her on to +the hateful charity that paid parasites dole out for the rich. They did +not think that she made a fortune out of her pitifulness and hunt her +with canting harshness as a nuisance and a cheat. Her harsh voice did not +jar on them. Her discords did not shock their supersensitive ears. They +only knew that they, blinded in her stead, must beg for bread and shelter +while good Christians glut themselves and while fat law-makers whitewash +the unpleasant from the sight of the well-to-do. In her helplessness they +saw, unknowing it, their own helplessness, saw in her Humanity wronged +and suffering and in need. Those who gave gave to themselves, gave as an +impulsive offering to the divine impulse which drives the weak together +and aids them to survive. + +Ned wanted to give the blind girl something but he felt ashamed to give +before Nellie. He fingered a half-crown in his pocket, with a bushman's +careless generosity. By skilful manoeuvring and convenient yielding to +the pressure of the crowd he managed to get near the blind girl as she +finished her hymn. Nellie turned round, looking away--he thought +afterwards: was it intentionally?--and he slipped his offering into the +singer' fingers like a culprit. Then he walked off hastily with his +companion, as red and confused as though he had committed some dastardly +act. Just as they reached the second arcade they heard another discordant +hymn rise amid the shuffling din. + +There were no street-walkers in Paddy's Market, Ned could see. He had +caught his foot clumsily on the dress of one above the town-hall, a +dashing demi-mondaine with rouged cheeks and unnaturally bright eyes and +a huge velvet-covered hat of the Gainsborough shape and had been covered +with confusion when she turned sharply round on him with a "Now, clumsy, +I'm not a door-mat." Then he had noticed that the sad sisterhood were out +in force where the bright gas-jets of the better-class shops illuminated +the pavement, swaggering it mostly where the kerbs were lined with young +fellows, fairly-well dressed as a rule, who talked of cricket and race +horses and boating and made audible remarks concerning the women, grave +and gay, who passed by in the throng. Nearing the poorer end of +George-street, they seemed to disappear, both sisterhood and kerb +loungers, until near the Haymarket itself they found the larrikin element +gathered strongly under the flaring lights of hotel-bars and music hall +entrances. But in Paddy's Market itself there were not even larrikins. +Ned did not even notice anybody drunk. + +He had seen drinking and drunkenness enough that day. Wherever there was +poverty he had seen viciousness flourishing. Wherever there was despair +there was a drowning of sorrow in drink. They had passed scores of public +houses, that afternoon, through the doors of which workmen were +thronging. Coming along George street, they had heard from more than one +bar-room the howling of a drunken chorus. Men had staggered by them, and +women too, frowsy and besotted. But there was none of this in Paddy's +Market. It was a serious place, these long dingy arcades, to which people +came to buy cheaply and carefully, people to whom every penny was of +value and who had none to throw away, just then at least, either on a +brain-turning carouse or on a painted courtesan. The people here were sad +and sober and sorrowful. It seemed to Ned that here was collected, as in +the centre of a great vortex, all the pained and tired and ill-fed and +wretched faces that he had been seeing all day. The accumulation of +misery pressed on him till it sickened him at the heart. It felt as +though something clutched at his throat, as though by some mechanical +means his skull was being tightened on his brain. His thoughts were +interrupted by an exclamation from Nellie. + +"There's a friend of mine," she explained, making her way through the +crowd to a brown-bearded man who was seated on the edge of an empty +stall, apparently guarding a large empty basket in which were some white +cloths. The man's features were fine and his forehead massive, his face +indicating a frail constitution and strong intellectuality. He wore an +apron rolled up round his waist. He seemed very poor. + +"How d'ye do, Miss Lawton?" said he getting off the stall and shaking +hands warmly. "It's quite an age since I saw you. You're looking as well +as ever." Ned saw that his thin face beamed as he spoke and that his dark +brown eyes, though somewhat hectic, wore singularly beautiful. + +"I'm well, thanks," said Nellie, beaming in return. "And how are you? You +seem browner than you did. What have you been doing to yourself?" + +"Me! I've been up the country a piece trying my hand at farming. Jones is +taking up a selection, you know, and I've been helping him a little now +times aren't very brisk. I'm keeping fairly well, very fairly, I'm glad +to say." + +"This is Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Sim," introduced Nellie; the men shook hands. + +"Come inside out of the rush," invited Sim, making room for them in the +entrance-way of the stall. "We haven't got any armchairs, but it's not so +bad up on the table here if you're tired." + +"I'm not tired," said Nellie, leaning against the doorway. Ned sat up on +the stall by her side; his feet were sore, unused to the hard paved city +streets. + +"I suppose Mr. Hawkins is one of us," said Sim, perching himself up +again. + +"I don't know what you call 'one of us,'" answered Nellie, with a smile. +"He's a beginner. Some day he may get as far as you and Jones and the +rest of the dynamiters." + +Sim laughed genially. "Do you know, I really believe that Jones would use +dynamite if he got an opportunity," he commented. "I'm not joking. I'm +positively convinced of it." + +"Has he got it as bad as that?" asked Nellie. Ned began to feel +interested. He also noticed that Sim used book-words. + +"Has he got it as bad as that! 'Bad' isn't any name for it. He's the +stubbornest man I over met, and he's full of the most furious hatred +against the capitalists. He has it as a personal feeling. Then the life +he's got is sufficient to drive a man mad." + +"Selecting is pretty hard," agreed Nellie, sadly. + +"Nellie and I know a little about that, Mr. Sim," said Ned. + +"Well, Jones' selection is a hard one," went on Sim, goodhumouredly. "I +prefer to sell trotters, when I sell out like this, to attempting it. The +soil is all stones, and there is not a drop of water when the least +drought comes on. Poor Jones toils like a team of horses and hardly gets +sufficient to keep him alive. I never saw a man work as he does. For a +man who thinks and has ideas to be buried like that in the bush is +terrible. He has no one to converse with. He goes mooning about sometimes +and muttering to himself enough to frighten one into a fit." + +"Does he still do any printing?" asked Nellie, archly. + +"Oh, the printing," answered Sim, laughing again. "He initiated me into +the art of wood-engraving. You see, Mr. Hawkins"--turning to Ned-- +"Jones hasn't got any type, and of course he can't afford to buy it, but +he's got hold of a little second-hand toy printing press. To print from +he takes a piece, of wood, cut across the grain and rubbed smooth with +sand, and cuts out of it the most revolutionary and blood-curdling +leaflets, letter by letter. If you only have patience it's quite easy +after a few weeks' practice." + +"Does he print them?" asked Ned + +"Print them! I should say he did. Every old scrap of paper he can collect +or got sent him he prints his leaflets on and gets them distributed all +over the country. Many a night I've sat up assisting with the pottering +little press. Talk about Nihilism! Jones vows that there is only one way +to cure things and that is to destroy the rule of Force." + +"He's along while starting," remarked Nellie with a slight sneer. "Those +people who talk so much never do anything." + +"Oh, Jones isn't like that," answered Sim, with cheerful confidence. +"He'll do anything that he thinks is worth while. But I suppose I'm +horrifying you, Mr. Hawkins? Miss Lawton here knows what we are and is +accustomed to our talk." + +"It'll take considerable to horrify me," replied Ned, standing down as +Nellie straightened herself out for a move-on. "You can blow the whole +world to pieces for all I care. There's not much worth watching in it as +far as I can see." + +"You're pretty well an anarchist," said the brown-bearded trotter-seller, +his kindly intellectual face lighted up. "It'll come some day, that's one +satisfaction. Do you think that many here will regret it?" He waved his +hand to include the crowd that moved to and fro before them, its voices +covered with the din of its dragging feet. + +"That'll do, Sim!" said Nellie. "Don't stuff Ned's head with those absurd +anarchisticall night-mares of yours. We're going; we've got somewhere to +go. Good-bye! Tell Jones you saw me when you write, and remember me to +him, will you? I like him--he's so good-hearted, though he does rave." + +"He's as good-hearted a man as there is in New South Wales," corroborated +Sim, shaking hands. "I'm expecting to meet a friend--here or I'd stroll +along. Good-bye! Glad to have met you, Mr. Hawkins." + +He re-mounted the stall again as they moved off. In another minute he was +lost to their sight as they were swallowed up once more in the living +tide that ebbed and flowed through Paddy's Market. + +After that Ned did not notice much, so absorbed was he. He vaguely knew +that they drifted along another arcade and then crossed a street to an +open cobble-paved space where there were shooting-tunnels and +merry-go-rounds and try-your-weights and see-how-much-you-lifts. He +looked dazedly at wizen-faced lads who gathered round ice-cream stalls, +and at hungry folks who ate stewed peas. Everything seemed grimy and +frayed and sordid; the flaring torches smelt of oil; those who shot, or +ate, or rode, by spending a penny, were the envied of standers-by. Amid +all this drumming and hawking and flaring of lights were swarms of boys +and growing girls, precocious and vicious and foul-tongued. + +Ten o'clock struck. "For God's sake, let us get out of this, Nellie!" +cried Ned, as the ringing bell-notes roused him. + +"Have you had enough of Sydney?" she asked, leading the way out. + +"I've had enough of every place," he answered hotly. She did not say any +more. + +As they stood in George-street, waiting for their 'bus, a high-heeled, +tightly-corsetted, gaily-hatted larrikiness flounced out of the side door +of a hotel near by. A couple of larrikin acquaintances were standing +there, shrivelled young men in high-heeled pointed-toed shoes, belled +trousers, gaudy neckties and round soft hats tipped over the left ear. + +"Hello, you blokes!" cried the larrikiness, slapping one on the shoulder. +"Isn't this a blank of a time you're having?" + +It was her ideal of pleasure, hers and theirs, to parade the street or +stand in it, to gape or be gaped at. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +WERE THEY CONSPIRATORS? + +Neither Ned nor Nellie spoke as they journeyed down George street in the +rumbling 'bus. "I've got tickets," was all she said as they entered the +ferry shed at the Circular Quay. They climbed to the upper deck of the +ferry boat in silence. He got up when she did and went ashore by her side +without a word. He did not notice the glittering lights that encircled +the murky night. He did not even know if it were wet or fine, or whether +the moon shone or not. He was in a daze. The horrors of living stunned +him. The miseries of poor Humanity choked him. The foul air of these +noisome streets sickened him. The wretched faces he had seen haunted him. +The oaths of the gutter children and the wailing of the blind beggar-girl +seemed to mingle in a shriek that shook his very soul. + +If he could have persuaded himself that the bush had none of this, it +would have been different. But he could not. The stench of the stifling +shearing-sheds and of the crowded sleeping huts where men are packed in +rows like trucked sheep came to him with the sickening smell of the +slums. On the faces of men in the bush he had seen again and again that +hopeless look as of goaded oxen straining through a mud-hole, that utter +degradation, that humble plea for charity. He had known them in Western +Queensland often in spite of all that was said of the free, brave bush. +It was not new to him, this dark side of life; that was the worst of it. +It had been all along and he had known that it had been, but never before +had he understood the significance of it, never before had he realised +how utterly civilisation has failed. And this was what crushed him--the +hopelessness of it all, the black despair that seemed to fill the +universe, the brutal weariness of living, the ceaseless round of sorrow +and sin and shame and unspeakable misery. + +Often in the bush it had come to him, lying sleepless at night under the +star-lit sky, all alone excepting for the tinkling of his horse-bell: +"What is to be the end for me? What is there to look forward to?" And his +heart had sunk within him at the prospect. For what was in front? What +could be? Shearing and waiting for shearing--that was his life. Working +over the sweating sheep under the hot iron shed in the sweltering summer +time; growing sick and losing weight and bickering with the squatter till +the few working months wore over; then an occasional job, but mostly +enforced idling till the season came round again; looking for work from +shed to shed; struggling against conditions; agitating; organising; and +in the future years, aged too soon, wifeless and childless, racked with +rheumatism, shaken with fevers, to lie down to die on the open plain +perchance or crawl, feebled and humbled, to the State-charity of Dunwich. +He used to shut his eyes to force such thoughts from him, fearing lest he +go mad, as were those travelling swagmen he met sometimes, who muttered +always to themselves and made frantic gestures as they journeyed, +solitary, through the monotonous wilderness. He had flung himself into +unionism because there was nothing else that promised help or hope and +because he hated the squatters, who took, as he looked at it, +contemptible advantage of the bushmen. And he had felt that with unionism +men grew better and heartier, gambling less and debating more, drinking +less and planning what the union would do when it grew strong enough. He +had worked for the union before it came, had been one of those who +preached it from shed to shed and argued for it by smouldering camp fires +before turning in. And he had seen the union feeling spread until the +whole Western country throbbed with it and until the union itself started +into life at the last attempt of the squatter to force down wages and was +extending itself now as fast as even he could wish to see it. "We only +want what is fair," he had told Nellie; "we're not going in for anything +wild. So long as we get a pound a hundred and rations at a fair figure +we're satisfied." And Nellie had shown him things which had struck him +dumb and broken through the veneer of satisfaction that of late had +covered over his old doubts and fears. + +"What is to be the end for me?" he used to think, then force himself not +to think in terror. Now, he himself seemed so insignificant, the union he +loved so seemed so insignificant, he was only conscious for the time +being of the agony of the world at large, which dulled him with the +reflex of its pain. Oh, these puny foul-tongued children! Oh, these +haggard weary women! Oh, these hopeless imbruted men! Oh, these young +girls steeped in viciousness, these awful streets, this hateful life, +this hell of Sydney. And beyond it--hell, still hell. Ah, he knew it +now, unconsciously, as in a swoon one hears voices. The sorrow of it all! +The hatefulness of it all! The weariness of it all! Why do we live? +Wherefore? For what end, what aim? The selector, the digger, the bushman, +as the townman, what has life for them? It is in Australia as all over +the world. Wrong triumphs. Life is a mockery. God is not. At least, so it +came gradually to Ned as he walked silently by Nellie's side. + +They had turned down a tree-screened side road, descending again towards +the harbour. Nellie stopped short at an iron gate, set in a hedge of some +kind. A tree spanned the gateway with its branches, making the gloomy +night still darker. The click of the latch roused her companion. + +"Do you think it's any good living?" he asked her. + +She did not answer for a moment or two, pausing in the gateway. A break +in the western sky showed a grey cloud faintly tinged with silver. She +looked fixedly up at it and Ned, his eyes becoming accustomed to the +gloom, thought he saw her face working convulsively. But before he could +speak again, she turned round sharply and answered, without a tremor in +her voice: + +"I suppose that's a question everybody must answer for themselves." + +"Well, do you?" + +"For myself, yes." + +"For others, too?" + +"For most others, no." The intense bitterness of her tone stamped her +words into his brain. + +"Then why for you any more than anybody else?" + +"I'll tell you after. We must go in. Be careful! You'd better give me +your hand!" + +She led the way along a short paved path, down three or four stone steps, +then turned sharply along a small narrow verandah. At the end of the +verandah was a door. Nellie felt in the darkness for the bell-button and +gave two sharp rings. + +"Where are you taking me, Nellie?" he asked. "This is too swell a place +for me. It looks as though everybody was gone to bed." + +In truth he was beginning to think of secret societies and mysterious +midnight meetings. Only Nellie had not mentioned anything of the kind and +he felt ashamed of acknowledging his suspicions by enquiring, in case it +should turn out to be otherwise. Besides, what did it matter? There was +no secret society which he was not ready to join if Nellie was in it, for +Nellie knew more about such things than he did. It was exactly the place +for meetings, he thought, looking round. Nobody would have dreamt that it +was only half an hour ago that they two had left Paddy's Market. Here was +the scent of damp earth and green trees and heavily perfumed flowers; the +rustling of leaves; the fresh breath of the salt ocean. In the darkness, +he could see only a semi-circling mass of foliage under the sombre sky, +no other houses nor sign of such. He could not even hear the rumbling of +the Sydney streets nor the hoarse whispering of the crowded city; not +even a single footfall on the road they had come down. For the faint +lap-lap-lapping of water filled the pauses, when the puffy breeze failed +to play on its leafy pipes. Here a Mazzini might hide himself and here +the malcontents of Sydney might gather in safety to plot and plan for the +overthrow of a hateful and hated "law and order." So he thought. + +"Oh, they're not gone to bed," replied Nellie, confidently. "They live at +the back. It overlooks the harbour that side. And you'll soon see they're +not as swell as they look. They're splendid people. Don't be afraid to +say just what you think." + +"I'm not afraid of that, if you're not." + +"Ah, there's someone." + +An inside door opened and closed again, then they heard a heavy footstep +coming, which paused for a moment, whereat a flood of colour streamed +through a stained glass fanlight over the door. + +"That's Mr. Stratton," announced Nellie. + +Next moment the door at which they stood was opened by a bearded man, +wearing loose grey coat and slippers. + +"Hello, Nellie!" exclaimed this possible conspirator, opening the door +wide. "Connie said it was your ring. Come straight in, both of you. Good +evening, sir. Nellie's friends are our friends and we've heard so much of +Ned Hawkins that we seem to have known you a long while." He held out his +hand and shook Ned's warmly, giving a strong, clinging, friendly grip, +not waiting for any introduction. "Of course, this is Mr. Hawkins, +Nellie?" he enquired, seriously, turning to that young woman, whose hands +he took in both of his while looking quizzingly from Ned to her and back +to Ned again. + +"Yes, of course," she answered, laughing. Ned laughed. The possible +conspirator laughed as he answered, dropping her hands and turning to +shut the door. + +"Well, it mightn't have been. By the way, Nellie, you must have sent an +astral warning that you were coming along. We were just talking about +you." + +* * * * * + +They had been discussing Nellie in the Stratton circle, as our best +friends will when we are so fortunate as to interest them. + +In the pretty sitting-room that overlooked the rippling water, Mrs. +Stratton perched on the music stool, was giving, amid many interjections, +an animated account of the opera: a dark-haired, grey-eyed, full-lipped +woman of 30 or so, with decidedly large nose and broad rounded forehead, +somewhat under the medium height apparently but pleasingly plump as her +evening dress disclosed. She talked rapidly, in a sweet expressive voice +that had a strange charm. Her audience consisted of an ugly little man, +with greyish hair, who stood at a bookcase in the corner and made his +remarks over his shoulder; a gloomy young man, who sat in a reclining +chair, with his arm hanging listlessly by his side; and a tall +dark-moustached handsome man, broadly built, who sat on the edge of a +table smoking a wooden pipe, and who, from his observations, had +evidently accompanied her home from the theatre after the second act. +There was also her husband, who leant over her, his back turned to the +others, unhooking her fur-edged opera cloak, a tall fair brown bearded +man, evidently the elder by some years, whose blue eyes were half hidden +beneath a strongly projected forehead. He fumbled with the hooks of the +cloak, passing his hands beneath it, smiling slyly at her the while. She, +flushing like a girl at the touch, talked away while pressing her knee +responsively against his. It was a little love scene being enacted of +which the others were all unconscious unless for a general impression +that this long-married couple were as foolishly in love as ever and +indulged still in all the mild raptures of lovers. + +"Ever so much obliged," she said, pausing in her talk and looking at him +at last, as he drew the cloak from her shoulders. + +"You should be," he responded, straightening himself out. "It's quite a +labour unhooking one of you fine ladies." + +"Don't call me names, Harry, or I'll get somebody else to take it off +next time. I'm afraid it's love's labour lost. It's quite chilly, and I +think I'll wrap it round me." + +"Well, if you will go about half undressed," he commented, putting the +cloak round her again. + +"Half undressed! You are silly. The worst of this room is there's no fire +in it. I think one needs a fire even in summer time, when it's damp, to +take the chill off. Besides, as Nellie says, a blazing fire is the most +beautiful picture you can put in a room." + +"Isn't Nellie coming to-night?" asked the man who smoked the wooden pipe. + +"Why, of course, Ford. Haven't I told you she said on Thursday that she +would come and bring the wild untamed bushman with her? Nellie always +keeps her word." + +"She's a wonderful girl," remarked Ford. + +"Wonderful? Why wonderful is no name for it," declared Stratton, lighting +a cigar at one of the piano candles. "She is extraordinary." + +"I tell Nellie, sometimes, that I shall get jealous of her, Harry gets +quite excited over her virtues, and thinks she has no faults, while poor +I am continually offending the consistencies." + +"Who is Nellie?" enquired the ugly little man, turning round suddenly +from the book case which he had been industriously ransacking. + +"I like Geisner," observed Mrs. Stratton, pointing at the little man. "He +sees everything, he hears everything, he makes himself at home, and when +he wants to know anything he asks a straightforward question. I think +you've met her, though, Geisner." + +"Perhaps. What is her other name?" + +"Lawton--Nellie Lawton. She came here once or twice when you were here +before, I think, and for the last year or so she's been our--our-- +what do you call it, Harry? You know--the thing that South Sea +Islanders think is the soul of a chief." + +"You're ahead of me, Connie. But it doesn't matter; go on." + +"There's nothing to go on about. You ought to recollect her, Geisner. I'm +sure you met her here." + +"I think I do. Wasn't she a tall, between-colours girl, quite young, with +a sad face and queer stern mouth--a trifle cruel, the mouth, if I +recollect. She used to sit across there by the piano, in a plain black +dress, and no colour at all except one of your roses." + +"Good gracious! What a memory! Have you got us all ticketed away like +that?" + +"It's habit," pleaded Geisner. "She didn't say anything, and only that +she had a strong face, I shouldn't have noticed her. Has she developed?" + +"Something extraordinary," struck in Stratton, puffing great clouds of +smoke. "She speaks French, she reads music, she writes uncommonly good +English, and in some incomprehensible way she has formed her own ideas of +Art. Not bad for a dress-making girl who lives in a Sydney back street +and sometimes works sixteen hours a day, is it?" + +"Well, no. Only you must recollect, Stratton, that if she's been in your +place pretty often, most of the people she meets here must have given her +a wrinkle or two." + +"You're always in opposition, Geisner," declared Mrs. Stratton. "I never +heard you agree with anybody else's statement yet. Nellie is wonderful. +You can't shake our faith in that. There is but one Womanity and Nellie +is its prophet." + +"It's all right about her getting wrinkles here, Geisner," contributed +Ford, "for of course she has. It was what made her, Mrs. Stratton getting +hold of her. But at the same time she is extraordinary. When she's been +stirred up I've beard her tackle the best of the men who come here and +down them. On their own ground too. I don't see how on earth she has +managed to do it in the time. She's only twenty now." + +"I'll tell you, if you'll light the little gas stove for me, Ford, and +put the kettle on," said Mrs. Stratton, drawing her cloak more tightly +round her shoulders. "I know some of you men don't believe it, but it is +the truth nevertheless that Feeling is higher than Reason. Isn't it +chilly? You see, after all, you can only reason as to why you feel. Well, +Nellie feels. She is an artist. She has got a soul." + +"What do you call an artist?" queried Geisner, partly for the sake of the +argument, partly to see the little woman flare up. + +"An artist is one who feels--that's all. Some people can fashion an +image in wood or stone, or clay, or paint, or ink, and then they imagine +that they are the only artists, when in reality three-quarters of them +aren't artists at all but the most miserable mimics and imitators-- +highly trained monkeys, you know. Nellie is an artist. She can understand +dumb animals and hear music in the wind and the waves, and all sorts of +things. And to her the world is one living thing, and she can enjoy its +joys and worry over its sorrows, and she understands more than most why +people act as they do because she feels enough to put herself in their +place. She is such an artist that she not only feels herself but impels +those she meets to feel. Besides, she has a freshness that is rare +nowadays. I'm very fond of Nellie." + +"Evidently," said Geisner; "I've got quite interested. Is she dressmaking +still?" + +"Yes; I wanted her to come and live with us but she wouldn't. Then Harry +got her a better situation in one of the government departments. You know +how those things are fixed. But she wouldn't have it. You see she is +trying to get the girls into unions." + +"Then she is in the movement?" asked Geisner, looking up quickly. + +Mrs. Stratton lifted her eye-brows. "In the movement! Why, haven't you +understood? My dear Geisner, here we've been talking for fifteen minutes +and--there's Nellie's ring. Harry, go and open the door while I pour +the coffee." + +The opera cloak dropped from her bare shoulders as she rose from the +stool. She had fine shoulders, and altogether was of fashionable +appearance, excepting that there was about her the impalpable, but none +the less pronounced, air of the woman who associates with men as a +comrade. As she crossed the room to the verandah she stopped beside the +gloomy young man, who had said nothing. He looked up at her +affectionately. + +"You are wrong to worry," she said, softly. "Besides, it makes you bad +company. You haven't spoken to a soul since we came in. For a punishment +come and cut the lemon." + +They went out on to the verandah together, her hand resting on his arm. +There, on a broad shelf, a kettle of water was already boiling over a gas +stove. + +"What are you thinking of," she chattered. "We shall have some more of +your ferocious poetry, I suppose. I notice that about you, Arty. Whenever +you get into your blue fits you always pour out blood and thunder verses. +The bluer you are the more volcanic you get. When you have it really bad +you simply breathe dynamite, barricades, brimstone, everything that is +emphatic. What is it this time?" + +He laughed. "Why won't you let a man stay blue when he feels like it?" + +She did not seem to think an answer necessary, either to his question or +her own. "Have you a match?" she went on. "Ah! There is one thing in +which a man is superior to woman. He can generally get a light without +running all over the house. That is so useful of him. It's his one good +point. I can't imagine how any woman can tolerate a man who doesn't +smoke. I suppose one gets used to it, though." + +He laughed again, turning up the gas-jet he had lighted, which flickered +in the puffs of wind that came off the water below. "I could tell you a +good story about that." + +"That is what I like, a good story. Gas is a nuisance. I wish we had +electric lights. Sydney only wants two things to be perfect, never to +rain and moonlight all the time. Why I declare! If there aren't Hero and +Leander! Well, of all the spooniest, unsociable, selfish people, you two +are the worst. You haven't even had the kindness to let us know you were +in all the time, and you actually see Arty and me toiling away at the +coffee without offering to help. I've given you up long ago, Josie, but I +did expect better things of you, George." + +While she had been speaking, pouring the boiling water into the +coffee-pot meanwhile, Arty cutting lemons into slices, the two lovers +discovered by the flickering gaslight got out of a hammock slung across +the end of the verandah and came forward. + +"You seemed to be getting along so well we didn't like to disturb you, +Mrs. Stratton," explained George, shaking hands. He was bronzed and +bright-eyed, not handsome but strong and kindly-looking; he had a kindly +voice, too; he wore a white flannel boating costume under a dark cloth +coat. Josie, also wore a sailor dress of dark blue with loose white +collar and vest; a scarlet wrap covered her short curly hair; her skin +was milkwhite and her features small and irregular. Josie and Connie +could never be mistaken for anything but sisters, in spite of the eleven +years between them. Only Josie was pretty and plastic and passionless, +and Connie was not pretty nor plastic nor passionless. They were the +contrast one sees so often in children kin-born of the summer and autumn +of life. + +"Don't tell me!" said Mrs. Stratton. "I know all about that." + +"Connie knows," said Josie, putting her arms over her sister's shoulders +--the younger was the taller--and drawing her face back. "Do you know, +Arty, I daren't go into a room in a house I know without knocking. The +lady has been married twelve years and when her husband is away he writes +to her every day, and though they have quite big children they send them +to bed and sit for hours in the same chair, billing and cooing. I've +known them--" + +"I wonder who they can be," interrupted Mrs. Stratton, twisting herself +free, her face as red as Josie's shawl. "There's Nellie's voice. They'll +be wondering what we're doing here. Do come along!" And seizing a tray of +cups and saucers, on which she had placed the coffeepot and the saucer of +sliced lemon, she beat a dignified retreat amid uproarious laughter. + +* * * * * + +Ned found himself in a narrow hall that ran along the side of the house +at right angles to the verandah and the road. The floor was covered with +oil-cloth; the walls were hung with curios, South Sea spears and masks, +Japanese armour, boomerangs, nullahs, a multitude of quaint workings in +wood and grass and beads. Against the wall facing the door was an +umbrella stand and hat rack of polished wood, with a mirror in the +centre. There were two pannelled doors to the left; a doorless stairway, +leading downwards, and a large window to the right; at the end of the +passage a glazed door, with coloured panes. A gas jet burned in a frosted +globe and seeing him look at this Stratton explained the contrivance for +turning the light down to a mere dot which gave no gleam but could be +turned up again in a second. + +"My wife is enthusiastic about household invention," he concluded, +smiling. "She thinks it assists in righting women's wrongs. Eh, Nellie? +The freed and victorious female will put her foot on abject man some day? +Eh?" + +Nellie laughed again. She held the handle of the nearest door in one +hand. Mr. Stratton had turned to take Ned's hat, apologising for +neglecting to think of that before. Ned saw the girl's other hand move +quickly up to where the gas bracket met the wall and then the light went +out altogether. "That's for poking fun," he heard her say. The door +slammed, a key turned in it and he heard her laughing on the other side. + +"Larrikin!" shouted Stratton, boisterously. "Come out here and see what +we'll do to you. She's always up to her tricks," he added, striking a +match and turning the gas on again. "She is a fine girl. We are as fond +of her as though she were one of the family. She is one of the family, +for that matter." + +Ned hardly believed his ears or his eyes, either. He had not seen Nellie +like this before. She had been grave and rather stern. Only at the gate +he had thought he detected in her voice a bitterness which answered well +to his own bitter heartache; he had thought he saw on her face the +convulsive suppression of intense emotion. Certainly this very day she +had shown him the horrors of Sydney and taught him, as if by magic, the +misery of living. Now, she laughed lightly and played a trick with the +quickness of a thoughtless school girl. Besides, how did it happen that +she was so at home in this house of well-to-do people, and so familiar +with this man of a cultured class? Ned did not express his thoughts in +such phrases of course, but that was the effect of them. He had laughed, +but he was still sad and sick at heart and somehow these pleasantries +jarred on him. It looked as if there were some secret understanding +certainly, some bond that he could not distinguish, between the girl of +the people and this courteous gentleman. Nellie had told him simply that +the Strattons were "interested in the Labour movement" and were very +nice, but Stratton spoke of her as "one of the family" and she turned out +his gas and locked one of his own doors in his face. If it was a secret +society, well and good, no matter how desperate its plan. But why did +they laugh and joke and play tricks? He was not in the humour. For the +time his soul abhorred what seemed to him frippery. He sought intuitively +to find relief in action and he began impatiently to look for it here. + +"Hurry, Nellie!" cried Stratton. "Coffee's nearly ready." + +"You won't touch me?" answered her merry voice. + +"No, we'll forgive you this once, but look out for the next time." + +She opened the door forthwith and stepped out quickly. Ned caught a +glimpse of a large bedroom through the doorway. She had taken off her hat +and gloves and smoothed the hair that lay on her neck in a heavy plait. +At the collar of the plain black dress that fell to her feet over the +curving lines of her supple figure she had placed a red rose, half blown. +She was tall and straight and graceful, more than beautiful in her strong +fresh womanhood, as much at home in such a house as this as in the +wretched room where he had watched her sewing slop-clothes that morning. +His aching heart went out towards her in a burst of unspoken feeling +which he did not know at the time to be Love. + +"Mrs. Stratton always puts a flower for me. She loves roses." So she said +to Ned, seeing him looking astonishedly at her. Then she slipped one hand +inside the arm that Stratton bent towards her, and took hold of Ned's arm +with the other. Stratton turned down the gas. Linked thus together the +three went cautiously down the dim passage hall-way, towards the glass +door through one side of which coloured light came. + +"Anybody particular here?" asked Nellie. + +"That's a nice question," retorted Stratton. "Geisner is here, if you +call him 'anybody particular.'" + +"Geisner! Is he back again?" exclaimed the girl. Ned felt her hand clutch +him nervously. A sudden repulsion to this Geisner shot through him. He +pulled his arm from her grasp. + +They had reached the end of the passage, however, and she did not notice. +Stratton turned the handle and opened the door, held back the half-drawn +curtain that hung on the further side and they passed in. "Here we are," +he cried. "Geisner says he recollects you, Nellie." + +Ned could have described the room to the details if he had been struck +blind that minute. It was a double room, long and low and not very broad, +running the whole width of the house, for there were windows on two sides +and French lights on another. The glazed door opened in the corner of the +windowless side. Opposite were the French lights, the further one swung +ajar and showing a lighted verandah beyond from which came a flutter of +voices. Beyond still were dim points of light that he took at first for +stars. Folding doors, now swung right back, divided the long +linoleum-floored room into two apartments, a studio and a sitting-room. +The studio in which they stood was littered with things strange to him; +an easel, bearing a half-finished drawing; a black-polished cabinet; a +table-desk against the window, on it slips of paper thrown carelessly +about, the ink-well open, a file full of letters, a handful of +cigarettes, a tray of tobacco ash, a bespattered palette, pens, coloured +crayons, a medley of things; a revolving office chair with a worn crimson +footrug before it; a many-shelved glass case against the blank wall, +crammed to overflowing with shells and coral and strange grasses, with +specimens of ore, with Chinese carvings, with curious lacquer-work; a +large brass-bound portfolio stand; on the painted walls plaster-casts of +hands and arms and feet, boxing gloves, fencing foils, a glaring tiger's +head, a group of photographs; in the corner, a suit of antique armour +stood sentinel over a heap of dumb-bells and Indian clubs. + +In the sitting room beyond the folded doors, a soft coloured rug carpet +lay loosely on the floor. There were easy chairs there and a red lounge +that promised softness; a square cloth-covered table; a whatnot in the +corner; fancy shelves; a pretty walnut-wood piano, gilt lined, the cover +thrown back, laden with music; on the music-stool a woman's cloak was +lying, on the piano a woman's cap. A great book-case reached from ceiling +to floor, filled with books, its shelves fringed with some scalloped red +stuff. Everywhere were nick-nacks in china, in glass, in terra-cotta, in +carved woods, in ivory; photo frames; medallions. On the walls, bright +with striped hangings, were some dainty pictures. Half concealed by the +hangings was another door. Lying about on the table, here and there on +low shelves, were more books. The ground-glass globes of the gaslights +were covered with crimson shades. There was a subdued blaze of vivid +colouring, of rich toned hues, of beautiful things loved and cherished, +over all. Sitting on the edge of the table was the moustached man who +smoked the wooden pipe. And turning round from the book-case, an open +book in his hand, was the ugly little man. Ned felt that this was +Geisner. + +The ugly little man put down his book, and came forward holding out his +hand. He smiled as he came. Ned was angered to see that when he smiled +his face became wonderfully pleasant. + +"Yes; I think we know one another, Miss Lawton," he said, meeting them on +the uncarpeted floor. + +"I am so glad you are here to-night," she replied, greeting him warmly, +almost effusively. "I recollect you so well. And Ned will know you, too +--Mr. Geisner, Mr. Hawkins." Ned felt his reluctantly extended hand +enclosed in a strong friendly clasp. + +"Hawkins is the Queenslander we were expecting," said Stratton +cheerfully. "You will excuse my familiarity, won't you?" he added, laying +his hand on Ned's shoulder. "We don't 'Mister' our friends much here. I +think it sounds cold and distant; don't you?" + +"We don't 'Mister' much where I come from," answered Ned. He felt at home +already. The atmosphere of kindness in this place stole over him and +prevented him thinking that it was too "swell" for him. + +"I don't know Queensland much----," Geisner was beginning, when the +farther verandah door was swung wide and the dark-haired little woman +swept in, tray in hand, the train of her dress trailing behind her. + +"I heard you, Nellie dear," she cried. "That unfeeling Josie was saying +the cruellest things to me. I feel as red as red." Putting the tray down +on the table she hurried to them, threw her plump bare arms round +Nellie's neck and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. Then she drew back +quickly and raised her finger threateningly. "Worrying again, Nellie, I +can tell. My word! What with you and what with Arty I'm made thoroughly +wretched. You mayn't think so to look at me, Mr. Hawkins," she rattled +on, holding out her hand to Ned; "but it is so. You see I know you. I +heard Nellie introducing you. That husband of mine must leave all +conventionalism to his guests, it seems. You're incorrigible, Harry." + +There was a welcome in her every word and look. She put him on a friendly +footing at once. + +"You have enough conventionalism to-night for us both, my fine lady," +twitted Stratton, pinching her arm. + +"Stop that! Stop, this minute! Nellie, hit him for me. Mr. Hawkins, this +is Bohemia. You do as you like. You say what you like. You are welcome +to-night for Nellie's sake. You will be welcome always because I like +your looks. I do, Harry, so there. And I'm going to call you Ned because +Nellie always does. Oh! I forgot--Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Ford. Mr. Ford +thinks he can cartoon. I don't know what you think you can do. And now, +everybody, come to coffee." + +The others came in from the verandah, still laughing, whereat Mrs. +Stratton flushed red again and denounced Josie and George for hiding +away, then introduced them and Arty to Ned. There was a babel of +conversation for awhile, Josie and George talking of their boating, +Connie and Ford of the opera, Stratton and Arty of a picture they had +seen that evening. Geisner sat by Ned and Nellie, the three chatting of +the beauty of Sydney harbour, the little man waxing indignant at the +vandalism which the naval authorities were perpetrating on Garden Island. +Mrs. Stratton, all the time, attended energetically to her coffee-pot: +Finally she served them all, in small green-patterned china cups, with +strong black coffee guiltless of milk, in each cup a slice of lemon +floating, in each saucer a biscuit. + +"I hope you like your coffee, Ned," she exclaimed, a moment after. "I +forgot to ask you. I'm always forgetting to ask newcomers. You see all +the 'regulars' like it this way." + +"I've never tasted it this way before," answered Ned. "I suppose liking +it's a habit, like smoking. I think I'll try it." + +She nodded, being engaged in slowly sipping her own. Geisner looked at +Ned keenly. There was silence for a little while, broken only by the +clatter of cups and an occasional observation. From outside came the +ceaseless lap-lap-lapping of the waves, as if rain water was gurgling +down from the roof. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +"WE HAVE SEEN THE DRY BONES BECOME MEN." + +Ned's thoughts were in tumult, as he sat balancing his spoon on his cup +after forcing himself to swallow the, to him, unpleasant drink that the +others seemed to relish so. There were no conspirators here, that was +certain. Nellie he could understand being one, even with the red rose at +her neck, but not this friendly chattering woman whose bare arms and +shoulders shimmered in the tinted light and from whose silk dress a +subtle perfume stole all over the room; and most certainly not this +pretty, mild-looking girl in sailor-costume who appeared from the +previous conversation to have passed the evening swinging in a hammock +with her sweetheart. And the men! Why, they got excited over music and +enraptured over the "tone" of somebody's painting, while Geisner had +actually gone back to the book-case, coffee cup in hand, and stood there +nibbling a biscuit and earnestly studying the titles of books. It was +pleasant, of course, too pleasant. It seemed a sin to enjoy life like +this on the very edge of the horrible pit in which the poor wore +festering like worms in an iron pot. Was it for this that Nellie had +brought him here? To idle away an evening among well-meaning people who +were "interested in the Labour movement" and in some strange way, some +whim probably, had taken to this working girl who in her plain black +dress queened them all. He looked round the room and hated it. To his +sickened soul its beauty blasphemed the lot of the toilers, insulted the +wretchedness, the foulness, the hideousness, that he had seen this very +day, that he had known and struggled against, all unconsciously, +throughout his wayward life. And Geisner, Geisner at whom Nellie was +looking fondly, Geisner who he supposed had written a book or a bit of +poetry or could play the flute, and who raved about the spoiling of a bit +of an island when the happiness of millions upon millions was being +spoiled--well, he would just like to tell Geisner what he thought of +him in emphatic bush lingo. Nellie, herself, seemed peacefully happy. Yet +Mrs. Stratton had accused her of "worrying." When Ned thought of this he +felt as he did when fording a strange creek, running a banker. He did not +know what was underneath. + +"Try a cigar, Hawkins?" asked Stratton, pushing a box towards him. + +"Thank you, but I don't smoke." + +"Don't you really! Do you know I thought all bushmen were great smokers." + +"Some are and some aren't," said Ned. "We're not all built to one pattern +any more than folks in town." + +"That's right, Ned," put in Connie, suddenly recollecting that she was +chilly. "Will you hand me my cloak, please? You see," she went on as he +brought it, "Harry imagines every bushman as just six feet high, +proportionally broad, with bristling black beard streaked with grey, +longish hair, bushy eyebrows, bloodshot eyes, moleskins, jean shirt, +leathern belt, a black pipe, a swag--you call it 'swag,' don't you?-- +over his shoulders, and a whisky bottle in his hand whenever he is +'blowing in his cheque,' which is what Nellie says you call 'going on the +spree.' Complimentary, isn't it?" + +"Connie's libelling both me and my typical bushman," said Stratton, +lighting his cigar, having passed the box around. Ned was laughing +against his will. Connie had mimicked her husband's imaginary bushman in +a kindly humorous way that was very droll. + +The musical debate had started up again behind them. Ford and George +argued for the traditional rendering of music. Nellie and Arty battled +for the musical zeit-geist, the national sense that sees through mere +notation to the spirit that breathes behind. They waxed warm and threw +authorities and quotations about, hardly waiting for each other to finish +what they wished to say. Connie turned round to the disputants and threw +herself impetuously into the quarrel, strengthening with her wit and +trained criticism the cause of the zeit-geist. Stratton, to Ned's +surprise, putting his arms over her shoulders, opposed her arguments and +controverted her assertions with unsparing keenness. Josie leaned back on +the lounge and smiled across at Ned. The smile said plainly: "It really +doesn't matter, does it?" Ned, fuming inwardly, thought it certainly did +not. What a waste of words when the world outside needed deeds! This +verbiage was as empty as the tobacco smoke which began to hang about the +room in bluish clouds. + +Suddenly Mrs. Stratton stood up. "Geisner!" she cried. "I'm ashamed of +you. You hear us getting overwhelmed by these English heresies, and you +don't come to the rescue. We have talked ourselves dry and you haven't +said a word. Who says wine?" + +Geisner slowly put down his book and went to the piano. "This is the only +argument worth the name," he said. He ran his fingers over the keys, +struck two or three chords apparently at hap-hazard, then sat down to +play. A volume of sound rose, of clashing notes in fierce, swinging +movement, a thrilling clamour of soul-stirring melody, at once short and +sharp and long-drawn, at once soft as a mother's lullaby and savage as a +hungry tiger's roar. It was the song of the world, the Marseillaise, the +song that rises in every land when the oppressed rise against the +oppressor, the song that breathes of wrongs to be revenged and of liberty +to be won, of flying foes in front and a free people marching, and of +blood shed like water for the idea that makes all nations kin. The hand +of a master struck the keys and brought the notes out, clear and +rhythmic, full strong notes that made the blood boil and the senses swim. + +As the glorious melody rose and fell, sinking to a murmur, swelling out +in heroic strains that rang like trumpet pealings, a great lump rose in +Ned's throat and a mist of unquenchable tears filled his eyes. Roget de +Lisle, dead and dust for generations, rose from the silent grave and +spoke to him, spoke as heart speaks to heart, spoke and called and lived +and breathed and was there, spoke of tortured lives and enslaved millions +and of the fetid streets of great towns and of the slower anguish of the +plundered country side, spoke of an Old Order based on the robbery of +those who labour and on their weakness and on their ignorant sloth, spoke +of virtue trampled down and little children weeping and Humanity bleeding +at every pore and womanhood shamed and motherhood made a curse, spoke of +all he hated and all he loved, pilloried the Wrong in front of him and +bade him--to arms, to arms. "To arms!" with the patriot army whose +trampling was the background of the music. "To arms!" with those whose +desperate hands feared nothing and at whose coming thrones melted and +kingdoms vanished and tyranny fled. To arms! To certain victory! To crash +forward like a flood and sweep before the armed people all those who had +worked it wrong! + +Down Ned's cheeks the great tears rolled. He did not heed them. Why did +not some one beat this mighty music through the Sydney slums, through +those hateful back streets, through those long endless rows of mortgaged +cottages and crowded apartment-houses? Why was it not carried out to the +great West, hymned from shed to shed, told of in the huts and by the +waterholes, given to the diggers in the great claims, to the drovers +travelling stock, borne wherever a man was to be found who had a wrong to +right and a long account to square? Ah! How they would all leap to it! +How they would swell its victorious chanting and gather in their +thousands and their hundred thousands to march on, march on, tramping +time to its majestic notes! If he could only take it to them! If he could +only make them feel as he felt! If he could only give to them in their +poverty and misery all this wondrous music sounding here in this +luxurious room! He could not; he could not. This Geisner could and would +not, and he who would could not. The tears rained down his cheeks because +of his utter impotence. + +The music stopped. With a start he came to himself, ashamed of his +weakness, and hastily blew his nose, fussing pretentiously with his +handkerchief. But only one had noticed him--Geisner, who seemed to see +and hear everything. Connie was sobbing quietly with her arms round +Harry's neck, holding his head closely to her as he bent over her chair; +all the while her foot beat time. Arty had suddenly grown moody again and +sat with bent head, his cigar gone out in his listless hand. Ford had got +up and was perched again on a corner of the table, smoking critically, +apparently wholly engaged in watching the smoke wreaths he blew. George +and Josie had taken each other's hands and sat breathlessly side by side +on the lounge. Nellie lay back in her chair, her face flushed, a twisted +handkerchief stretched over her eyes by both hands. + +"I think that's the official version," observed Geisner, running his +fingers softly over the keys again. + +"It's above disputation, whatever it is," remarked Ford. + +"Why should it be, if all true music isn't? And why should not this be +the best rendering?" + +He struck the grand melody again and it sounded softened, spiritualised, +purified. Its fierce clamour, its triumphant crashing, were gone. It told +of defeat and overthrow, of martyrs walking painfully to death, of prison +cells and dungeons that never see the sun, of life-work unrewarded, of +those who give their lives to Liberty and die before its shackled limbs +are struck free. But it told, too, of an ideal held more sacred than +life, rising ever from defeat, filling men's hearts and brains and +driving them still to raise again the flag of Freedom against hopeless +odds. It was a death march rolling out, the death march of sad-souled +patriots going sorrowfully to seal their faith with all their earthly +hopes and human loves and to meet, calm and pale, all that Fate has in +store. They said to Liberty: "In death we salute thee." Without seeing +her or knowing her, while the world around still slept in ignorance of +her, they gave all up for her and in darkness died. Only they knew that +there was no other way, that unless each man of himself dared to raise +the chant and march forward alone, if need be, Liberty could never be. + +"Well," said Geisner, coming unconcernedly into the circle where they sat +in dead silence. "Don't you think the last rendering is the best, and +isn't it the best simply because it expresses the composer's idea in the +particular phase that we feel most at this present time?" + +"Gracious! Don't start the argument again!" entreated Connie, vivacious +again, though her eyes were red. "You'll never convert Ford or George or +Harry here. They'll always have some explanation. Puritanism crushed the +artistic sense out of the English, and they are only getting it back +slowly by a judicious crossing with other peoples who weren't Puritanised +into Philistinism. England has no national music. She has no national +painting. She has no national sculpture. She has to borrow and adapt +everything from the Continent. I nearly said she has no art at all." + +"Here, I say," protested Ford. "Aren't you coming it a little too strong? +You've got the floor, Geisner. I've heard you stand up for English Art. +Stand up now, won't you?" + +"Does it need standing up for?" asked Geisner. "Why, Connie doesn't +forget that Puritanism with all its faults was in its day a religious +movement, that is an emotional fervour, a veritable poem. That the +Puritan cut love-locks off, wore drab, smashed painted windows and +suppressed instrumental music in churches, is no proof of their being +utterly inartistic. Their art-sense would simply find vent and expression +in other directions if it existed strongly enough. And what do we find? +This, that the Puritan period produced two of the masterpieces of English +Art--Milton's 'Paradise Lost' and Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.' As an +absolute master of English, of sentences rolling magnificently in great +waves of melodious sound, trenchant in every syllable, not to be equalled +even by Shakespeare himself, Milton stands out like a giant. As for +Bunyan, the Englishman who has never read 'Pilgrim's Progress' does not +know his mother tongue." + +"Oh! Of course, we all admit English letters," interjected Connie. + +"Do we?" answered Geisner, warming with his theme. "I'm not so sure of +that; else, why should English people themselves put forward claims to +excellencies which their nation has not got, and why should others dub +them inartistic because of certain things lacking in the national arts? +As far as music goes what has France got if you take away the +Marseillaise? It is Germany, the kin of the English, which has the modern +music. France has painting, England has literature and poetry--in that +she leads the whole world." + +"Still, to-day! How about Russia? How about France even--Flaubert, +Zola, Daudet, Ohnet, a dozen more?" + +"Still! Ay, still and ever! Will these men live as the English writers +live, think you? Look back a thousand years and see English growing, see +how it comes to be the king of languages, destined, if civilisation +lasts, to be the one language of the civilised world. There, in the +Viking age, the English sweep the seas, great burly brutes, as Taine +shows them to us, gorging on half-raw meat, swilling huge draughts of +ale, lounging naked by the sedgy brooks under the mist-softened sun that +cannot brown their fair pink bodies, until hunger drives them forth to +foray; drinking and fighting and feasting and shouting and loving as Odin +loved Frega. And the most honoured of all was the singer who sang in +heroic verse of their battling and their love-making and their hunting. +English was conceived then, and it was worthy conceiving." + +"Other nations have literature," maintained Connie. + +"What other living nations?" demanded Geisner. "Look at English! An +endless list, such as surely before the world never saw. You cannot even +name them all. Spencer and Chaucer living still. Shakespeare, whoever he +was, immortal for all time, dimming like a noontide sun a galaxy of stars +that to other nations would be suns indeed! Take Marlow, Beaumont and +Fletcher, a dozen playwrights! The Bible, an imperishable monument of the +people's English! Milton, Bunyan and Baxter, Wycherly and his fellows! +Pope, Ben Johnson, Swift, Goldsmith, Junius, Burke, Sheridan! Scott and +Byron, De Quincey, Shelley, Lamb, Chatterton! Moors and Burns wrote in +English too! Look at Wordsworth, Dickens, George Eliott, Swinburne, +Tennyson, the Brontes! There are gems upon gems in the second class +writers, books that in other countries would make the writer immortal. +Over the sea, in America, Poe, Whittier, Bret Harte, Longfellow, Emerson, +Whitman. Here in Australia, the seed springing up! Even in South Africa, +that Olive Schreiner writing like one inspired. By heavens! There are +moments when I feel it must be a proud thing to be an Englishman." + +"Bravo, Geisner! You actually make me for the minute," cried Ford. + +"You should be! Has any other people anything to compare? There is not +one other whose great writers could not almost be counted on the fingers +of one hand. Spain has Cervantes and he is always being thrown at us. +Germany has Goethe, Heine, Schiller. France so seldom sees literary +genius that a man like Victor Hugo sends her into hysterics of +self-admiration. But I'm afraid I'm lecturing." + +"It's all right, Geisner," remarked Connie. "It's not only what you say +but how you say it. But what are you driving at?" + +"Just this! Nations seldom do all things with equal vigour and fervour +and opportunity, so one excels another and is itself excelled. England +excels in the simplest and strongest form of expression, literature. She +is defective in other forms and borrows from us. But so we others borrow +from her. Puritanism did not crush English art. English art, in the +national way of expressing the national feeling, kept steadily on." + +"Thanks! I think I'll sit down," he added, as Stratton handed him a +tumbler half-filled with wine and a water-bottle. He filled the tumbler +from the bottle, put them on the table, took cigarettes in a case from +his pocket and lighted one at a gas jet behind him. + +"Do you take water with your wine?" asked Stratton of Ned. + +"I don't take wine at all, thank you," said Ned. + +"What!" exclaimed Connie, sitting up. "You don't smoke and you don't +drink wine. Why, you are a regular Arab. But you must have something. +Arty! Rouse up and light the little stove again! You'll have some tea, +Ned. Oh! It's no trouble. Arty will make it for me and it will do him +good. What do you think of this oration of Geisner's?" + +"I suppose it's all right," said Ned. "But I can't see what good it does +myself." + +"How's that?" + +"Well, it's no use saying one thing and meaning another. This talk of +'art' seems to me selfish while the world to most people is a hell that +it's pain to live in. I am sorry if I say what you don't like." + +"Never mind that," said Connie, as cheerfully as ever. "You've been +worrying, too. Have it out, so that we can all jump on you at once! I +warn you, you won't have an ally." + +"I suppose not," answered Ned, hotly. "You are all very kind and mean +well, but do you know how people live, how they exist, what life outside +is?" + +Geisner had sat down in a low chair near by, his cigarette between his +lips, his glass of wine and water on a shelf at his elbow. The others +looked on in amazement at the sudden turn of the conversation. Connie +smiled and nodded. Ned stared fiercely round at Geisner, who nodded also. + +"Then listen to me," said Ned, bitterly. "Is it by playing music in fine +parlours that good is to be done? Is it by drinking wine, by smoking, by +laughing, by talking of pictures and books and music, by going to +theatres, by living in clover while the world starves? Why do you not +play that music in the back streets or to our fellows?" he asked, turning +to Geisner again. "Are you afraid? Ah, if I could only play it!" + +"Ned!" cried Nellie, sharply. But he went on, talking at Geisner: + +"What do you do for the people outside? For the miserable, the wretched, +those, weary of life? I suppose you are all 'interested in the Labour +movement.' Well, what does all this do for it? What do you do for it? +Would you give up anything, one puff of smoke, one drink of wine----" + +"Stop, Ned! For shame's sake! How dare you speak to him like that?" +Nellie interrupted, jumping up and coming between the two men. Ned leaned +eagerly forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes flaming, his face +quivering, his teeth showing. Geisner leaned back quietly, alternately +sipping his wine and water and taking a whiff from his cigarette. + +"Never mind," said Geisner. "Sit down, Nellie. It doesn't matter." Nellie +sat down but she looked to Mrs. Stratton anxiously. The two women +exchanged glances. Mrs. Stratton came quickly across to Geisner. + +"It does matter," she said to him, laying her hands on his head and +shoulder and facing Ned thus. "Not to you, of course, but to Ned there. +He does not understand, and I don't think you understand everything +either. It takes a woman to understand it all, Ned," and she laughed at +the angry man. "Why do you say such things to Geisner? He does not +deserve them." + +Ned did not answer. + +"I'm not defending the rest of us, only Geisner. If you only knew all he +has done you would think of him as we do." + +"Connie!" exclaimed Geisner, flushing. "Don't." + +"Oh! I shall. If men will keep their lights under bushel baskets they +must expect to get the covers knocked off sometimes. Ned! This man is a +martyr. He has suffered so for the people, and he has borne it so +bravely." + +There was a hush in the room. Ned could see Connie's full underlip pouted +tremulously and her eyes swimming, her hands moved caressingly to and +fro. His face relaxed its passion. The tears came again into his eyes, +also. Geisner smoked his cigarette, the most unmoved of any. + +"If you had only known him years ago," went on Connie, her voice +trembling. "He used to take me on his knee when I was a little girl, and +keep me there for hours while great men talked great things and he was +greatest of them all. He was young then and rich and handsome and fiery, +and with a brain--oh, such a brain!--that put within his reach what +other men care for most. And he gave it all up, everything--even Love," +she added, softly. "When he played the Marseillaise just now, I thought +of it. One day he came to our house and played it so, and outside the +people in the streets were marching by singing it, and--and--" she +set her teeth on a great sob. "My father never came back nor my brother, +and Harry there came one night and took Josie and me away. We had no +mother. And when we saw this man again he was what he is now. It was +worse than death, ten thousand times worse. Oh! Geisner, Geisner!" The +head her hand rested on had sunk down. What were the little man's +thoughts? What were they? + +"But his heart is still the same, Ned," she cried, triumphantly, her +sweet voice ringing clear again. "Ah, yes! His heart is still the same, +as brave and true and pure and strong. Oh, purer, better! If it came +again, Ned, he would do it. Sometimes, I think, he doubts himself but I +know. He would do it all again and suffer it all--that worse than death +he suffered. For, you see, he only lives to serve the Cause, in a +different way to the old way but still to serve it. And I serve the Cause +also as best I can, even if I wear--" she shrugged her shoulders. "And +Harry serves it still as loyally as when, a beardless lad, he risked his +life to care for a slaughtered comrade's orphan children. And Ford, too, +and Nellie here, and Arty and Josie and George. But Geisner serves it +best of all if it be best to give most. He has given most all his life +and he gives most still. And we love him for it. And that love, perhaps, +is sweeter to him than all he might have been." + +She knelt by his side as she ceased speaking, and put her arms round his +neck as he crouched there. "Geisner!" Nellie who was nearest heard her +whisper in her childhood's tongue. "Geisner! We have seen the dry bones +become men. We have poured our blood and our brain into them and if only +for a moment they have lived, they have lived. Ah, comrade, do you +recollect how you breathed soul into them when they shrank back that day? +They moved, Geisner. They moved. We felt them move. They will move again, +some day, dear heart. They will move again." Then, choking with sobs, she +laid her head on his knees. He put his arms tenderly round her and they +saw that this immovable little man was weeping like a child. One by one +the others went softly out to the verandah. Only Ned remained. He had +buried his face in his hands and sat, overwhelmed with shame, wishing +that the floor would open and swallow him. From outside came the +ceaseless lap-lap-lapping of water, imperceptibly eating away the granite +rock, caring not for time, blindly working, destroying the old and +building up the new. + +The touch of a hand roused Ned. He looked up. Mrs. Stratton had gone +through the door concealed by the hangings. Geisner stood before him, +calmly lighting another cigarette with a match. There was no trace of +emotion on his face. He turned to drop the match into an ash tray, then +held out both hands, on his face the kindly smile that transfigured him. +Ned grasped them eagerly, wringing them in a grip that would have made +most men wince. They stood thus silently for a minute or two, looking at +one another, the young, hot-tempered bushman, the grey-haired, +cool-tempered leader of men; between them sprang up, as they stood, the +bond of that friendship which death itself only strengthens. The +magnetism of the elder, his marvellous personality, the strength and +majesty of the mighty soul that dwelt in his insignificant body, stole +into Ned's heart and conquered it. And the spirit of the younger, his +fierce indignation, his angry sorrow, his disregard for self, his truth, +his strong manhood, appealed to the weary man as an echoing of his own +passionate youth. Then they loosened hands and without a word Geisner +commenced to walk slowly backwards and forwards, his hands behind him, +his head bent down. + +Ned watched him, studying him feature by feature. Yes, he had been +handsome. He was ugly only because of great wrinkles that scored his +cheeks and disfigured the fleshless face and discoloured skin. His +eyebrows and eyelashes were very thin, too. His hair looked dried up and +was strongly greyed; it had once been almost black. His lips were thin, +his mouth shapeless, only because he had closed them in his fight against +pain and anguish and despair and they had set thus by the habit of long +years. His nose was still fine and straight, the nostrils swelling wide. +His forehead was rugged and broad under its wrinkles. His chin was +square. His frame still gave one the impression of tireless powers of +endurance. His blue eyes still gleamed unsubdued in their dark, +overhanging caverns. Yes! He had lived, this man. He had lived and +suffered and kept his manhood still. To be like him! To follow him into +the Valley of the Shadow! To live only for the Cause and by his side to +save the world alive! Ned thought thus, as Connie came back, her face +bathed and beaming again, her theatre dress replaced by a soft red +dressing gown, belted loosely at the waist and trimmed with an abundance +of coffee coloured lace. Her first words were a conundrum to Ned: + +"Geisner! Haven't you dropped that unpleasant trick of yours after all +these years? Two long steps and a short step! Turn! Two long steps and a +short stop! Turn! Now, just to please me, do three long steps." + +He smiled. "Connie, you are becoming quite a termagant." + +She looked at Ned questioningly: "Well?" + +"Oh, Ned and I are beginning to understand one another," said Geisner. + +"Of course," she replied. "All good men and women are friends if they get +to the bottom of each other. Let us go on the verandah with the rest. Do +you know I feel quite warm now. I do believe it was only that ridiculous +dress which made me feel so cold. Give me your arm, Ned. Bring me along a +chair, Geisner." + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +A MEDLEY OF CONVERSATION. + +Ned dreaded that rejoining the others on the verandah, but he need not +have. They had forced the conversation at first, but gradually it became +natural. It had turned on the proper sphere of woman, and went on without +being interrupted by the new-comers. Nobody took any notice of them. The +girls were seated. Stratton lay smoking in the hammock. The other men +perched smoking on the railing. The gaslight had been turned down and in +the gloom the cigar ends gleamed with each respiration. In spite of the +damp it was very cosy. From the open door behind a ray of light fell upon +the darkness-covered water below. Beyond were circling the lights of +Sydney. Dotting the black night here and there were the signal lamps of +anchored ships. + +"We want perfect equality for woman with man," asserted Ford, in a +conclusive tone of voice. + +"We want woman in her proper sphere," maintained Stratton, from the +hammock. + +"What do you call 'her proper sphere?'" asked Nellie. + +"This: That she should fulfil the functions assigned to her by Nature. +That she should rule the home and rear children. That she should be a +wife and a mother. That she should be gentle as men are rough, and, to +pirate the Americanism, as she rocked the cradle should rock the world." + +"How about equality?" demanded Ford. + +"Equality! What do you mean by equality? Is it equality to scramble with +men in the search for knowledge, narrow hipped and flat-chested? Is it +equality to grow coarse and rough and unsexed in the struggle for +existence? Ah! Let our women once become brutalised, masculinised, and +there will be no hope for anything but a Chinese existence." + +"Who wants to brutalise them?" asked Ford. + +"What would your women be like?" asked Nellie. + +"Look out for Madame there, Stratton!" said George. + +"What would my women be like? Full-lipped and broad-hearted, fit to love +and be loved! Full-breasted and broad-hipped fit to have children! +Full-brained and broad-browed, fit to teach them! My women should be the +embodiment of the nation, and none of them should work except for those +they loved and of their own free will." + +"Sort of queen bees!" remarked Nellie. "Why have them work at all?" + +"Why? Is it 'work' for a mother to nurse her little one, to wash it, to +dress it, to feed it, to watch it at night, to nurse it when it sickens, +to teach it as it grows? And if she does that does she not do all that we +have a right to ask of her? Need we ask her to earn her own living and +bear children as well? Shall we make her a toy and a slave, or harden her +to battle with men? I wouldn't. My women should be such that their +children would hold them sacred and esteem all women for their sakes. I +don't want the shrieking sisterhood, hard-voiced and ugly and unlovable, +perpetuated. And they will not be perpetuated. They can't make us marry +them. Their breed must die out." + +"In other words," observed Nellie; "you would leave the present +relationship of woman to Society unchanged, except that you would serve +her out free rations." + +"No! She should be absolutely mistress of her own body, and sole legal +guardian of her own children." + +"Which means that you would institute free divorce, and make the family +matriarchal instead of patriarchal; replace one lopsided system by +another." + +"Give it him, Nellie," put in Connie. "I haven't heard those notions of +his for years. I thought he had recanted long ago." + +"Well, yes! But you needn't be so previous in calling it lopsided," said +Stratton. + +"It is lop-sided, to my mind!" replied Nellie. "What women really want is +to be left to find their own sphere, for whenever a man starts to find it +for them he always manages to find something else. No man understands +woman thoroughly. How can he when she doesn't even understand herself? +Yet you propose to crush us all down to a certain pattern, without +consulting us. That's not democratic. Why not consult us first I should +like to know?" + +"Probably because they wouldn't agree to it if you led the opposition, +Nellie. We are all only democratic when we think Demos is going our way." +This from Ford. + +Arty slipped quietly off the railing and went into the sitting-room. +Connie leaned back and watched him through the open door. "He's started +to write," she announced. "He's been terribly down lately so it'll be +pretty strong, poor fellow." She laughed good-naturedly; the others +laughed with her. "Go on, Nellie dear. It's very interesting, and I +didn't mean to interrupt." + +"Oh! He won't answer me," declared Nellie, in a disgusted tone. + +"I should think not," retorted Stratton. "I know your womanly habit of +tying the best case into a tangled knot with a few Socratic questions. I +leave the truth to prove itself." + +"Just so! But you won't leave the truth about woman to prove itself. You +want us to be good mothers, first and last. Why not let us be women, true +women, first, and whatever it is fitting for us to be afterwards?" + +"I want you to be true women." + +"What is a true woman? A true woman to me is just what a true man is-- +one who is free to obey the instincts of her nature. Only give us +freedom, opportunity, and we shall be at last all that we should be." + +"Is it not freedom to be secure against want, to be free to----" + +"To be mothers." + +"Yes; to be mothers--the great function of women. To cradle the future. +To mould the nation that is to be." + +"That is so like a man. To be machines, you mean--well cared for, +certainly, but machines just the same. Don't you know that we have been +machines too long? Can't you see that it is because we have been degraded +into machines that Society is what it is?" + +"How?" questioned Stratton. + +"He knows it well, Nellie," cried Connie, clapping her hands. + +"Because you can't raise free men from slave women. We want to be free, +only to be free, to be let alone a little, to be treated as human beings +with souls, just as men do. We have hands to work with, and brains to +think with, and hearts to feel with. Why not join hands with us in theory +as you do in fact? Do you tell us now that you won't have our help in the +movement? Will you refuse us the fruit of victory when the fight is won? +If I thought you would, I for one would cease to care whether the Cause +won or not." + +"I, too, Nellie. We'd all go on strike," cried Connie. + +"What is it to you whether women are good mothers or not? What objections +can you have to our rivalling men in the friendly rivalry that would be +under fair conditions? Are our virtues, our woman instincts, so weak and +frail that you can't trust us to go straight if the whole of life is +freely open to us? Why, when I think of what woman's life is now, what it +has been for so long, I wonder how it is that we have any virtues left." +She spoke with intense feeling. + +"What are we now," she went on, "in most cases? Slaves, bought and sold +for a home, for a position, for a ribbon, for a piece of bread. With all +their degradation men are not degraded as we are. To be womanly is to be +shamed and insulted every day. To love is to suffer. To be a mother is to +drink the dregs of human misery. To be heartless, to be cold, to be +vicious and a hypocrite, to smother all one's higher self, to be sold, to +sell one's self, to pander to evil passions, to be the slave of the +slave, that is the way to survive most easily for a woman. And see what +we are in spite of everything! Geisner said he would sometimes be proud +if he were an Englishman. Sometimes I'm foolish enough to be proud I'm a +woman. + +"Why should we be mothers, unless it pleases us to be mothers? Why should +we not feel that life is ours as men may feel it, that we help hold up +the world and owe nothing to others except that common debt of fraternity +which they owe also to us? Don't you think that Love would come then as +it could in no other way? Don't you think that women, who even now are +good mothers generally, would be good mothers to children whose coming +was unstained with tears? And would they be worse mothers if their brains +were keen and their bodies strong and their hearts brave with the healthy +work and intelligent life that everybody should have, men and women +alike?" + +"You seem to have an objection to mothers somehow, Nellie," observed +Geisner. + +"Oh, I have! It seems to me such a sin, such a shameful sin, to give life +for the world that we have. I can understand it being a woman's highest +joy to be a mother. I have seen poor miserable women looking down at +their puny nursing babies with such unutterable bliss on their faces that +I've nearly cried for pure joy and sympathy. But in my heart all the time +I felt that this was weakness and folly; that what was bliss to the +mother, stupefying her for a while to the hollowness and emptiness of her +existence, was the beginning of a probable life of misery to the child +that could end only with death. And I have vowed to myself that never +should child of mine have cause to reproach me for selfishness that takes +a guise which might well deceive those who have nothing but the animal +instincts to give them joy in living." + +"You will never have children?" asked Geisner. + +"I will never marry," she answered. "There is little you can teach a girl +who has worked in Sydney, and I know there are ideas growing all about +which to me seem shameful and unwomanly, excepting that they spare the +little ones. For me, I shall never marry. I will give my life to the +movement, but I will give no other lives the pain of living." + +"You will meet him some day, Nellie," said Connie. + +"Then I will be strong if it breaks my heart." Ned often thought of this +in after days. Just then he hardly realised how the girl's words affected +him. He was so breathlessly interested. Never had he heard people talk +like this before. He began to dimly understand how it touched the Labour +movement. + +"You will miss the best part of life, my dear," said Connie. "I say it +even after what you have seen of that husband of mine." + +"You are wrong, Nellie," said Geisner, slowly. "Above us all is a higher +Law, forcing us on. To give up what is most precious for the sake of the +world is good. To give up that which our instincts lead us to for fear of +the world cannot but be bad. For my part, I hold that no door should be +closed to woman, either by force of law or by force of conventionalism. +But if she claims entrance to the Future, it seems to me that she should +not close Life's gate against herself." + +"I would close Life's gate altogether if I could," cried Nellie, +passionately. "I would blot Life out. I would--oh, what would I not do? +The things I see around me day after day almost drive me mad." + +There was silence for a moment, broken then by Connie's soft laugh. +"Nellie, my dear child," she observed, "you seem quite in earnest. I hope +you won't start with us." + +"Don't mind her, Nellie," said Josie, softly, speaking for the first +time. "Connie laughs because if she didn't she would cry." + +"I know that," said Nellie. "I don't mind her. Is there one of us who +does not feel what a curse living is?" + +Geisner's firm voice answered: "And is there one of us who does not know +what a blessing living might be? Nellie, my girl, you are sad and +sorrowful, as we all are at times, and do not feel yet God in all working +itself out in unseen ways." + +"God!" she answered, scornfully. "There is no God. How can there be?" + +"I do not know. It is as one feels. I do not mean that petty god of +creeds and religions, the feeble image that coarse hands have made from +vague glimpses caught by those who were indeed inspired. I mean the total +force, the imperishable breath, of the universe. And of that breath, my +child, you and I and all things are part." + +Stratton took his cigar from his mouth and quoted: + +"'I am the breath of the lute, I am the mind of man, Gold's glitter, the +light of the diamond and the sea-pearl's lustre wan. I am both good and +evil, the deed and the deed's intent--Temptation, victim, sinner, +crime, pardon and punishment.'" + +"Yes," said Geisner; "that and more. Brahma and more than Brahma. What +Prince Buddha thought out too. What Jesus the Carpenter dimly recognised. +Not only Force, but Purpose, or what for lack of better terms we call +Purpose, in it all." + +"And that Purpose; what is it?" Ned was surprised to hear his own voice +uttering his thought. + +"Who shall say? There are moments, a few moments, when one seems to feel +what it is, moments when one stands face to face with the universal Life +and realises wordlessly what it means." Geisner spoke with grave +solemnity. The others, hardly breathing, understood how this man had +thought these things out. + +"When one is in anguish and sorrow unendurable. When one has seen one's +soul stripped naked and laid bare, with all its black abysses and +unnatural sins; the brutishness that is in each man's heart known and +understood--the cowardice, the treachery, the villainy, the lust. When +one knows oneself in others, and sinks into a mist of despair, hopeless +and heart-wrung, then come the temptations, as the prophets call them, +the miserable ambitions dressed as angels of light, the religions which +have become more drugged pain-lullers, the desire to suppress thought +altogether, to end life, to stupefy one's soul with bodily pain, with +mental activity. And if," he added slowly, "if one's pain is for others +more than for oneself, if in one's heart Humanity has lodged itself, then +it may be that one shall feel and know. And from that time you never +doubt God. You may doubt yourself but never that all things work together +for good." + +"I do not see it," cried Nellie. + +"Hush!" said Connie. "Go on, Geisner." + +"To me," the little man went on, as if talking rather to himself than to +the others. "To me the Purpose of Life is self-consciousness, the total +Purpose I mean. God seeking to know God. Eternal Force one immeasurable +Thought. Humanity the developing consciousness of the little fragment of +the universe within our ken. Art, the expression of that consciousness, +the outward manifestation of the effort to solve the problem of Life. +Genius, the power of expressing in some way or other what many thought +but could not articulate. I do not mean to be dogmatic. Words fail us to +define our meaning when we speak of these things. Any quibbler can twist +the meaning of words, while only those who think the thought can +understand. That is why one does not speak much of them. Perhaps we +should speak of them more." + +"It is a barren faith to me," said Nellie. + +"Then I do not express it well," said Geisner. "But is it more +barren-sounding than utter Negation? Besides, where do we differ really? +All of us who think at all agree more or less. We use different terms, +pursue different lines of thought, that is all. It is only the dullard, +who mistakes the symbol for the idea, the letter for the spirit, the +metaphor for the thought within, who is a bigot. The true thinker is an +artist, the true artist is a thinker, for Art is the expression of +thought in thing. The highest thought, as Connie rightly told us before +you came, is Emotion." + +"I recollect the Venus in the Louvre," interjected Harry. "When I saw it +first it seemed to me most beautiful, perfect, the loveliest thing that +ever sculptor put chisel to. But as I saw it more I forgot that it was +beautiful or perfect. It grew on me till it lived. I went day after day +to see it, and when I was glad it laughed at me, and when I was +downhearted it was sad with me, and when I was angry it scowled, and when +I dreamed of Love it had a kiss on its lips. Every mood of mine it +changed with; every thought of mine it knew. Was not that Art, Nellie?" + +"The artist in you," she answered. + +"No. More than that. The artist in the sculptor, breathing into the stone +a perfect sympathy with the heart of men. His genius grasped this, that +beauty, perfect beauty, is the typifying not of one passion, one phase of +human nature, but of the aggregation of all the moods which sway the +human mind. There is a great thought in that. It is 'the healthy mind in +the healthy body,' as the sculptor feels it. And 'the healthy mind in the +healthy body' is one of the great thoughts of the past. It is a thought +which is the priceless gift of Greek philosophy to the world. I hold it +higher than that of the Sphinx, which Ford admires so." + +"What does the Sphinx mean?" asked Ned. + +"Much the same, differently expressed," answered Ford. "That Life with us +is an intellectual head based on a brutish body, fecund and powerful; +that Human Nature crouches on the ground and reads the stars; that man +has a body and a mind, and that both must be cared for." + +"They had a strange way of caring for both, your Egyptians," remarked +Nellie. "The people were all slaves and the rulers were all priests." + +At this criticism, so naive and pithy and so like Nellie, there was a +general laugh. + +"At least the priests were wise and the slaves were cared for," retorted +Ford, nothing abashed. "I recollect when I was a little fellow in +England. My people were farm labourers, west of England labourers. We +lived in a little stone cottage that had little diamond-paned windows. +The kitchen floor was below the ground, and on wet days my mother used to +make a little dam of rags at the door to keep the trickling water back. +We lived on bread and potatoes and broad beans, and not too much of that. +We got a little pig for half-a-crown, and killed it when it was grown to +pay the rent. Don't think such things are only done in Ireland! We herded +together like pigs ourselves. The women of the place often worked in the +fields. The girls, too, sometimes. You know what that means where the +people are like beasts, the spirit worn out of them. The cottages were +built two together, and our neighbour's daughter, a girl of 18 or so, had +two children. It was not thought anything. The little things played at +home with our neighbour's own small children, and their grandmother +called them hard names when they bothered her. + +"My father was a bent-shouldered hopeless man, when I recollect him. He +got six shillings a week then, with a jug of cider every day. When he +stopped from the wet, and there was no work in the barns, his wages were +stopped. So he worked in the wet very often, for it generally rains in +England, you know. The wet came through our roof. Gives the natives such +pretty pink skins, eh, Geisner?" and he laughed shortly. "My father got +rheumatism, and used to keep us awake groaning at nights. He had been a +good-looking young fellow, my old granny used to say. I never saw him +good-looking. In the winter we always had poor relief. We should have +starved if we hadn't. My father got up at four and came home after dark. +My mother used to go weeding and gleaning. I went to scare crows when I +was five years old. All the same, we were a family of paupers. Proud to +be an Englishman, Geisner! Be an English pauper, and then try!" + +"You'll never get to the priests, Ford, if you start an argument," +interposed Mrs. Stratton. + +"I'll get to them all right. Our cottage was down a narrow, muddy lane. +On one side of the lane was a row of miserable stone hovels, just like +ours. On the other was a great stone wall that seemed to me, then, to be +about a hundred feet high. I suppose it was about twenty feet. You could +just see the tops of trees the other side. Some had branches lopped short +to prevent them coming over the wall. At the corner of the highway our +lane ran to was a great iron gate, all about it towering trees, directly +inside a mound of shrub-covered rockery that prevented anybody getting a +peep further. The carriage drive took a turn round this rockery and +disappeared. Once, when the gate was open and nobody about, I got a peep +by sneaking round this rockery like a little thief. There was a beautiful +lawn and clumps of flowers, and a summer house and a conservatory, and a +big grey-fronted mansion. I thought heaven must be something like that. +It made me radical." + +"How do you mean?" asked Mrs. Stratton. + +"Well, it knocked respect for constituted authority out of me. I didn't +know enough to understand the wrong of one lazy idler having this +splendid place while the people he lived on kennelled in hovels. But it +struck me as so villainously selfish to build that wall, to prevent us +outside from even looking at the beautiful lawn and flowers. I was only a +little chap but I recollect wondering if it would hurt the place to let +me look, and when I couldn't see that it would I began to hate the wall +like poison. There we were, poor, ragged, hungry wretches, without +anything beautiful in our lives, so miserable and hopeless that I didn't +even know it wasn't the right thing to be a pauper, and that animal ran +up a great wall in our faces so that we couldn't see the grass--curse +him!" Ford had gradually worked himself into a white rage. + +"He didn't know any better," said Geisner. "Was he the priest?" + +"Yes, the rector, getting £900 a-year and this great house, and paying a +skinny curate £60 for doing the work. A fat impostor, who drove about in +a carriage, and came to tell the girl next door as she lay a-bed that she +would go to hell for her sin and burn there for ever. I hated his wall +and him too. Out in the fields I used to draw him on bits of slate. In +the winter when there weren't any crows or any weeding I went to school. +You see, unless you sent your children to the church school a little, and +went to church regularly, you didn't get any beef or blanket at +Christmas. I tell you English charity is a sweet thing. Well, I used to +draw the parson at school, a fat, pompous, double chinned, pot-bellied +animal, with thin side-whiskers, and a tall silk hat, and a big handful +of a nose. I drew nothing else. I studied the question as it were and I +got so that I could draw the brute in a hundred different ways. You can +imagine they weren't complimentary, and one day the parson came to the +school, and we stood up in class with slates to do sums, and on the back +of my slate was one of the very strongest of my first attempts at +cartooning. It was a hot one." And at the remembrance Ford laughed so +contagiously that they all joined. "The parson happened to see it. By +gum! It was worth everything to see him." + +"What did he do?" + +"What didn't he do? He delivered a lecture, how I was a worthy relative +of an uncle of mine who'd been shipped out this way years before for +snaring a rabbit, and so on. I got nearly skinned alive, and the +Christmas beef and blanket wore stopped from our folks. And there another +joke comes in. An older brother of mine, 14 years old, I was about 12, +took to going to the Ranters' meetings instead of to church. My mother +and father used to tie him up on Saturday nights and march him to church +on Sunday like a young criminal going to gaol. They were afraid of losing +the beef and blanket, you see. He sometimes ran out of church when they +nodded or weren't looking, and the curate was always worrying them about +him. It was the deadliest of all sins, you know, to go to the Ranters. +Well, when the beef and blanket were stopped, without any chance of +forgiveness, we all went to the Ranters." + +"I've often wondered where you got your power from, Ford," remarked +Connie. "I see now." + +"Yes, that great wall made me hate the great wall that bars the people +from all beautiful things; that fat hypocrite made me hate all frauds. I +can never forget the way we all swallowed those things as sacred. When I +get going with a pencil I feel towards whatever it is just as I felt to +the parson, and I try to make everybody feel the same. Yet would you +believe it, I don't care much for cartooning. I want to paint." + +"Why don't you?" asked Nellie. + +"Well, there's money you know. Then it was sheer luck that made me a +cartoonist and I can't expect the same run of luck always." + +"Don't believe him, Nellie," said Connie. "He feels that he has a chance +now to give all frauds such a hammering that he hesitates to give it up. +You've paid the parson, Ford, full measure, pressed down and running +over!" + +"Not enough!" answered Ford. "Not enough! Not till the wall is down flat +all the world over! Do you think Egypt would have lasted 20,000 years if +her priests had been like my parson, and her slaves like my people?" + +"I'd forgotten all about Egypt," said Nellie. "But I suppose her rulers +had sense enough to give men enough to eat and enough to drink, high +wages and constant employment, as M'Ilwraith used to say. Yes; it was +wiser than the rulers of to-day are. You can rob for a long while if you +only rob moderately. But the end comes some time to all wrong. It's +coming faster with us, but it came in Egypt, too." + +"Here is Arty, finished!" interrupted Connie, who every little while had +looked through the door at the young man. She jumped up. "Come along in +and see what it is this time." + +They all went in, jostling and joking one another. Arty was standing up +in the middle of the room looking at some much blotted slips of paper. He +appeared to be very well satisfied, and broke into a broad smile as he +looked up at them all. Geisner and Ned found themselves side by side near +the piano, over the keys of which Geisner softly ran his fingers with +loving touch. "You are in luck to-night," he remarked to Ned. "You know +Arty's signature, of course. He writes as----," mentioning a well-known +name. + +"Of course I know. Is that him?" answered Ned, astonished. "Verses which +bore that signature were as familiar to thousands of western bushmen as +their own names. Who is Ford?" he added. + +"Ford! Oh, Ford signs himself----." Geisner mentioned another signature. + +"Is he the one who draws in the Scrutineer?" demanded Ned more astonished +than ever. + +"Yes; you know his work?" + +"Know his work! Had not every man in Australia laughed with his pitiless +cartoons at the dignified magnates of Society and the utter rottenness of +the powers that be?" + +"And what is Mr. Stratton?" + +"A designer for a livelihood. An artist for love of Art. His wife is +connected with the press. You wouldn't know her signature, but some of +her work is very fine. George there is a journalist." + +"But I thought the newspapers were against unions." + +"Naturally they are. They are simply business enterprises, conducted in +the ordinary commercial way for a profit, and therefore opposed to +everything which threatens to interfere with profit-making. But the men +and women who work on the press are very different. They are really +wage-workers to begin with. Besides, they are often intelligent enough to +sympathise thoroughly with the Labour movement in spite of the +surroundings which tend to separate them from it. Certainly, the most +popular exponents of Socialism are nearly all press writers." + +"We are only just beginning to hear about these things in the bush," said +Ned. "What is Socialism?" + +"That's a big question," answered Geisner. "Socialism is----" + +He was interrupted. "Silence, everybody!" cried Mrs. Stratton. "Listen to +Arty's latest!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +THE POET AND THE PRESSMAN. + +"Silence, everybody!" commanded Mrs. Stratton. "Listen to Arty's latest!" + +She had gone up to him as they all came in. "Is it good?" she asked, +looking over his arm. For answer he held the slips down to her and +changed them as she read rapidly, only pausing occasionally to ask him +what a more than usually obscured word was. There was hardly a line as +originally written. Some words had been altered three and four times. +Whole lines had been struck out and fresh lines inserted. In some verses +nothing was left of the original but the measure and the rhymes. + +"No wonder you were worrying if you had all this on your mind," she +remarked, as he finished, smiling at him. "Let me read it to them." + +He nodded. So when the buzz of conversation had stopped she read his +verses to the others, holding his arm in the middle of the room, her +sweet voice conveying their spirit as well as their words. And Arty stood +by her, jubilant, listening proudly and happily to the rhythm of his +new-born lines, for all the world like a young mother showing her +new-born babe. + +THE VISION OF LABOUR. + +There's a sound of lamentation 'mid the murmuring nocturne noises, +And an undertone of sadness, as from myriad human voices, +And the harmony of heaven and the music of the spheres, +And the ceaseless throb of Nature, and the flux and flow of years, +Are rudely punctuated with the drip of human tears +--As Time rolls on! + +Yet high above the beat of surf, and Ocean's deep resounding, +And high above the tempest roar of wind on wave rebounding, +There's a burst of choral chanting, as of victors in a fight, +And a battle hymn of triumph wakes the echoes of the night, +And the shouts of heroes mingle with the shriekings of affright +--As Time rolls on! + +There's a gleam amid the darkness, and there's sight amid the blindness, +And the glow of hope is kindled by the breath of human kindness, +And a phosphorescent glimmer gilds the spaces of the gloom, +Like the sea-lights in the midnight, or the ghost-lights of the tomb, +Or the livid lamps of madness in the charnel-house of doom +--As Time rolls on! + +And amidst the weary wand'rers on the mountain crags belated +There's a hush of expectation, and the sobbings are abated, +For a word of hope is spoken by a prophet versed in pain, +Who tells of rugged pathways down to fields of golden grain, +Where the sun is ever shining, and the skies their blessings rain +--As Time rolls on! + +Where the leafy chimes of gladness in the tree-tops aye are ringing, +Answering to the joyous chorus which the birds are ever singing; +Where the seas of yellow plenty toss with music in the wind; +Where the purple vines are laden, and the groves with fruit are lined; +Where all grief is but a mem'ry, and all pain is left behind +--As Time rolls on! + +But it lies beyond a desert 'cross which hosts of Death are marching, +And a hot sirocco wanders under skies all red and parching, +Lined with skeletons of armies through the centuries fierce and acre +Bones of heroes and of sages marking Time's lapse year by year, +Unmoistened by the night-dews 'mid the solitudes of fear +--As Time rolls on! + +* Kindly written by Mr. F. J. Broomfield for insertion here. + +"Well done, Arty"! cried Ford. "I'd like to do a few 'thumbnails' for +that." + +"Let me see it, please! Why don't you say 'rushes' for 'wanders' in the +last verse, Arty?" asked George, reaching out his hand for the slips. + +"Go away!" exclaimed Mrs. Stratton, holding them out of reach. "Can't you +wait two minutes before you begin your sub-editing tricks? Josie, keep +him in order!" + +"He's a disgrace," replied Josie. "Don't pay any heed to him, Arty! +They'll cut up your verses soon enough, and they're just lovely." + +The others laughed, all talking at once, commending, criticising, +comparing. Arty laughed and joked and quizzed, the liveliest of them all. +Ned stared at him in astonishment. He seemed like somebody else. He +discussed his own verses with a strange absence of egotism. Evidently he +was used to standing fire. + +"The metaphor in that third verse seems to me rather forced," said +Stratton finally. "And I think George is right. 'Rushes' does sound +better than 'wanders.' I like that 'rudely punctuated' line, but I think +I'd go right through it again if it was mine." + +"I think I will, too," answered Arty. "There are half-a-dozen alterations +I want to make now. I'll touch it up to-morrow. It'll keep till then." + +"That sort of stuff would keep for years if it wasn't for the +Scrutineer," said Stratton. "Very few papers care to publish it +nowadays." + +"The Scrutineer is getting just like all the rest of them," commented +George. "It's being run for money, only they make their pile as yet by +playing to the gallery while the other papers play to the stalls and +dress circle." + +"It has done splendid work for the movement, just the same," said Ford. +"Admit it's a business concern and that everybody growls at it, it's the +only paper that dares knock things." + +"It's a pity there isn't a good straight daily here," said Geisner. +"That's the want all over the world. It seems impossible to get them, +though." + +"Why is it?" demanded Nellie. "It's the working people who buy the +evening papers at least. Why shouldn't they buy straight papers sooner +than these sheets of lies that are published?" + +"I've seen it tried," answered Geisner, "but I never saw it done. The +London Star is going as crooked as the others I'm told." + +"I don't see why the unions shouldn't start dailies," insisted Nellie. "I +suppose it costs a great deal but they could find the money if they tried +hard." + +"They haven't been able to run weeklies yet," said George, +authoritatively. "And they never will until they get a system, much less +run dailies." + +"Why?" asked Ned. "You see," he continued, "our fellows are always +talking of getting a paper. They get so wild sometimes when they read +what the papers say about the unions and know what lies most of it is +that I've seen them tear the papers up and dance a war-dance on the +pieces." + +"It's along story to explain properly," said George. "Roughly it amounts +to this that papers live on advertisements as well as on circulation and +that advertisers are sharp business men who generally put the boycott on +papers that talk straight. Then the cable matter, the telegraph matter, +the news matter, is all procured by syndicates and companies and mutual +arrangement between papers which cover the big cities between them and +run on much the same lines, the solid capitalistic lines, you know. Then +newspaper stock, when it pays, is valuable enough to make the holder a +capitalist; when it doesn't pay he's still more under the thumb of the +advertisers. The whole complex organisation of the press is against the +movement and only those who're in it know how complex it is." + +"Then there'll never be a Labour press, you think?" + +"There will be a Labour press, I think," said George, turning Josie's +hair round his fingers. "When the unions get a sound system it'll come." + +"What do you mean by your sound system, George?" asked Geisner. + +"Just this! That the unions themselves will publish their own papers, own +their own plant, elect their own editors, paying for it all by levies or +subscriptions. Then they can snap their fingers at advertisers and as +every union man will get the union paper there'll be a circulation +established at once. They can begin with monthlies and come down to +weeklies. When they have learnt thoroughly the system, and when every +colony has its weekly or weeklies, then they'll have a chance for +dailies, not before." + +"How would you get your daily?" enquired Geisner. + +"Expand the weeklies into dailies simultaneously in every Australian +capital," said George, waxing enthusiastic. "That would be a syndicate at +once to co-operate on cablegrams and exchange intercolonial telegrams. +Start with good machinery, get a subsidy of 6d. a month for a year and +3d. a month afterwards, if necessary, from the unions for every member, +and then bring out a small-sized, neat, first-rate daily for a ha'penny, +three-pence a week, and knock the penny evenings off their feet." + +"A grand idea!" said Geisner, his eyes sparkling. "It sounds practical. +It would revolutionise politics." + +"Who'd own the papers, though, after the unions had subsidised them?" +asked Ned, a little suspiciously. + +"Why, the unions, of course," said George. "Who else? The unions would +find the machinery and subsidise the papers on to their feet, for you +couldn't very well get every man to take a daily. And the unions would +elect trustees to hold them and manage them and an editor to edit each +one and would be able to dismiss editors or trustees either if it wasn't +being run straight. There'd be no profits because every penny made would +go to make the papers better, there being no advertising income or very +little. And every day, all over the continent, there would be printing +hundreds of thousands of copies, each one advancing and defending the +Labour movement." + +"It's a grand idea," said Geisner again, "but who'd man the papers, +George. Could Labour papers afford to pay managers and editors what the +big dailies do?" + +"I don't know much about managers, but an editor who wouldn't give up a +lot to push the Cause can't think much of it. Why, we're nothing but +literary prostitutes," said George, energetically. "We just write now +what we're told, selling our brains as women on the streets do their +bodies, and some of us don't like it, some of the best too, as you know +well, Geisner. My idea would be to pay a living salary, the same all +round, to every man on the literary staff. That would be fair enough as +an all round wage if it was low pay for editing and leader writing and +fancy work. Many a good man would jump at it, to be free to write as he +felt, and as for the rest of the staff by paying such a wage we'd get the +tip-top pick of the ordinary men who do the pick-up work that generally +isn't considered important but in my opinion is one of the main points of +a newspaper." + +"Would you take what you call a 'living salary' on such a paper?" asked +Connie. + +"I'd take half if Josie--" He looked at her with tender confidence. The +love-light was in her answering eyes. She nodded, proud of him. + +"And they'd all publish my poetry?" asked Arty. + +"Would they? They'd jump at it." + +"Then when they come along, I'll write for a year for nothing." + +"How about me?" asked Ford, "Where do I come in?" + +"And me?" asked Connie. + +"You can all come in," laughed George. "Geisner shall do the political +and get his editor ten years for sedition. Stratton will supply the mild +fatherly sociological leaders. Mrs. Stratton shall prove that there can't +be any true Art so long as we don't put the police on to everything that +is ugly and repulsive. Nellie, here, shall blossom out as the Joan of Arc +of women's rights, with a pen for a sword. And Arty we'll keep chained +upon the premises and feed him with peppercorns when we want something +particularly hot. Ford can retire to painting and pour his whole supply +of bile out in one cartoon a week that we'll publish as a Saturday's +supplement. Hawkins shall be our own correspondent who'll give the gentle +squatter completely away in weekly instalments. And Josie and I'll slash +the stuffing out of your 'copy' if you go writing three columns when +there's only room for one. We'll boil down on our papers. Every line will +be essence of extract. Don't you see how it's done already?" + +"We see it," said Nellie, stifling a yawn. "The next thing is to get the +unions to see it." + +"That's so," retorted George, "so I'll give you my idea to do what you +can with." + +"We must go," said Nellie, getting up from her chair. "It must be after +one and I'm tired." + +"It's ten minutes to two," said Ford, having pulled out his watch. + +"Why don't you stay all night, Nellie," asked Connie. "We can put Ned up, +if he doesn't mind a shake-down. Then we can make a night of it. Geisner +is off again on Monday or Tuesday." + +"Tuesday," said Geisner, who had gone to the book-shelf again. + +"Then I'll come Monday evening," said Nellie, for his tone was an +invitation. "I feel like a walk, and I don't feel like talking much." + +"All right," said Connie, not pressing, with true tact. "Will you come on +Monday too, Ned?" she asked, moving to the door under the hangings with +Nellie. Josie slipped quickly out on to the verandah with George. + +"I must be off on Monday," replied Ned, regretfully. "There's a shed +starts the next week, and I said I'd be up there to see that it shore +union. I'm very sorry, but I really can't wait." + +"I'm so sorry, too. But it can't be helped. Some other time, Ned." And +nodding to him Connie went out with Nellie. + +"So we shan't see you again," said Stratton, lighting a cigar at the gas. +Ford had resumed his puffing at his black pipe and his seat on the table. + +"Not soon at any rate," answered Ned. "I shall be in Western Queensland +this time next week." + +"The men are organising fast up that way, aren't they?" asked Stratton. + +"They had to," said Ned. "What with the Chinese and the squatters doing +as they liked and hating the sight of a white man, we'd all have been +cleared out if we hadn't organised." + +"Coloured labour has been the curse of Queensland all through," remarked +Ford. + +"I think it has made Queensland as progressive as it is, too," remarked +Geisner. "It was a common danger for all the working classes, and from +what I hear has given them unity of feeling earlier than that has been +acquired in the south." + +"Some of the old-fashioned union ideas that they have in Sydney want +knocking badly," remarked Arty, smoking cheerfully. + +"They'll be knocked safely enough if they want knocking," said Geisner. +"There are failings in all organisation methods everywhere as well as in +Sydney. New Unionism is only the Old Unionism reformed up to date. It'll +need reforming itself as soon as it has done its work." + +"Is the New Unionism really making its way in England, Geisner?" asked +Stratton. + +"I think so. A very intelligent man is working with two or three others +to organise the London dock laborers on the new lines. He told me he was +confident of success but didn't seem to realise all it meant. If those +men can be organised and held together for a rise in wages it'll be the +greatest strike that the world has seen yet. It will make New Unionism." + +"Do you think it possible?" asked Ford. "I know a little about the London +dockers. They are the drift of the English labour world. When a man is +hopeless he goes to look for work at the docks." + +"There is a chance if the move is made big enough to attract attention +and if everything is prepared beforehand. If money can be found to keep a +hundred thousand penniless men out while public opinion is forming they +can win, I think. Even British public opinion can't yet defend fourpence +an hour for casual work." + +"Men will never think much until they are organised in some form or +other," said Stratton. "Such a big move in London would boom the +organisation of unskilled men everywhere." + +"More plots!" cried Connie, coming back, followed by Nellie, waterproofed +and hatted. + +"It's raining," she went on, to Ned, "so I'll give you Harry's umbrella +and let Ford take his waterproof. You'll have a damp row, Nellie. I +suppose you know you've got to go across in George's boat, Ned." + +Ned didn't know, but just then George's "Ahoy!" sounded from outside. + +"We mustn't keep him waiting in the wet," exclaimed Nellie. She shook +hands with them all, kissing Mrs. Stratton affectionately. Ned felt as he +shook hands all round that he was leaving old friends. + +"Come again," said Stratton, warmly. "We shall always be glad to see +you." + +"Indeed we shall," urged Connie. "Don't wait to come with Nellie. Come +and see us any time you're in Sydney. Day or night, come and see if we're +in and wait here if we're not." + +Geisner and Stratton put on their hats and went with them down the +verandah stops to the little stone quay below. Josie was standing there, +in the drizzle, wrapped in a cloak and holding a lantern. In a rowing +skiff, alongside, was George; another lantern was set on one of the +seats. + +"Are you busy to-morrow afternoon?" asked Geisner of Ned, as Nellie was +being handed in, after having kissed Josie. + +"Not particularly," answered Ned. + +"Then you might meet me in front of the picture gallery between one and +two, and we can have a quiet chat." + +"All aboard!" shouted George. + +"I'll be there," answered Ned, shaking hands again with Geisner and +Stratton and with Josie, noticing that that young lady had a very warm +clinging hand. + +"Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!" From the three on shore. + +"Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!" From the three in the boat as George +shoved off. + +"Good-bye!" cried Connie's clear voice from the verandah. "Put up the +umbrella, Ned!" + +Ned obediently put up the umbrella she had lent him, overcoming his +objections by pointing out that it would keep Nellie's hat from being +spoiled. Then George's oars began to dip into the water, and they turned +their backs to the pleasant home and faced out into the wind and wet. + +The last sound that came to them was a long melodious cry that Josie sent +across the water to George, a loving "Good-bye!" that plainly meant "Come +back!" + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +"THIS IS SOCIALISM!" + +The working of George's oars and the rippling of water on the bow were +all that broke the silence as the skiff moved across the harbour. +Suddenly Ned lost sight of the swinging lantern that Josie had held at +the little landing stairs and without it could not distinguish the house +they had left. Here and there behind them were lights of various kinds +and sizes, shining blurred through the faint drizzle. He saw similar +lights in front and on either hand. Yet the darkness was so deep now that +but for the lantern on the fore thwarts he could not have seen George at +all. + +There were no sounds but those of their rowing. + +Nellie sat erect, half hidden in the umbrella Ned held over her. George +pulled a long sweeping stroke, bringing it up with a jerk that made the +rowlocks sound sharply. When he bent back they could feel the light boat +lift under them. He looked round now and then, steering himself by some +means inscrutable to the others, who without him would have been lost on +this watery waste. + +All at once George stopped rowing. "Listen!" he exclaimed. + +There was a swishing sound as of some great body rushing swiftly through +the water near them. It ceased suddenly; then as suddenly sounded again. + +"Sharks about," remarked George, in a matter-of-fact tone, rowing again +with the same long sweeping stroke as before. + +Nellie did not stir. She was used to such incidents, evidently. But Ned +had never before been so close to the sea-tigers and felt a creepy +sensation. He would much rather, he thought, be thirty-five miles from +water with a lame horse than in the company of sharks on a dark wet night +in the middle of Sydney harbour. + +"Are they dangerous?" he asked, with an attempt at being indifferent. + +"I Suppose so," answered George, in a casual way. "If one of them +happened to strike the boat it might be unpleasant. But they're terrible +cowards." + +"Are there many?" + +"In the harbour? Oh, yes, it swarms with them. You see that light," and +George pointed to the left, where one of the lights had detached itself +from the rest and shone close at hand. "That's on a little island and in +the convict days hard cases were put on it--I think it was on that +island or one like it--and the sharks saw that none of them swam +ashore." + +"They seem to have used those convicts pretty rough," remarked Ned. + +"Rough's no name," said George after a few minutes. "It was as vile and +unholy a thing, that System, as anything they have in Russia. A friend of +mine has been working the thing up for years, and is going to start +writing it up soon. You must read it when it comes out. It'll make you +hate everything that has a brass button on. I tell you, this precious Law +of ours has something to answer for. It was awful, horrible, and it's not +all gone yet, as I know." + +He rowed on for a space in silence. + +"There's one story I think of, sometimes, rowing across here, and hearing +the sharks splash. At one place they used to feed the dead convicts to +the sharks so as to keep them swarming about, and once they flung one in +before he was dead." + +Nellie gave a stifled exclamation. Ned was too horror-struck to answer; +above the clicking of the oars in the rowlocks he fancied he could hear +the swish of the savage sharks rushing through the water at their living +prey. He was not sorry when George again rested on his oars to say: + +"Will you land at the point this time, Nellie?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Well, here you are! We've had a pretty fastish pull over, considering." + +Two or three more strokes brought them to a flight of low stone steps. By +the light of the lantern Ned and Nellie were disembarked. + +"I won't keep you talking in the rain, Nellie," said George. "I'm sorry +you are going away so soon, Hawkins. We could have given you some boating +if you had time. You might come out to-morrow afternoon--that's this +afternoon--if you haven't anything better to do." + +"I'm very much obliged, but I was going to meet Mr. Geisner." + +"That settles it then. Anybody would sooner have a yarn with Geisner. +We'll fix some boating when you're down again. You'll come again. Won't +he, Nellie? Good-bye and a pleasant trip! Good-bye, Nellie." And having +shaken hands by dint of much arm stretching, George pushed his boat away +from the steps and pulled away. + +Nellie stood for a minute watching the lantern till it turned the point, +heading eastward. Then straightening the waterproof over her dress she +took Ned's arm and they walked off. + +"He's a nice sort of chap," remarked Ned, referring to George. + +"Yes, he's a great oarsman. He rows over to see Josie. Mrs. Stratton +calls them Hero and Leander." + +"Why? Who were they?" + +"Oh! Leander was Hero's sweetheart and used to swim across the water to +her so that nobody should see him." + +"They're to be married, I suppose?" + +"Yes, next month." + +"Those Strattons are immense--what's that noise, Nellie?" he +interrupted himself. A strange groaning from close at hand had startled +him. + +"Somebody asleep, I suppose," she answered, more accustomed to the Sydney +parks. But she stopped while, under the umbrella, he struck a match with +a bushman's craft. + +By the light of the match they saw a great hollow in the rocks that +bordered on one side the gravelled footway. The rocks leaned out and took +in part of the path, which widened underneath. Sheltered thus from the +rain and wind a number of men were sleeping, outcast, some in blankets, +some lying on the bare ground. The sound they had beard was a medley of +deep breathing and snoring. It was but a glimpse they caught as the match +flared up for a minute. It went out and they could see nothing, only the +faint outline of path and rock. They could hear still the moaning sound +that had attracted them. + +They walked on without speaking for a time. + +"How did you know the Strattons?" resumed Ned. + +"At the picture gallery one Sunday. She was writing some article +defending their being opened on the 'Sawbath' and I had gone in. I like +pictures--some pictures, you know. We got talking and she showed me +things in the pictures I'd never dreamed of before. We stayed there till +closing time and she asked me to come to see her. + +"She's immense!" + +"I'm so glad you like her. Everybody does." + +"Has she any children?" + +"Four. Such pretty children. She and her husband are so fond of each +other. I can't imagine people being happier." + +"I suppose they're pretty well off, Nellie?" + +"No, I don't think they're what you'd call well off. They're comfortable, +you know. She has to put on a sort of style, she's told me, to take the +edge off her ideas. If you wear low-necked dress you can talk the wildest +things, she says, and I think it's so. That's business with her. She has +to mix with low-necked people a little. It's her work." + +"Does she have to work?" + +"No. I suppose not. But I think she prefers to. She never writes what she +doesn't think, which is pleasanter than most writers find it. Then I +should think she'd feel more independent, however much she cares for her +husband. And then she has a little girl who's wonderfully clever at +colours, so she's saving up to send her to Paris when she's old enough. +They think she'll become a great painter--the little girl, I mean." + +"What does that Josie do?" + +"She's a music-teacher." + +"They're all clever, aren't they?" + +"Yes. But, of course, they've all had a chance. Ford is the most +remarkable. He never got any education to speak of until he was over 20. +The Strattons have been born as they live now. They've had some hard +times, I think, from what they say now and then, but they've always been +what's called 'cultured.' Everybody ought to be as they are." + +"I think so, too, Nellie, but can everybody be as well off as they are?" + +"They're not well off, I told you, Ned. If they spend £5 a week it's as +much as they do. Of course that sounds a lot, but since if things were +divided fairly everybody who works ought to get far more, it's not +extravagant riches. Wine and water doesn't cost more than beer, and the +things they've got were picked up bit by bit. It's what they've got and +the way it's put that looks so nice. There's nothing but what's pretty, +and she is always adding something or other. She idolises Art and +worships everything that's beautiful." + +"Do you think it's really that sort of thing that makes people better?" +said Ned. + +"How can it help making them better if their hearts are good? When what +is ugly and miserable in life jars on one at every turn because one loves +so what is harmonious and beautiful, there seems to me to be only one of +two things to be done, either to shut your eyes to others and become a +selfish egotist or to try with all your strength to bring a beautiful +life to others. I'm speaking, of course, particularly of people like the +Strattons. But I think that hatred of what is repulsive is a big +influence with all of us." + +"You mean of dirty streets, stuffy houses and sloppy clothes?" + +"Oh! More than that. Of ugly lives, of ugly thoughts, of others, and +ourselves perhaps, just existing like working bullocks when we might be +so happy, of living being generally such a hateful thing when it might be +so sweet!" + +"I suppose the Strattons are happy?" + +"Not as happy as everybody might be if the world was right. They +understand music and pictures and colouring and books. He reads science a +lot and paints--funny mixture, isn't it?--and she teaches the +children a great deal. They go boating together. They both work at what +they like and are clever enough to be fairly sure of plenty to do. They +have friends who take an interest in the things that interest them and +their children are little angels. They aren't short of money for anything +they need because they really live simply and so have plenty to spend. +And, then, they are such kind people. She has a way with her that makes +you feel better no matter how miserable you've been. That's happiness, I +think, as far as it goes. But she feels much as I do about children. She +is so afraid that they will not be happy and blames herself for being +selfish because other people's children never have any happiness and +would do anything to alter things so that it would be different. Still, +of course, they have a happy life as far as the life itself goes. I +think, the way they live, they must both feel as if they were each better +and knew more and cared for each other more the older they get." + +"It must be very pleasant," said Ned, after a pause. They had reached the +higher ground and were passing under branches from which the rain-drops, +collected, fell in great splashes on the umbrella. + +"Yes," said Nellie, after another pause. + +"Do they go to church?" Ned began again. + +"I never heard them say they did." + +"They're not religious then?" + +"What do you call religious?" + +"They don't believe anything, do they?" + +"I think they believe a very great deal. Far more than most people who +pretend to believe and don't," answered Nellie. There was a longer pause. +Then: + +"What do they believe?" + +"In Socialism." + +"Socialism! Look here, Nellie! What is Socialism?" + +They had passed the fig-tree avenue, turning off it by a cross path, +where a stone fountain loomed up gigantic in the gloom and where they +could hear a rushing torrent splashing. They were in the region of +gas-lamps again. Nellie walked along with a swiftness that taxed Ned to +keep abreast of her. She seemed to him to take pleasure in the wet night. +In spite of their long walking of the day before and the lateness of the +hour she had still the same springy step and upright carriage. As they +passed under the lamps he saw her face, damp with the rain, but flushed +with exercise, her eyes gleaming, her mouth open a little. He would have +liked to have taken her hand as she steadied the umbrella, walking arm in +arm with him, but he did not dare. She was not that sort of girl. + +He had felt a proud sense of proprietorship in her at the Strattons'. It +had pleased him to see how they all liked her, but pleased him most of +all that she could talk as an equal with these people, to him so +brilliant and clever. The faint thought of her which had been +unconsciously with him for years began to take shape. How pleasant it +would be to be like the Strattons, to live with Nellie always, and have +friends to come and see them on a Saturday night! How a man would work +for a home like that, so full of music, so full of song, so full of +beauty, so full of the thoughts which make men like unto gods and of the +love which makes gods like unto men! Why should not this be for him as +well as for others when, as Nellie said, it really cost only what rich +people thought poverty, and far less than the workingman's share if +things were fairly divided? And why should it not be for his mates as +well as for himself? And why, most of all, why not for the wretched +dwellers in the slums of Sydney, the weary women, the puny children, the +imbruted men? For the first time in his life, he coveted such things with +a righteous covetousness, without hating those who had them, recognising +without words that to have and to appreciate such a life was to desire +ceaselessly to bring it within the reach of every human being. He could +not see how this was all to come about. He would have followed blindly +anybody who played the Marseillaise as Geisner did. He was ready to echo +any ringing thought that appealed to him as good and noble. But he did +not know. He could see that in the idea called by Mrs. Stratton "the +Cause" there was an understood meaning which fitted his aspirations and +his desires. He had gathered, his narrow bigotry washed from him, that +between each and all of those whom he had just left there was a bond of +union, a common thought, an accepted way. He had met them strangers, and +had left them warm friends. The cartoonist, white with rage at the memory +of the high rectory wall that shut the beautiful from the English poor; +the gloomy poet whose verses rang still in his ears and would live in his +heart for ever; the gray-eyed woman who idolised Art, as Nellie said, and +fanned still the fire in which her nearest kin had perished; the +pressman, with his dream of a free press that would not serve the money +power; the painter to whom the chiselled stone spoke; the pretty girl who +had been cradled amid barricades; the quiet musician for whom the +bitterness of death was past, born leader of men, commissioned by that +which stamped him what he was; the dressmaking girl, passionately +pleading the cause of Woman; even himself, drinking in this new life as +the ground sucks up the rain after a drought; between them all there was +a bond--"the Cause." What was this Cause? To break down all walls, to +overthrow all wrong, to destroy the ugliness of human life, to free +thought, to elevate Art, to purify Love, to lift mankind higher, to give +equality to women, to--to--he did not see exactly where he himself +came in--all this was the Cause. Yet he did not quite understand it, +just the same. Nor did he know how it was all to come about. But he +intended to find out. So he asked Nellie what the Strattons believed, +feeling instinctively that there must be belief in something. + +"What do they believe?" he had asked. + +"In Socialism," Nellie had answered. + +"Socialism! Look here, Nellie! What is Socialism?" he had exclaimed. + +They neared a lamp, shining mistily in the drizzle. Close at hand was a +seat, facing the grass. In the dim light was what looked like a bundle of +rags thrown over the seat and trailing to the ground. Nellie stopped. It +was a woman, sleeping. + +There, under a leafy tree, whose flat branches shielded her somewhat from +the rain, slept the outcast. She had dozed off into slumber, sitting +there alone. She was not lying, only sitting there, her arm flung over +the back of the seat, her head fallen on her shoulder, her face upturned +to the pitying night. It was the face of a street-walker, bloated and +purplish, the poor pretence of colour gone, the haggard lines showing, +all the awful life of her stamped upon it; yet in the lamplight, upturned +in its helplessness, sealed with the sleep that had come at last to her, +sore-footed, as softly as it might have come to a little baby falling +asleep amid its play, there enhaloed it the incarnation of triumphant +suffering. On the swollen cheeks of the homeless woman the night had shed +its tears of rain. There amid the wind and wet, in the darkness, alone +and weary, shame-worn and sin-sodden, scorned by the Pharisee, despised +by the vicious, the harlot slept and forgot. Calm as death itself was the +face of her. Softly and gently she breathed, as does the heavy-eyed bride +whose head the groom's arm pillows. Nature, our Mother Nature, had taken +her child for a moment to her breast and the outcast rested there awhile, +all sorrows forgotten, all desires stilled, all wrongs and sins and shame +obscured and blotted out. She envied none. Equal was she with all. Great +indeed is Sleep, which teaches us day by day that none is greater in +God's sight than another, that as we all came equal and naked from the +unknown so naked and equal we shall all pass on to the Unknown again, +that this life is but as a phantasy in which it is well to so play one's +part that nightly one falls asleep without fear and meets at last the +great sleep without regret! + +But, oh, the suffering that had earned for this forsaken sister the sweet +sleep she slept! Oh, the ceaseless offering of this sin-stained body, the +contumelious jeers she met, the vain search through streets and avenues +this wild night, for the blind lust that would give her shelter and food! +Oh, the efforts to beg, the saints who would not wait to listen to such a +one, the sinners who were as penniless! Oh, the shivering fits that walk, +walk, walk, when the midnight hours brought silence and solitude, the +stamps that racked her poor limbs when she laid down, exhausted, in +dripping garments, on the hard park seats, the aching feet that refused +at last the ceaseless tramping in their soaked and broken shoes! Oh, the +thoughts of her, the memories, the dreams of what had been and what might +be, as she heard the long hours toll themselves away! Oh, the bitter +tears she may have shed, and the bitter words she may have uttered, and +the bitter hate that may have overflowed in her against that vague +something we call Society! And, oh, the sweet sleep that fell upon her at +last, unexpected--as the end of our waiting shall come, when we weary +most--falling upon her as the dew falls, closing her weary eye-lids, +giving her peace and rest and strength to meet another to-day! + +Ned stopped when Nellie did, of course. Neither spoke. A sense of great +shame crept upon him, he hardly knew why. He could not look at Nellie. He +wished she would move on and leave him there. The silent pathos of that +sleeping face cried to him. Lowest of the low, filthy, diseased probably, +her face as though the womanliness had been stamped from her by a brutal +heel of iron, she yet was a woman. This outcast and Nellie were of one +sex; they all three were of one Humanity. + +A few hours before and he would have passed her by with a glance of +contemptuous pity. But now, he seemed to have another sense awakened in +him, the sense that feels, that sympathises in the heart with the hearts +of others. It was as though he himself slept there. It was as though he +understood this poor sister, whom the merciful called erring, and the +merciless wicked, but of whom the just could only say: she is what we in +her place must have become. She was an atom of the world of suffering by +which his heart was being wrung. She was one upon whom the Wrong fell +crushingly, and she was helpless to resist it. He was strong, and he had +given no thought to those who suffered as this poor outcast suffered. He +had lived his own narrow life, and shared the sin, and assisted Wrong by +withholding his full strength from the side of Right. And upon him was +the responsibility for this woman. He, individually, had kicked her into +the streets, and dragged her footsore through the parks, and cast her +there to bear testimony against him to every passer-by; he, because he +had not fought, whole-souled, with those who seek to shatter the +something which, without quite understanding, he knew had kicked and +dragged and outcasted this woman sleeping here. Ned always took his +lessons personally. It was perhaps, a touch in him of the morbidity that +seizes so often the wandering Arabs of the western plains. + +Suddenly Nellie let go the umbrella, leaving it in his hand. She bent +forward, stooped down. The strong young face, proud and sad, so pure in +its maiden strength, glowing with passionate emotion, was laid softly +against that bruised and battered figurehead of shipwrecked womanhood; +Nellie had kissed the sleeping harlot on the cheek. + +Then, standing erect, she turned to Ned, her lips parted, her face +quivering, her eyes flashing, her hand resting gently on the unconscious +woman. + +"You want to know what Socialism is," she said, in a low, trembling +voice. "This is Socialism." And bending down again she kissed the poor +outcast harlot a second time. The woman never stirred. Seizing Ned's arm +Nellie drew him away, breaking into a pace that made him respect her +prowess as a walker ever after. + +Until they reached home neither spoke. Nellie looked sterner than ever. +Ned was in a whirl of mental excitement. Perhaps if he had been less +natural himself the girl's passionate declaration of fellowship with all +who are wronged and oppressed--for so he interpreted it by the light of +his own thoughts--might have struck him as a little bit stagey. Being +natural, he took it for what it was, an outburst of genuine feeling. But +if Nellie had really designed it she could not have influenced him more +deeply. Their instincts, much akin, had reached the same idea by +different ways. Her spontaneous expression of feeling had fitted in her +mind to the Cause which possessed her as a religious idea, and had capped +in him the human yearnings which were leading him to the same goal. And +so, what with his overflowing sympathy for the sleeping outcast, and his +swelling love for Nellie, and the chaotic excitement roused in him by all +he had seen and heard during the preceding hours, that kiss burnt itself +into his imagination and became to him all his life through as a sacred +symbol. From that moment his life was forecast--a woman tempted him and +he ate. + +For that kiss Ned gave himself into the hands of a fanaticism, eating of +the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, striving to become as a god knowing +good from evil. For that kiss he became one of those who have the Desire +which they know can never be satiated in them. For that kiss he +surrendered himself wholly to the faith of her whose face was sad and +stern-mouthed, content ever after if with his whole life he could fill +one of the ruts that delay the coming of Liberty's triumphal car. To that +turning-point in his life, other events led up, certainly, events which +of themselves would likely have forced him to stretch out his hand and +pluck and eat. It is always that way with life changes. Nothing depends +altogether upon one isolated act. But looking back in after years, when +the lesser influences had cleared away in the magic glass of Time, Ned +could ever see, clear and distinct as though it were but a minute since, +the stern red lips of that pale, proud, passionate face pressed in +trembling sisterliness to the harlot's purple cheek. + +As she put the key in the door Nellie turned to Ned, speaking for the +first time: + +"You'd better ask Geisner about Socialism when you see him to-morrow--I +mean this afternoon." + +Ned nodded without speaking. Silently he let her get his candle, and +followed her up the stairs to the room concerning which the card was +displayed in the window below. She turned down the bedclothes, then held +out her hand. + +"Good-night or good-morning, whichever it is!" she said, smiling at him. +"You can sleep as long as you like Sunday morning, you know. If you want +anything knock the wall there." + +"Good-night, Nellie!" he answered, slowly, holding her fingers in his. +Then, before she could stop him, he lifted her hand to his lips. She did +not snatch it away but looked him straight in the eyes, without speaking; +then went out, shutting the door softly behind her. She understood him +partly; not altogether, then. + +Left alone in the scantily-furnished room, Ned undressed, blew out the +candle and went to bed. But until he fell asleep, and in his dreams +afterwards, he still saw Nellie bending down over a purpled, sin-stained +face, and heard her sweet voice whisper tremblingly: + +"This is Socialism!" + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +WHERE THE EVIL REALLY LIES. + +Geisner was betimes at his appointment in the Domain. It was still the +dinner hour, and though it was Sunday there were few to be seen on the +grass or along the paths. So Ned saw him afar off, pacing up and down +before the Art Gallery like a sentinel, an ordinary looking man to a +casual passer-by, one whom you might pass a hundred times on the street +and not notice particularly, even though he was ugly. Perhaps because of +it. + +Neither of them cared to stroll about, they found. Accordingly they +settled down at a shady patch on a grassy slope, the ground already dried +from the night's rain by the fierce summer sunshine of the morning. +Stretched out there, Geisner proceeded to roll a cigarette and Ned to +chew a blade of grass. + +Below them a family were picnicking quietly. Dinner was over; pieces of +paper littered the ground by an open basket. The father lay on his side +smoking, the mother was giving a nursing baby its dinner, one little +child lay asleep under a tree and two or three wore were playing near at +hand. + +"That reminds me of Paris," remarked Geisner, watching them. + +"I suppose you are French?" + +"No. I've been in France considerably." + +"It's a beautiful country, isn't it?" + +"All countries are beautiful in their way. Sydney Harbour is the most +beautiful spot I know. I hardly know where I was born. In Germany I +think." + +"Things are pretty bad in those old countries, aren't they?" + +"Things are pretty bad everywhere, aren't they?" + +"Yes," answered Ned, meditatively. "They seem to be. They're bad enough +here and this is called the workingman's paradise. But a good many seem +glad enough to get here from other countries. It must be pretty bad where +they come from." + +"So it is. It is what it is here, only more so. It is what things will be +in a very few years here if you let them go on. As a matter of fact the +old countries ought to be wore prosperous than the new ones, but our +social system has become so ill-balanced that in the countries where +there are most people at work those people are more wretched than where +there are comparatively few working." + +"How do you mean?" + +"Well, this way. The wealth production of thickly settled countries is +proportionately greater than that of thinly settled countries. Of course, +there would be a limit somewhere, but so far no country we know of has +reached it." + +"You don't mean that a man working in England or France earns more than a +man working in Australia?" demanded Ned, sitting up. "I thought it was +the other way." + +"I don't mean he gets more but I certainly mean that he produces more. +The appliances are so much better, and the sub-division of labour, that +is each man doing one thing until he becomes an expert at it, is carried +so much further by very virtue of the thicker population." + +"That's to say they have things fixed so that they crush more to the ton +of work." + +"About that. Taking the people all round, and throwing in kings and +queens and aristocrats and the parsons that Ford loves so, every average +Englishman produced yesterday more wealth--more boots, more tools, more +cloth, more anything of value--than every average Australian. And every +average Belgian produced yesterday, or any day, more wealth than every +average Englishman. These are facts you can see in any collection of +statistics. The conservative political economists don't deny them; they +only try to explain them away." + +"But how does it come? Men produce more there than we do here and earn +less. How's that?" + +"Simply because they're robbed more." + +"Look here, Mr. Geisner!" said Ned, gathering his knees into his arms. +"That's what I want to know. I know we're robbed. Any fool can see that +those who work the least or don't work at all get pretty much everything, +but I don't quite see how they get it. We're only just beginning to think +of these things in the bush, and we don't know much yet. We only know +there's something wrong, but we don't know what to do except to get a +union and keep up wages." + +"That's the first step, to get a union," said Geisner. "But unless +unionists understand what it's all about they'll only be able to keep up +wages for a little while. You see, Ned, this is the difficulty: a man +can't work when he likes." + +"A man can't work when he likes!" + +"No; not the average man and it's the average man who has to be +considered always. Let's take a case--yourself. You want to live. +Accordingly, you must work, that is you must produce what you need to +live upon from the earth by your labour or you must produce something +which other working men need and these other men will give you in +exchange for it something they have produced which you need. Now, let's +imagine you wanting to live and desiring to start to-morrow morning to +work for your living. What would you do?" + +"I suppose I'd ask somebody." + +"Ask what?" + +"Well, I'd have to ask somebody or other if there was any work." + +"What work?" + +"Well, if they had a job they wanted me to do, that I could do, you +know." + +"I don't 'You know' anything. I want you to explain. Now what would you +say?" + +"Oh! I'd kind of go down to the hut likely and see the boys if 'twas any +use staying about and then, perhaps, or it might be before I went to the +hut, that would be all according, I'd see the boss and sound him." + +"How sound him?" + +"Well, that would be all according, too. If I was pretty flush and didn't +care a stiver whether I got a job or not I'd waltz right up to him just +as I might to you to ask the time, and if he came any of his law-de-dah +squatter funny business on me I'd give him the straight wire, I promise +you. But it stands to reason--don't it?--that if I've been out of +graft for months and haven't got any money and my horses are played out +and there's no chance of another job, well, I'm going to humor him a bit +more than I'd like to, ain't I?" + +Geisner laughed "You see it all right, Ned. Suppose the first man you +sounded said no?" + +"I'd try another." + +"And if the other said no?" + +"Well, I'd have to keep on trying." + +"And you'd get more inclined to humour the boss every time you had to try +again." + +"Naturally. That's how they get at us. No man's a crawler who's sure of a +job." + +"Then you might take lower wages, and work longer hours, after you'd been +out of work till you'd got thoroughly disheartened than you would now." + +"I wouldn't. Not while there was--I might have to, though I say I'd +starve or steal first. There are lots who do, I suppose." + +"Lots who wouldn't dream of doing it if there was plenty of work to be +had?" + +"Of course. Who'd work for less than another man if he needn't, easily? +There isn't one man in a thousand who'd do another fellow out of a job +for pure meanness. The chaps who do the mischief are those who're so +afraid the boss'll sack them, and that another boss won't take them on, +that they'd almost lick his boots if they thought it would please him." + +"Now we're coming to it. It is work being hard to get that lowers wages +and increases hours, and makes a workman, or workwoman either, put up +with what nobody would dream of putting up with if they could help it?" + +"Of course that's it." + +"Now! Is the day's work done by a poorly-paid man less than that done by +a highly-paid one?" + +"No," answered Ned. "I've seen it more," he added. + +"How's that?" + +"Well, when a man's anxious to keep a job and afraid he won't get another +he'll often nearly break his back bullocking at it. When he feels +independent he'll do the fair thing, and sling the job up if the boss +tries to bullock him. It's the same thing all along the line, it seems to +me. When you can get work easily you get higher wages, shorter hours, +some civility, and only do the fair thing. When you can't, wages come +down, hours spin out, the boss puts on side, and you've got to work like +a nigger." + +"Then, roughly speaking, the amount of work you do hasn't got very much +to do with the pay you get for it?" + +"I suppose not. It's not likely a man ever gets more than his work is +worth. The boss would soon knock him off and let the work slide. I +suppose a man is only put on to a job when its worth more than the boss +has to pay for getting it done. And I reckon the less a man can be got to +do it for the better it is for the fellow who gets the job done." + +"That's it. Suppose you can't get work no matter how often you ask, what +do you do?" + +"Keep on looking. Live on rations that the squatters serve out to keep +men travelling the country so they can get them if they want them or on +mutton you manage to pick up or else your mates give you a bit of a lift. +You must live. It's beg or steal or else starve." + +"I think men and women are beginning to starve in Australia. Many are +quite starving in the old countries and have been starving longer. That's +why the workers are somewhat worse off there than here. The gold rushes +gave things a lift here and raised the condition of the workers +wonderfully. But the same causes that have been working in the old +countries have been working here and are fast beating things down again." + +"A gold rush!" exclaimed Ned. "That's the thing to make wages rise, +particularly if it's a poor man's digging." + +"What's that?" + +"Don't you know? An alluvial field is where you can dig out gold with a +pick and shovel and wash it out with a pannikin. You don't want any +machines, and everybody digs for himself, or mates with other fellows, +and if you want a man to do a job you've got to pay him as much as he +could dig for himself in the time." + +"I see. 'Poor man's digging,' you call it, eh? You don't think much of a +reefing field?" + +"Of course not," answered Ned, smiling at this apparent ignorance. +"Reefing fields employ men, and give a market, and a few strike it, but +the average man, as you call him, hasn't got a chance. It takes so much +capital for sinking and pumping and crushing, and things of that sort, +that companies have to be formed outside, and the miners mostly work just +for wages. And when a reefing field gets old it's as bad as a coal-field +or a factory town. You're just working for other people, and the bigger +the dividends the more anxious they seem to be to knock wages" + +"Then this is what it all amounts to. If you aren't working for yourself +you're working for somebody else who pays as little as he can for as much +as he can get, and rubs the dirt in, often, into the bargain." + +"A man may not earn wages working for himself," answered Ned. + +"You mean he may not produce for himself as much value as men around him +receive in wages for working for somebody else. Of course! You might +starve working on Mount Morgan or Broken Hill with a pick and pannikin, +though on an alluvial your pick and pannikin would be all you needed. +That's the kernel of the industrial question. Industry has passed out of +the alluvial stage into the reefing. We must have machinery to work with +or we may all starve in the midst of mountains of gold." + +"I don't quite see how you mean." + +"Just this. If every man could take his pick on his shoulders and work +for himself with reasonable prospect of what he regarded as a sufficient +return he wouldn't ask anybody else for work." + +"Not often, anyway." + +"But if he cannot so work for himself he must go round looking for the +man who has a shaft or a pump or a stamping mill and must bargain for the +owner of machinery to take the product of his labour for a certain price +which of course isn't it's full value at all but the price at which, +owing to his necessities, he is compelled to sell his labour. + +"Things are getting so in all branches of industry, in squatting, in +manufacturing, in trading, in ship-owning, in everything, that it takes +more and more capital for a man to start for himself. This is a necessary +result of increasing mechanical powers and of the economy of big +businesses as compared to small ones. For example, if there is a great +advantage in machine clipping, as a friend of mine who understands such +things tells me there is, all wool will some day be clipped that way. +Then, the market being full of superior machine-clipped wool, +hand-clipped would have little sale and only at lower price. The result +would be that all wool-growers must have machines as part of their +capital, an additional expense, making it still harder for a man with a +small capital to start wool-growing. + +"All this means," continued Geisner, "that more and more go round asking +for work as what we call civilisation progresses, that is as population +increases and the industrial life becomes more complicated. I don't mean +in Australia only. I'm speaking generally. They can only work when +another man thinks he can make a profit out of them, and there are so +many eager to be made a profit on that the owner of the machine has it +pretty well his own way. This system operates for the extension of its +own worst feature, the degradation of the working masses. You see, such a +vast amount of industrial work can be held over that employers, sometimes +unconsciously, sometimes deliberately, hold work over until times are +what they call 'more suitable,' that is when they can make bigger profits +by paying less in wages. This has a tendency to constantly keep wages +down, besides affording a stock argument against unionist agitations for +high wages. But, in any case, the fits of industrial briskness and +idleness which occur in all countries are enough to account for the +continual tendency of wages to a bare living amount for those working, as +many of those not working stand hungrily by to jump into their places if +they get rebellious or attempt to prevent wages going down." + +"That's just how it is," said Ned. "But we're going to get all men into +unions, and then we'll keep wages up." + +"Yes; there is no doubt that unions help to keep wages up. But, you see, +so long as industrial operations can be contracted, and men thrown out of +work, practically at the pleasure of those who employ, complete unionism +is almost impracticable if employers once begin to act in concert. +Besides, the unemployed are a menace to unionism always. Workmen can +never realise that too strongly." + +"What are we to do then if we can't get what we want by unionism?" + +"How can you get what you want by unionism? The evil is in having to ask +another man for work at all--in not being able to work for yourself. +Unionism, so far, only says that if this other man does employ you he +shall not take advantage of your necessity by paying you less than the +wage which you and your fellow workmen have agreed to hold out for. You +must destroy the system which makes it necessary for you to work for the +profit of another man, and keeps you idle when he can't get a profit out +of you. The whole wage system must be utterly done away with." And +Geisner rolled another cigarette as though it was the simplest idea in +the world. + +"How? What will you do instead?" + +"How! By having men understand what it is, and how there can be no true +happiness and no true manliness until they overthrow it! By preaching +socialistic ideas wherever men will listen, and forcing them upon them +where they do not want to listen! By appealing to all that is highest in +men and to all that is lowest--to their humanity and to their +selfishness! By the help of the education which is becoming general, by +the help of art and of science, and even of this vile press that is the +incarnation of all the villainies of the present system! By living for +the Cause, and by being ready to die for it! By having only one idea: to +destroy the Old Order and to bring in the New!" Geisner spoke quietly, +but in his voice was a ring that made Ned's blood tingle in his veins. + +"What do you call the Old Order?" asked Ned, lying back and looking up at +the sky through the leaves. + +"Everything that is inhuman, everything that is brutal, everything which +relies upon the taking advantage of a fellow-man, which leads to the +degradation of a woman or to the unhappiness of a child. Everything which +is opposed to the idea of human brotherhood. That which produces +scrofulous kings, and lying priests, and greasy millionaires, and +powdered prostitutes, and ferret-faced thieves. That which makes the +honest man a pauper and a beggar, and sets the clever swindler in +parliament. That which makes you what you are at 24, a man without a +home, with hardly a future. That which tries to condemn those who protest +to starvation, and will yet condemn them to prison here in Australia as +readily as ever it did in Europe or Russia. + +"You want to know what makes this," he went on. "Well, it is what we have +been talking of, that you should have to ask another man for work so that +you may live. It doesn't matter what part of the world you are in or +under what form of government, it is the same everywhere. So long as you +can't work without asking another man for permission you are exposed to +all the ills that attend poverty and all the tyranny that attends +inordinate power and luxury. When you grip that, you understand half the +industrial problem." + +"And the other half, what's that?" asked Ned. + +"This, that we've got over the alluvial days, if they ever did exist +industrially, and are in the thick of reefing fields and syndicates. So +much machinery is necessary now that no ordinary single man can own the +machinery he needs to work with as he could in the old pick and pannikin +days. This makes him the slave of those who do own it for he has to work +to live. Men must all join together to own the machinery they must have +to work with, so that they may use it to produce what they need as they +need it and will not have to starve unless some private owner of +machinery can make a profit out of their labour. They must pull together +as mates and work for what is best for all, not each man be trying only +for himself and caring little whether others live or die. We must own all +machinery co-operatively and work it co-operatively." + +"How about the land? Oughtn't that to be owned by the people too?" + +"Why, of course. The land is a part of the machinery of production. Henry +George separates it but in reality it is simply one of the means by which +we live, nowadays, for no man but an absolute savage can support himself +on the bare land. In the free land days which Henry George quotes, the +free old German days when we were all barbarians and didn't know what a +thief was, not only was the land held in common but the cattle also. +Without its cattle a German tribe would have starved on the richest +pastureland in Europe, and without our machinery we would starve were the +land nationalised to-morrow. At least I think so. George's is a scheme by +which it is proposed to make employers compete so fiercely among one +another that the workman will have it all his own way. It works this way. +You tax the landowner until it doesn't pay him to have unused land. He +must either throw it up or get it used somehow and the demand for labour +thus created is to lift wages and put the actual workers in what George +evidently considers a satisfactory position. That's George's Single Tax +scheme." + +"You don't agree with it?" asked Ned. + +"I am a Socialist. Between all Socialists and all who favour competition +in industry, as the Single Tax scheme does, there is a great gulf fixed. +Economically, I consider it fallacious, for the very simple reason that +capitalism continues competition, not to selling at cost price but to +monopoly, and I have never met an intelligent Single Taxer, and I have +met many, who could logically deny the possibility of the Single Tax +breaking down in an extension of this very monopoly power. Roughly, +machinery is necessary to work land most profitably, profitably enough +even to get a living off it. Suppose machine holders, that is +capitalists, extend their organisation a little and 'pool' their +interests as land users, that is refuse to compete against one another +for the use of land! Nellie was telling me that at one land sale on the +Darling Downs in Queensland the selectors about arranged matters among +themselves beforehand. The land sold, owing to its situation, was only +valuable to those having other land near and so was all knocked down at +the upset price though worth four times as much. It seems to me that in +just the same way the capitalists, who alone can really use land +remember, for the farmer, the squatter, the shopkeeper, the manufacturer, +the merchant, are nowadays really only managers for banks and mortgage +companies, will soon arrange a way of fixing the values of land to suit +themselves. But apart from that, I object to the Single Tax idea from the +social point of view. It is competitive. It means that we are still to go +on buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest. It is tinged +with that hideous Free Trade spirit of England, by which cotton kings +became millionaires while cotton spinners were treated far worse than any +chattel slaves. There are other things to be considered besides +cheapness, though unfortunately, with things as they are we seem +compelled to consider cheapness first." + +They lay for some time without speaking. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +"IT ONLY NEEDS ENOUGH FAITH." + +"You think land and stock and machinery should be nationalised, then?" +asked Ned, turning things over in his mind. + +"I think land and machinery, the entire means and processes of the +production and exchange of wealth, including stock, should be held in +common by those who need them and worked cooperatively for the benefit of +all. That is the socialistic idea of industry. The State Socialists seek +to make the State the co-operative medium, the State to be the company +and all citizens to be equal shareholders as it were. State Socialism is +necessarily compulsory on all. The other great socialistic idea, that of +Anarchical Communism, bases itself upon voluntaryism and opposes all +organised Force, whether of governments or otherwise." + +"Then Anarchists aren't wicked men?" + +"The Anarchist ideal is the highest and noblest of all human ideals. I +cannot conceive of a good man who does not recognise that when he once +understands it. The Anarchical Communists simply seek that men should +live in peace and concord, of their own better nature, without being +forced, doing harm to none, and being harmed by none. Of course the blind +revolt against oppressive and unjust laws and tyrannical governments has +become associated with Anarchy, but those who abuse it simply don't know +what they do. Anarchical Communism, that is men working as mates and +sharing with one another of their own free will, is the highest +conceivable form of Socialism in industry." + +"Are you an Anarchist?" + +"No. I recognise their ideal, understand that it is the only natural +condition for a community of general intelligence and fair moral health, +and look to the time when it will be instituted. I freely admit it is the +only form of Socialism possible among true Socialists. But the world is +full of mentally and morally and socially diseased people who, I believe, +must go through the school of State Socialism before, as a great mass, +they are true Socialists and fit for voluntary Socialism. Unionism is the +drill for Socialism and Socialism is the drill for Anarchy and Anarchy is +that free ground whereon true Socialists and true Individualists meet as +friends and mates, all enmity between them absorbed by the development of +an all-dominant Humanity." + +"Mates! Do you know that's a word I like?" said Ned. "It makes you feel +good, just the sound of it. I know a fellow, a shearer, who was witness +for a man in a law case once, and the lawyer asked him if he wasn't mates +with the chap he was giving evidence for. + +"'No,' says Bill, 'we ain't mates.' + +"'But you've worked together?' says the lawyer. 'Oh, yes!' says Bill. + +"'And travelled together?' + +"'Oh, yes!' + +"'And camped together?' + +"'Oh, yes!' + +"'Then if you're not mates what is mates?' says the lawyer in a bit of a +tear. + +"'Well, mister,' says Bill, 'mates is them wot's got one pus. If I go to +a shed with Jack an' we're mates an' I earn forty quid and Jack gets sick +an' only earns ten or five or mebbe nothin' at all we puts the whole lot +in one pus, or if it's t'other way about an' Jack earns the forty it +don't matter. There's one pus no matter how much each of us earns an' it +b'longs just the same to both of us alike. If Jack's got the pus and I +want half-a-crown, I says to Jack, says I, "Jack, gimme the pus." An' if +Jack wants ten quid or twenty or the whole lot he just says to me, +"Bill," says he "gimme the pus." I don't ask wot he's goin' to take and I +don't care. He can take it all if he wants it, 'cos it stands to reason, +don't it, mister?' says Bill to the lawyer, 'that a man wouldn't be so +dirt mean as to play a low-down trick on his own mate. So you see, +mister, him an' me warn't mates 'cos we had two pusses an' mates is them +wot's got one pus.'" + +Geisner laughed with Ned over the bush definition of "mates." + +"Bill was about right," he said, "and Socialism would make men mates to +the extent of all sharing up with one another. Each man might have a +purse but he'd put no more into it than his mate who was sick and weak." + +"We'd all work together and share together, I take it," said Ned. "But +suppose a man wouldn't work fairly and didn't want to share?" + +"I'd let him and all like him go out into the bush to see how they could +get on alone. They'd soon get tired. Men must co-operate to live +civilised." + +"Then Socialism is co-operation?" remarked Ned. + +"Co-operation as against competition is the main industrial idea of +Socialism. But there are two Socialisms. There is a socialism with a +little 's' which is simply an attempt to stave off the true Socialism. +This small, narrow socialism means only the state regulation of the +distribution of wealth. It has as its advocates politicians who seek to +modify the robbery of the workers, to ameliorate the horrors of the +competitive system, only in order to prevent the upheaval which such men +recognise to be inevitable if things keep on unchanged." + +"But true Socialism? I asked Nellie last night what Socialism was, but +she didn't say just what." + +"What did she say?" + +"Well! We were coming through the Domain last night, this morning I mean. +It was this morning, too. And on a seat in the rain, near a lamp, was a +poor devil of a woman, a regular hardtimer, you know, sleeping with her +head hung over the back of the seat like a fowl's. I'd just been asking +Nellie what Socialism was when we came to the poor wretch and she stopped +there. I felt a bit mean, you know, somehow, but all at once Nellie bent +her head and kissed this street-walking woman on the cheek, softly, so +she didn't wake her. 'That's Socialism,' says Nellie, and we didn't speak +any more till we got to her place, and then she told me to ask you what +Socialism was." Ned had shifted his position again and was sitting now on +his heels. He had pulled out his knife and was digging a little hole +among the grass roots. + +Geisner, who hardly moved except to roll cigarettes and light them, lay +watching him. "I think she's made you a Socialist," he answered, smiling. + +"I suppose so," answered Ned, gravely. "If Socialism means that no matter +what you are or what you've been we're all mates, and that Nellie's going +to join hands with the street-walker, and that you're going to join hands +with me, and that all of us are going to be kind to one another and have +a good time like we did at Mrs. Stratton's last night, well, I'm a +Socialist and there's heaps up in the bush will be Socialists too." + +"You know what being a Socialist means, Ned?" asked Geisner, looking into +the young man's eyes. + +"I've got a notion," said Ned, looking straight back. + +"There are socialists and Socialists, just as there is socialism and +Socialism. The ones babble of what they do not feel because it's becoming +the thing to babble. The others have a religion and that religion is +Socialism." + +"How does one know a religion?" + +"When one is ready to sacrifice everything for it. When one only desires +that the Cause may triumph. When one has no care for self and does not +fear anything that man can do and has a faith which nothing can shake, +not even one's own weakness!" + +There was a pause. "I'll try to be a Socialist of the right sort," said +Ned. + +"You are young and hopeful and will think again and again that the day of +redemption is dawning, and will see the night roll up again. You will see +great movements set in and struggle to the front and go down when most +was expected of them. You will see in the morning the crowd repent of its +enthusiasm of the night before. You will find cowards where you expected +heroes and see the best condemned to the suffering and penury that weaken +the bravest. Your heart will ache and your stomach will hunger and your +body will be bent and your head gray and then you may think that the +world is not moving and that you have wasted your life and that none are +grateful for it." + +"I will try not," said Ned. + +"You will see unionism grow, the New Unionism, which is simply the +socialistic form of unionism. You will see, as I said before, penal laws +invoked against unionism here in Australia, under the old pretence of +'law and order.' You will see the labour movement diverted into political +action and strikes fought and lost and won at the polling booths." + +"Will it not come then?" + +"How can it come then? Socialism is not a thing which can be glued like a +piece of veneering over this rotten social system of ours. It can only +come by the utter sweeping away of competition, and that can only come by +the development of the socialistic idea in men's hearts." + +"Do you mean that unions and political action and agitations don't do any +good?" + +"Of course they do good. A union may make an employer rob his men of a +few shillings weekly less. An act of Parliament may prevent wage-slaves +from being worked sixteen hours a day. An act of Parliament, granted that +Parliament represented the dominant thought of the people, could even +enforce a change of the entire social system. But before action must come +the dominant thought. Unions and Parliaments are really valuable as +spreading the socialistic idea. Every unionist is somewhat socialist so +far as he has agreed not to compete any longer against his fellows. Every +act of Parliament is additional proof that the system is wrong and must +go before permanent good can come. And year after year the number of men +and women who hold Socialism as a religion is growing. And when they are +enough you will see this Old Order melt away like a dream and the New +Order replace it. That which appears so impregnable will pass away in a +moment. So!" He blew a cloud of smoke and watched it disappear circling +upwards. + +"Listen!" he went on. "It only needs enough Faith. This accursed +Competitivism of ours has no friends but those who fear personal loss by +a change of system. Not one. It has hirelings, Pretorian guards, +Varangians, but not a devoted people. Its crimes are so great that he is +a self-condemned villain who knowing them dreams of justifying them. +There is not one man who would mourn it for itself if it fell to-morrow. +A dozen times this century it has been on the verge of destruction, and +what has saved it every time is simply that those who assailed it had not +a supreme ideal common among them as to how they should re-build. It is +exactly the same with political action as with revolutionary movements. +It will fail till men have faith." + +"How can they get it?" asked Ned, for Geisner had ceased speaking and +mused with a far-off expression on his face. + +"If we ourselves have it, sooner or later we shall give it to others. +Hearts that this world has wounded are longing for the ideal we bring; +artist-souls that suffering has purified and edged are working for the +Cause in every land; weak though we are we have a love for the Beautiful +in us, a sense that revolts against the unloveliness of life as we have +it, a conception of what might be if things were only right. In every +class the ground is being turned by the ploughshare of Discontent; +everywhere we can sow the seed broadcast with both hands. And if only one +seed in a thousand springs up and boars, it is worth it." + +"But how can one do it best?" + +"By doing always the work that comes to one's hand. Just now, you can go +back to your union and knowing what the real end is, can work for +organisation as you never did before. You can help throw men together, +tie the bushmen to the coastmen, break down narrow distinctions of +calling and make them all understand that all who work are brothers +whether they work by hand or brain. That is the New Unionism and it is a +step forward. It is drill, organisation, drill, and we, need it. Men must +learn to move together, to discuss and to decide together. You can teach +them what political action will do when they know enough. And all the +time you can drive and hammer into them the socialistic ideas. Tell them +always, without mincing matters, that they are robbed as they would +probably rob others if they had a chance, and that there never can be +happiness until men live like mates and pay nothing to any man for leave +to work. Tell them what life might be if men would only love one another +and teach them to hate the system and not individual men in it. Some day +you will find other work opening out. Always do that which comes to your +hand." + +"You think things will last a long time?" asked Ned, reverting to one of +Geisner's previous remarks. + +"Who can tell? While Belshazzar feasted the Medes were inside the gate. +Civilisation is destroying itself. The socialistic idea is the only thing +that can save it. I look upon the future as a mere race between the +spread of Socialism as a religion and the spread of that unconditional +Discontent which will take revenge for all its wrongs by destroying +civilisation utterly, and with it much, probably most, that we have won +so slowly and painfully, of Art and Science." + +"That would be a pity," said Ned. He would have spoken differently had he +not gone with Nellie last night, he thought while saying it. + +"I think so. It means the whole work to be done over again. If Art and +Science were based on the degradation of men I would say 'away with +them.' But they are not. They elevate and ennoble men by bringing to them +the fruition of elevated and noble minds. They are expressions of high +thought and deep feeling; thought and feeling which can only do good, if +it is good to become more human. The artist is simply one who has a +little finer soul than others. Mrs. Stratton was saying last night before +you came that Nellie is an artist because she has a soul. But it's only +comparative. We've all got souls." + +"Mrs. Stratton is a splendid woman," began Ned, after another pause. + +"Very. Her father was a splendid man, too. He was a doctor, quite famed +in his profession. The misery and degradation he saw among the poor made +him a passionate Communist. Stratton's father was a Chartist, one of +those who maintained that it was a bread-and-butter movement." + +For some few minutes neither spoke. + +"One of the most splendid men I ever knew," remarked Geisner, suddenly, +"was a workman who organised a sort of co-operative housekeeping club +among a number of single fellows. They took a good-sized 'fiat' and +gradually extended it till they had the whole of the large house. Then +this good fellow organised others until there were, I think, some thirty +of them scattered about the city. They had cards which admitted any +member of one house into any other of an evening, so that wherever a man +was at night he could find friends and conversation and various games. I +used to talk to him a great deal, helping him keep the books of an +evening when he came home from his work. He had some great plans. Those +places were hotbeds of Socialism," he added. + +"What became of him?" + +Geisner shrugged his shoulders without answering. + +"Isn't it a pity that we can't co-operate right through in the same way?" +said Ned. + +"It's the easiest way to bring Socialism about," answered Geisner. "Many +have thought of it. Some have tried. But the great difficulty seems to be +to get the right conditions. Absolute isolation while the new conditions +are being established; colonists who are rough and ready and accustomed +to such work and at the same time are thoroughly saturated with +Socialism; men accustomed to discuss and argue and at the same time +drilled to abide, when necessary, by a majority decision; these are very +hard to get. Besides, the attempts have been on small scales, and though +some have been fairly successful as far as they went, have not pointed +the great lesson. One great success would give men more Faith than a +whole century of talking and preaching. And it will come when men are +ready for it, when the times are ripe." + +They were silent again. + +"We would be free under Socialism?" asked Ned. + +"What could stop us, even under State Socialism. The basis of all slavery +and all slavish thought is necessarily the monopoly of the means of +working, that is of living. If the State monopolises them, not the State +ruled by the propertied classes but the State ruled by the whole people, +to work would become every man's right. Nineteen laws out of twenty could +then be dropped, for they would become useless. We should be free as men +have never been before, because the ideal of the State would be +toleration and kindness." + +"Let's go and hear the speaking," he added, jumping up. "I've talked +quite enough for once." + +"You couldn't talk too much for me," answered Ned. "You ought to come up +to a shed and have a pitch with the chaps. They'd sit up all night +listening. I've to meet Nellie between five and six at the top of the +steps in the garden," he added, a little bashfully. "Have we time?" + +"Plenty of time," said Geisner, smiling. "You won't miss her." + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +LOVE AND LUST. + +The picnic party had moved on while they talked, but a multitude of +sitters and walkers were now everywhere, particularly as they climbed the +slope to the level. There the Sunday afternoon meetings were in full +swing. + +On platforms of varying construction, mostly humble, the champions of +multitudinous creeds and opinions were holding forth to audiences which +did not always greet their utterances approvingly. They stood for a while +near a vigorous iconoclast, who from the top of a kitchen chair laid down +the Law of the Universe as revealed by one Clifford, overwhelming with +contumely a Solitary opponent in the crowd who was foolish enough to +attempt to raise an argument on the subject of "atoms." Near at hand, a +wild-eyed religionary was trying to persuade a limited and drifting +audience that a special dispensation had enabled him to foretell exactly +the date of the Second Coming of Christ. Then came the Single Tax +platform, a camp-stool with a board on it, wherefrom a slender lad, +dark-eyed and good-looking, held forth, with a flow of language and a +power of expression that was remarkable, upon the effectiveness of a land +tax as a remedy for all social ills. + +Ned had never seen such a mass of men with such variegated shades of +thought assembled together before. There was a well-dressed bald-headed +individual laying down the axioms of that very Socialism of which Geisner +and he had been talking. There was an ascetic looking man just delivering +a popular hymn, which he sang with the assistance of a few gathered +round, as the conclusion of open-air church. There was the Anarchist he +had seen at Paddy's Market, fervidly declaring that all government is +wrong and that men are slaves and curs for enduring it and tyrants for +taking part in it. There was the inevitable temperance orator, the rival +touters for free trade and protection, and half-a-dozen others with an +opinion to air. They harangued and shouted there amid the trees, on the +grass, in the brilliant afternoon sunshine that already threw long +shadows over the swaying, moving thousands. + +It was a great crowd, a good many thousands altogether, men and women and +children and lads. It was dressed in its Sunday best, in attire which +fluctuated from bright tints of glaring newness to the dullness of +well-brushed and obtrusive shabbiness. There were every-looking men you +could think of and women and girls, young and old, pretty and plain and +repulsive. But it was a working-people crowd. There was no room among it +for the idlers. Probably it was not fashionable for them to be there. + +And there was this about the crowd, which impressed Ned, everybody seemed +dissatisfied, everybody was seeking for a new idea, for something fresh. +There was no confidence in the Old, no content with what existed, no +common faith in what was to come. There was on many a face the same +misery that he had seen in Paddy's Market. There was no happiness, no +face free from care, excepting where lovers passed arm-in-arm. There was +the clash of ideas, the struggling of opinions, the blind leading the +blind. He saw the socialistic orator contending with a dozen others. Who +were the nostrum vendors? Which was the truth? + +He turned round, agitated in thought, and his glance fell on Geisner, who +was standing with bent head, his hands behind him, ugly, impassive. +Geisner looked up quickly: "So you are doubting already," he remarked. + +"I am not doubting," answered Ned. "I'm only thinking." + +"Well?" + +"It is a good thought, that Socialism," answered Ned slowly, as they +walked on. "There's nothing in it that doesn't seem fit for men to do. +It's a part with Nellie kissing that woman in the wet. What tries to make +us care for each other and prevent harm being done to one another can't +be very far wrong and what tries to break down the state of affairs that +is must be a little right. I don't care, either, whether it's right or +wrong. It feels right in my heart somehow and I'll stand by it if I'm the +only man left in the world to talk up for it." + +Geisner linked his arm in Ned's. + +"Remember this when you are sorrowful," he said. "It is only through Pain +that Good comes. It is only because the world suffers that Socialism is +possible. It is only as we conquer our own weaknesses that we can serve +the Cause." + +They strolled on till they came to the terraced steps of the Gardens. +Before them stretched in all its wondrous glory the matchless panorama of +grove and garden, hill-closed sea and villa'd shore, the blue sky and the +declining sun tipping with gold and silver the dark masses of an inland +cloud. + +"What is Life that we should covet it?" said Geisner, halting there. +"What is Death that we should fear it so? What has the world to offer +that we should swerve to the right hand or the left from the path our +innermost soul approves? In the whole world, there is no lovelier spot +than this, no purer joy than to stand here and look. Yet, it seems to me, +Paradise like this would be bought dearly by one single thought unworthy +of oneself." + +"We are here to-day," he went on, musingly. "To-morrow we are called +dead. The next day men are here who never heard our names. The most +famous will be forgotten even while Sydney Harbour seems unchanged. And +Sydney Harbour is changing and passing, and the continent is changing and +passing, and the world is changing and passing, and the whole universe is +changing and passing. + +"It is all change, universal change. Our religions, our civilisations, +our ideas, our laws, change as do the nebulae and the shifting continents +we build on. Yet through all changes a thread of continuity runs. It is +all changing and no ending. Always Law and always, so far as we can see, +what we call progression. A man is a fool who cares for his life. He is +the true madman who wastes his years in vain and selfish ambition. + +"Listen, Ned," he pursued, turning round. "There, ages ago, millions and +millions of years ago, in the warm waters yonder, what we call Life on +this earth began. Minute specks of Life appeared, born of the sunshine +and the waters some say, coming in the fitness of Time from the All-Life +others. And those specks of Life have changed and passed, and come and +gone, unending, reproducing after their kind in modes and ways that +changed and passed and still are as all things change and pass and are. +And from them you and I and all the forms of Life that breathe to-day +have ascended. We struggled up, obedient to the Law around us and we +still struggle. That is the Past, or part of it. What is the Future, as +yet no man knows. We do more than know--we feel and dream, and struggle +on to our dreaming. And Life itself to the dreamer is as nothing only the +struggling on. + +"And this has raised us, Ned, this has made us men and opened to us the +Future, that we learned slowly and sadly to care for each other. From the +mother instinct in us all good comes. This is the highest good as yet, +that all men should live their life and lay down their life when need is +for their fellows. With all our blindness we can see that. With all our +weakness we can strive to reach nearer that ideal. It is but Just that we +should live so for others since happiness is only possible where others +live so for us." + +He turned again and gazed intently across the sail-dotted harbour. + +"There is one thing I would like to say." He spoke without turning. "Man +without Woman is not complete. They two are but one being, complete and +life-giving. Love when it comes is the keystone of this brief span of +Life of ours. They who have loved have tasted truly of the best that Life +can give to them. And this is the great wrong of civilisation to-day, +that it takes Love from most and leaves in us only a feverish, degrading +Lust. It is when we lust that Woman drags us down to the level of that +Lust and blackens our souls with the blackness of hell. When we love +Woman raises us to the level of Love and girds on us the armour that +wards our own weakness from us. + +"Love comes to few, I think. Society is all askew and, then, we have +degraded women. So they are often well-nigh unfit for loving as men are +often as unfit themselves. Physically unfit for motherhood, mentally +unfit to cherish the monogamic idea that once was sacred with our people, +sexually unfit to rouse true sex-passion--such women are being bred by +the million in crowded cities and by degenerate country life. They match +well with the slaves who 'move on' at the bidding of a policeman, or with +the knaves who only see in Woman the toy of a feeble lust. + +"There are two great reforms needed, Ned, two great reforms which must +come if Humanity is to progress, and which must come, sooner or later, +either to our race or to some other, because Humanity must progress. One +reform is the Reorganisation of Industry. The other is the Recognition of +Woman's Equality. These two are the practical steps by which we move up +to the socialistic idea. + +"If it ever comes to you to love and be loved by a true woman, Ned, let +nothing stand between you and her. If you are weak and lose her you will +have lost more than Life itself. If you are strong and win her you can +never lose her again though the universe divided you and though Death +itself came between you, and you will have lived indeed and found joy in +living." + +"Should one give up the Cause for a woman?" asked Ned. + +Geisner turned round at last and looked him full in the face. + +"Lust only," he answered, "and there is no shame to which Woman cannot +drag Man. Love and there is nothing possible but what is manly and true." + +As he spoke, along the terraced path below them came Nellie, advancing +towards them with her free swinging walk and tall lissom figure, +noticeable even at a distance among the Sunday promenaders. + +"See?" said Geisner, smiling, laying his hand on Ned's arm. "This is +Paradise and there comes Eve." + + + +PART II. HE KNEW HIMSELF NAKED. + + +In yesterday's reach and to-morrow's, +Out of sight though they lie of to-day, +There have been and there yet shall be sorrows +That smite not and bite not in play. + +The life and the love thou despisest, +These hurt us indeed and in vain, +O wise among women, and, wisest, +Our Lady of Pain.--SWINBURNE. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THE SLAUGHTER OF AN INNOCENT. + +Mrs. Hobb's baby was dying. + +"It had clung to its little life so long, in the close Sydney streets, in +the stuffy, stifling rooms which were its home; it had battled so +bravely; it was being vanquished at last. + +"The flame of its life had flickered from its birth, had shrunk to a +bluish wreathing many a time, had never once leapt upward in a strong red +blaze. Again and again it had lain at its mother's breast, half-dead; +again and again upon its baby face Death had laid the tips of its +pinching fingers; again and again it had struggled moaning from the verge +of the grave and beaten Lack the grim Destroyer by the patient filling of +its tiny lungs. It wanted so to live, all unconsciously. The instinct to +exist bore it up and with more than Spartan courage stood for it time and +again in the well-nigh carried breach. Now, it was over, the battling, +the struggling. Death loitered by the way but the fight was done. + +"The poor little baby! Poor unknown soldier! Poor unaided heroic life +that was spent at last! There were none to help it, not one. In all the +world, in all the universe, there was none to give it the air it craved, +the food it needed, the living that its baby-soul faded for not having. +It had fought its fight alone. It lay dying now, unhelped and helpless, +forsaken and betrayed." + +* * * * * + +So thought Nellie, sitting there beside it, her head thrown back, over +her eyes her hands clasped, down her cheeks the tears of passionate pity +streaming. + +* * * * * + +"What had its mother done for it? The best she could, indeed, but what +was that? The worst she could when she gave it life, when she bore it to +choke and struggle and drown in the fetid stream that sweeps the children +of the poor from infancy to age; the life she gave it only a flickering, +half-lighted life; the blood she gave it thin with her own weariness and +vitiate from its drunken sire; the form she gave it soft-boned and +angle-headed, more like overgrown embryo than child of the boasted +Australian land. Even the milk it drew from her unwieldy breasts was +tainted with city smoke and impure food and unhealthy housing. Its +playground was the cramped kitchen floor and the kerb and the gutter. Its +food for a year had been the food that feeds alike the old and the young +who are poor. All around conspired against it, yet for two years and more +it had clung to its life and lived, as if defying Fate, as if the impulse +that throbbed in it from the Past laughed at conditions and would have it +grow to manhood in spite of all. In the strength of that impulse, do not +millions grow so? But millions, like this little one, are crushed and +overborne. + +"It had no chance but the chance that the feeble spark in it gave it. It +had no chance, even with that, to do more than just struggle through. +None came to scatter wide the prison walls of the slum it lived in and +give it air. None came to lift the burden of woe that pressed on all +around it and open to it laughter and joy. None came to stay the robbery +of the poor and to give to this brave little baby fresh milk and +strengthening food. In darkness and despair it was born; in darkness and +despair it lived; in darkness and despair it died. To it Death was more +merciful than Life. Yet it was a crime crying for vengeance that we +should have let it waste away and die so." + +* * * * * + +So thought Nellie, weeping there beside it, all the woman in her aching +and yearning for this poor sickly little one. + +* * * * * + +"It was murdered, murdered as surely as if a rope had been put round its +neck and the gallows-trap opened under it; murdered as certainly as +though, dying of thirst, it had been denied a sup of water by one who had +to spare; murdered, of sure truth, as though in the dark one who knew had +not warned it of a precipice in the path. It had asked so little and had +been denied all; only a little air, only a little milk and fruit, only a +glimpse of the grass and the trees, even these would have saved it. And +oh! If also in its languid veins the love-life had bubbled and boiled, if +in its bone and flesh a healthy parentage had commingled, if the blood +its mother gave it had been hot and red and the milk she suckled it to +white and sweet and clean from the fount of vigorous womanhood! What +then? Then, surely it had been sleeping now with chubby limbs flung wide, +its breathing so soft that you had to bend your ear to its red lips to +hear it, had been lying wearied with dancing and mischief-making and +shouting and toddling and falling, resting the night from a happy to-day +till the dawn woke it betime for a happy to-morrow. All this it should +have had as a birthright, with the years stretching in front of it, on +through fiery youth, past earnest manhood, to a loved and loving old age. +This is the due, the rightful due, of every child to whom life goes from +us. And that child who is born to sorrow and sordid care, pot-bound from +its mother's womb by encircling conditions that none single-handed can +break, is wronged and sinned against by us all most foully. If it dies we +murder it. If it lives to suffer we crucify it. If it steals we +instigate, despite our canting hypocrisy. And if it murders we who hang +it have beforehand hypnotised its will and armed its hand to slay." + +* * * * * + +So Nellie thought, the tears drying on her cheeks, leaning forward to +watch the twitching, purpled face of the hard-breathing child. + +* * * * * + +"Is there not a curse upon us and our people, upon our children and our +children's children, for every little one we murder by our social sins? +Can it be that Nemesis sleeps for us, he who never slept yet for any, he +who never yet saw wrong go unavenged or heard the innocent blood cry +unanswered from the ground? + +"Can it be that he has closed his ears to the dragging footfalls of the +harlot host and to the sobs of strong men hopeless and anguished because +work is wanting and to the sighing of wearied women and to the +death-rattle of slaughtered babes? Surely though God is not and Humanity +is weak yet Nemesis is strong and sleepless and lingers not! Surely he +will tear down the slum and whelm the robbers in their iniquity and +visit upon us all punishment for the crime which all alike have shared! +Into the pit which we have left digged for the children of others shall +not our own children fall? Is happiness safe for any while to any +happiness is denied? + +"It is a crime that a baby should live so and die so. It is a villainy +and we all are villains who let it be. No matter how many are guilty, +each one who lives with hands unbound is as guilty as any. It were better +to die alone, fighting the whole world single-handed, refusing to share +the sin or to tolerate it or to live while it was, than with halting +speech to protest and with supple conscience to compromise. He is a +coward who lets a baby die or a woman sink to shame or a fellow-man be +humbled, alone and unassisted and unrighted. She is false to the divinity +of womanhood who does not feel the tigress in her when a little one who +might be her little one is tossed, stifled by unholy conditions, into its +grave. But where are the men, now, who will strike a blow for the babies? +Where are the women who will put their white teeth into the murderous +hands of the Society that throttles the little ones and robs the weak and +simple and cloaks itself with a 'law and order' which outrages the +Supreme Law of that Humanity evolving in us? + +"Surely we are all tainted and corrupted, even the best of us, by the +scrofulous cowardice, the fearsome selfishness, of a decaying +civilisation! Surely we are only fit to be less than human, to be slave +to conditions that we ourselves might govern if we would, to be criminal +accomplices in the sins of social castes, to be sad victims of inhuman +laws or still sadder defenders of inhumanity! Oh, for the days when our +race was young, when its women slew themselves rather than be shamed rid +when its men, trampling a rotten empire down, feared neither God nor man +and held each other brothers and hated, each one, the tyrant as the +common foe of all! Better the days when from the forests and the steppes +our forefathers burst, half-naked and free, communists and conquerors, a +fierce avalanche of daring men and lusty women who beat and battered Rome +down like Odin's hammer that they were! Alas, for the heathen virtues and +the wild pagan fury for freedom and for the passion and purity that Frega +taught to the daughters of the barbarian! And alas, for the sword that +swung then, unscabbarded, by each man's side and for the knee that never +bent to any and for the fearless eyes that watched unblenched while the +gods lamed each other with their lightnings in the thunder-shaken storm! +Gone forever seemed the days when the land was for all, and the cattle +and the fruits of the field, and when, unruled by kings, untrammelled by +priests, untyrannised by pretence of 'law,' our fathers drank in from +Nature's breast the strength and vigour that gave it even to this little +babe to fight its hopeless fight for life so bravely and so long. Odin +was dead whose sons dared go to hell with their own people and Frega was +no more whose magic filled with molten fire the veins of all true lovers +and nerved with desperate courage the hand of her who guarded the purity +of her body and the happiness of her child. The White Christ had come +when wealth and riches and conquests had upheaped wrongs, upon the heads +of the wrongers, the cross had triumphed over the hammer when the fierce +freedom of the North had worn itself out in selfish foray; the +shaven-pated priest had come to teach patience as God-given when a +robber-caste grew up to whom it seemed wise to uproot the old ideas from +the mind of the people whose spent courage it robbed. Alas, for the days +when it was not righteous to submit to wrong nor wicked to strike tyranny +to the ground, when one met it, no matter where! Alas, for the men of the +Past and the women, their faith and their courage and their virtue and +their gods, the hearts large to feel and the brains prompt to think and +the arms strong to do, the bare feet that followed the plough and trod in +the winepress of God and the brown hands that milked cows and tore kings +from their thrones by their beard! They were gone and a feebler people +spoke their tongue and bore their name, a people that bent its back to +the rod and bared its head to the cunning and did not rise as one man +when in its midst a baby was murdered while all around a helpless +kinsfolk were being robbed and wronged. + +"For the past, who would not choose it? Who would not, if they could, +drop civilisation from them as one shakes off a horrid nightmare at the +dawning of the day? Who would not be again a drover of cattle, a follower +of the plough, a milker of cows, a spinner of wool-yarn by the fireside, +to be, as well, strong and fierce and daring, slave to none and fearing +none, ignorant alike of all the wisdom and all the woes of this hateful +life that is? + +"For only one moment of the past if the whole past could not be! Only to +be free for a moment if the rest were impossible! Only to lose one's hair +and bare one's feet and girdle again the single garment round one's waist +and to be filled with the frenzy that may madden still as it maddened our +mothers when the Roman legions conquered! Only to stand for a moment, +free, on the barricade, outlawed and joyous, with Death, Freedom's +impregnable citadel, opening its gates behind--and to pass through, the +red flag uplifted in the sight of all men, with flaming slums and smoking +wrongs for one's funereal pyre!" + +* * * * * + +So Nellie thought in her indignation and sorrow, changing the wet cloth +on the baby's head, powerless to help it, uncomforted by creeds that +moulder in the crimson-cushioned pews. She knew that she was unjust, +carried away by her tumultuous emotions, knew also, in her heart, that +there was something more to be desired than mere wild outbreaks of the +despairing. Only she thought, as we all think, in phases, and as she +would certainly have talked had opportunity offered while she was in the +mood, and as she would most undoubtedly have written had she just then +been writing. The more so as there was a wave of indignation and anger +sweeping over Australia, sympathetic with the indignation and anger of +the voteless workers in the Queensland bush. The companions of her +childhood were to be Gatling-gunned because of the squatters, whose +selfish greed and heartless indifference to all others had made them +hateful to this selector's daughter. Because the bushmen would not take +the squatters' wage and yield his liberty as a workman to the squatter's +bidding and agree to this and to that without consultation or discussion, +the scum of southern towns and the sifted blacklegs of southern 'estates' +were to be drafted in hordes to Queensland to break down the unionism +that alone protected the bushman and made him more of a man than he had +been when the squatter could do as he would and did. From the first days +she could remember she had heard how the squatters filched from the +bushmen in their stores and herded the bushmen in vile huts and preferred +every colour to white when there were workers wanted; and how the +magistrates were all squatters or squatters' friends and how Government +was for the squatters and for nobody else on the great Western plains; +and she knew from Ned of the homeless, wandering life the bushmen led and +how new thoughts were stirring among them and rousing them from their +aimless, hopeless living. She knew more, too, knew what the bushman was: +frank as a child, keeping no passing thought unspoken, as tender as a +woman to those he cared for, responsive always to kindly, earnest words, +boiling over with anger one moment and shouting with good humour the +next, open-handed with sovereigns after months and years of lonely +toiling or sharing his last plug of tobacco with a stranger met on the +road. His faults she knew as well: his drunkenness often, his looseness +of living, his excitability, all born of unnatural surroundings; but his +virtues she knew as well, none better, and all her craving for the scent +of the gums and to feel again the swaying saddle and to hear again the +fathomless noon-day silence and to see again the stock rushing in +jumbling haste for the water-hole, went out in a tempestuous sympathy for +those who struggled for the union in the bush. And Ned! She hardly knew +what she thought about Ned. + +She was unjust in her thoughts, she knew, not altogether unjust but +somewhat. There had been heroism in the passive struggle of six months +before, when the seamen left the boats at the wharves for the sake of +others and when the "lumpers" threw their coats over their shoulders and +stood by the seamen and when the miners came up from the mines so that no +coal should go to help fight comrades they had never seen. Her heart had +thrilled with joy to see so many grip hands and stand together, officers +and stewards and gasmen and lightermen and engine-drivers and cooks and +draymen, from Adelaide to far-off Cooktown, in every port, great and +small, all round the eastern coast. As the strike dragged on she lived +herself as she had lived in the starving hand-to-mouth days of her bitter +poverty, to help find bread for the hungry families she knew. For +Phillips and Macanany were on strike, while Hobbs, who had moved round +the corner, had been sacked for refusing to work on the wharves; and many +another in the narrow street and the other narrow streets about it were +idling and hungering and waiting doggedly to see what might happen, with +strike pay falling steadily till there was hardly any strike pay at all. +And Nellie's heart, that had thrilled with joy when New Unionism uprose +in its strength and drew the line hard and fast between the Labour that +toiled and the Capitalism that reaped Labour's gains, ached with mingled +pride and pain to see how hunger itself could not shake the stolid +unionism about her. She saw, too, the seed that for years had been sown +by unseen, unknown sowers springing up on every hand and heard at every +street corner and from every unionist mouth that everything belonged of +right to those who worked and that the idle rich were thieves and +robbers. She smiled grimly to watch Mrs. Macanany and viragoes like her +pouring oil on the flames and drumming the weak-kneed up and screaming +against "blacklegging" as a thing accurst. And when she understood that +the fight was over, while apparently it was waxing thicker, she had +waited to see what the end would be, longing for something she knew not +what. She used to go down town, sometimes of an evening, to watch the +military patrols, riding up and down with jingling bits and clanking +carbines and sabres as if in a conquered city. She heard, in her +workroom, the dull roar of the angry thousands through whose midst the +insolent squatters drove in triumphal procession, as if inciting to +lawlessness, with dragoon-guarded, police-protected drays of blackleg +wool. Then the end came and the strike was over, leaving the misery it +had caused and the bitter hatreds it had fostered and the stern lesson +which all did not read as the daily papers would have had them. And now +the same Organised Capitalism which had fought and beaten the maritime +men and the miners, refusing to discuss or to confer or to arbitrate or +to conciliate, but using its unjust possession of the means of living to +starve into utter submission those whose labour made it rich, was at the +same work in the Queensland bush, backing the squatters, dominating +government, served by obsequious magistrates and a slavish military and +aided by all who thought they had to gain by the degradation of their +fellows or who had been ground so low that they would cut each other's +throats for a crust or who, in their blind ignorance, misunderstood what +it all meant. And there were wild reports afloat of resistance brooding +in Queensland and of excited meetings in the bush and of troops being +sent to disperse the bushmen's camps. Why did they endure these things, +Nellie thought, watching and waiting, as impotent to aid them as she was +to save the baby dying now beside her. Day by day she expected Ned. + +She knew Ned was in the South, somewhere, though she had not seen him. He +had come down on some business, in blissful ignorance of the nearness of +the coming storm, but would be called back, she knew, now this new +trouble had begun. And then he would be arrested, she was sure, because +he was outspoken and fearless and would urge the men to stand out till +the last, and would be sent to prison by legal trickery under this new +law the papers said had been discovered; all so that the unions might +break down and the squatters do as they liked. Which, perhaps, was why +her thoughts for the time being were particularly tinged with pessimism. +If the vague something called "law and order" was determined to be broken +so that the bush could be dragooned for the squatter it seemed to her as +well to make a substantial breakage while men were about it--and she +did not believe they would. + +She placed a cool damp cloth on the baby's head, wishing that its mother +would come up, Mrs. Hobbs having been persuaded to go downstairs for some +tea and a rest while Nellie watched by the sick child and having been +entangled in household affairs the moment she appeared in the dingy +kitchen where Mrs. Macanany, to the neglect of her own home, was "seeing +to things." The hard breathing was becoming easier. Nellie brought the +candle burning in a broken cup. The flushed face was growing paler and +more natural. The twitching muscles were stilling. There was a change. + +One unused to seeing Death approach would have thought the baby settling +down at last to a refreshing, health-reviving sleep. Nellie had lived for +years where the children die like rabbits, and knew. + +"Mrs. Hobbs!" she called, softly but urgently, running to the stairs. + +The poor woman came hastily to the foot. "Quick, Mrs. Hobbs!" said +Nellie, beckoning. + +"Oh, Mrs. Macanany! The baby's dying!" cried poor Mrs. Hobbs, tripping on +her dragging skirts in her frantic haste to get upstairs. Mrs. Macanany +followed. The children set up a boohoo that brought Mr. Hobbs from the +front doorstep where he had been sitting smoking. He rushed up the stairs +also. When he reached the top he saw, by the light of the candle in +Nellie's hand, a little form lying still and white; its mother crouched +on the floor, wailing over it. + +It was a small room, almost bare, the bedstead of blistered iron, the +mattress thin, the bedding tattered and worn. A soapbox was the chair on +which Nellie had been sitting; there was no other. Against the wall, +above a rough shelf, was a piece of mirror-glass without a frame. The +window in the sloping roof was uncurtained. On the poor bed, under the +tattered sheet, was the dead baby. And on the floor, writhing, was its +mother, Mrs. Macanany trying to comfort her between the pauses of her own +vehement neighbourly grief. + +Nellie closed the dead baby's eyes, set the candle on the shelf and moved +to the door where Mr. Hobbs stood bewildered and dumbfoundered, his pipe +still in his hand. "Speak to her!" she whispered to him. "It's very hard +for her." + +Mr. Hobbs looked hopelessly at his pipe. He did not recollect where to +put it. Nellie, understanding, took it from his fingers and pushed him +gently by the arm towards his wife. He knelt down by the weeping woman's +side and put his hands on the head that was bent to the ground. "Sue," he +said, huskily, not knowing what to say. "Don't take on so! It's better +for 'im." + +"It's not better," she cried in answer, kneeling up and frantically +throwing her arms across the bed. "How can it be better? Oh, God! I wish +I was dead. Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" + +"Don't, Sue!" begged Mr. Hobbs, weeping in a clumsy way, as men usually do. + +"It's not right," cried the mother, rolling her head, half-crazed. "It's +not right, Jack. It's not right. It didn't ought to have died. It didn't +ought to have died, Jack. It wouldn't if it had a chance, but it hadn't a +chance. It didn't have a chance, Jack. It didn't have a chance." + +"Don't, Sue!" begged Mr. Hobbs again. "You did what you could." + +"I didn't," she moaned. "I didn't. I didn't do what I could. There were +lots of things I might have done that I didn't. I wasn't as kind as I +might have been. I was cross to it and hasty. Oh, my God, my God! Why +couldn't I have died instead? Why couldn't I? Why don't we all die? It's +not right. It's not right. Oh, my God, my God!" + +And she thought God, whatever that is, did not hear and would not answer, +she not knowing that in her own pain and anguish were the seeds of +progression and in her cries the whetting of the sickle wherewith all +wrongs are cut down when they are ripe for the reaper. So she wept and +lamented, bewailing her dead, rebellious and self-reproachful. + +"Take the baby, dear?" quoth Mrs. Macanany, reappearing from a descent to +the kitchen with a six months' infant squalling in her arms. "Give it a +drink now! It'll make you feel better." + +Poor Mrs. Hobbs clutched the baby-in-arms convulsively and sobbed over +it, finding some comfort in the exertion. To Mrs. Macanany's muttered +wrath Nellie intervened, however, with warnings of "fits" as likely to +follow the nursing of the child while its mother was so excited and +feverish. Mr. Hobbs loyally seconded Nellie's amendment and with +unexpected shrewdness urged the mother to control her grief for the dead +for the sake of the living. Which succeeding, to some extent, they got +the poor woman downstairs and comforted her with a cup of tea, Nellie +undressing and soothing the crying children, who sobbed because of this +vague happening which the eldest child of 11 explained as meaning that +"Teddy's going to be put in the deep hole." + +It was after 10 when Nellie went. Mrs. Hobbs cried again as Nellie kissed +her "good-night." Mr. Hobbs shook hands with genuine friendship. "I don't +know whatever we'd have done without you, Miss Lawton," he said, +bashfully, following her to the door. + +"I don't know what they'll do without you, Mr. Hobbs," retorted Nellie, +whose quick tongue was noted in the neighbourhood. + +He did not answer, only fumbled with the door-knob as she stood on the +step in the brilliant moonlight. + +"Give it up!" urged Nellie. "It makes things worse and they're bad enough +at the best. It's not right to your wife and the children." + +"I don't go on the spree often," pleaded Mr. Hobbs. + +"Not as often as some," admitted Nellie, "but if it's only once in a +life-time it's too often. A man who has drink in him isn't a man. He +makes himself lower than the beasts and we're low enough as it is without +going lower ourselves. He hurts himself and he hurts his family and he +hurts his mates. He's worse than a blackleg." + +"I don't see as it's so bad as that," protested Mr. Hobbs. + +"Yes, it is," insisted Nellie, quickly. "Every bit as bad. It's drink +that makes most of the blacklegs, anyway. Most of them are men whose +manhood has been drowned out of them with liquor and the weak men in the +unions are the drunkards who have no heart when the whisky's out of them. +Everybody knows that. And when men who aren't as bad feel down-hearted +and despairing instead of bracing up and finding out what makes it they +cheer up at a pub and imagine they're jolly good fellows when they're +just cowards dodging their duty. They get so they can't take any pleasure +except in going on the spree and if they only go on once in a month or +two "--this was a hit at Hobbs--"they're the worse for it. Why, look +here, Mr. Hobbs, if I hadn't been here you'd have gone to-night and +brought home beer and comforted yourselves getting fuddled. That's so, +you know, and it wouldn't be right. It's just that sort of thing "--she +added softly--"that stops us seeing how it is the little ones die when +they shouldn't. If everybody would knock off drinking for ten years, +everybody, we'd have everything straightened out by then and nobody would +ever want to go on the spree again." + +She stood with her back to the moonlight, fingering the post of the door. +Mr. Hobbs fumbled still with the door-knob and looked every way but at +her. She waited for an answer, but he did not speak. + +"Come," she continued, after a pause. "Can't you give it up? I know it's +a lot to do when one's used to it. But you'll feel better in the end and +your wife will be better right away and the children, and it won't be +blacklegging on those who're trying to make things better. No matter how +poor he is if a man's sober he's a man, while if he drinks, no matter if +he's got millions, he's a brute." + +"You never drink anything, Miss Lawton, do you?" asked Mr. Hobbs, +swinging the door. + +"I never touched it in my life," said Nellie. + +"Do you really think you're better for it?" + +"I think it has kept me straight," said Nellie, earnestly. "I wouldn't +touch a drop to save my life. Some people call us who don't drink fools +just because a few humbugs make temperance a piece of cant. I think those +who get drunk are fools or who drink when there's a prospect of +themselves or those they drink with getting drunk. Drink makes a man an +empty braggart or a contented fool. It makes him heartless not only to +others but to himself." + +There was another pause. + +"If you won't for the sake of your wife and your children and yourself +and everybody, will you do it to please me?" asked Nellie, who knew that +Mr. Hobbs regarded her as the one perfect woman in Australia and, +woman-like, was prepared to take advantage thereof. + +"You know, Miss Lawton, I'm not one of the fellows who swear off Monday +mornings and get on the spree the next Saturday night. If I say I'll turn +temperance I'll turn." So quoth the sturdy Hobbs. + +"I know that. If you were the other sort do you think I'd be bothering +you?" retorted Nellie. + +"Well, I'll do it," said Mr. Hobbs. "So help me----" + +"Never mind that," interrupted the girl. "If a man's a man his word's his +word, and if he's not all the swearing in the world won't make any +difference. Let's shake on it!" She held out her hand. + +Mr. Hobbs dropped the door-knob and covered her long, slender hand with +his great, broad, horny-palmed one. + +"Good night, Mr. Hobbs!" she said, the "shake" being over. "Get her to +sleep and don't let her fret!" + +"Good night, Miss Nellie!" he answered, using her name for the first +time. He wanted to say something more but his voice got choked up and he +shut the door in her face, so confused was he. + +"Hello, Nellie!" said a voice that made her heart stand still, as she +crossed the road, walking sadly homewards. At the same time two hands +stretched out of the dense shadow into the lane of moonlight that shone +down an alley way she was passing and that cut a dazzling swath in the +blackness made still blacker by the surrounding brilliancy. "I've been +wondering if you ever would finish that pitch of yours." + +It was Ned. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +ON THE ROAD TO QUEENSLAND. + +While Nellie had been talking temperance to Mr. Hobbs, Ned had been +watching her impatiently from the other side of the street. For an hour +and more he had been prowling up and down, up and down, between the +Phillipses and the Hobbses, having learned from Mrs. Phillips, who looked +wearier than ever, where the Hobbses lived now and why Nellie had gone +there after hardly stopping to swallow her dinner. At seven he had +acquired this information and returned soon after nine to find Nellie +still at the house of sickness, now, alas, the house of death. So he had +paced up and down, up and down, waiting for her. He had seen the Hobbs' +door open at last and had watched impatiently, from the shadow opposite, +the conversation on the door step. His heart gave a great leap as she +stopped across the road full in the moonlight. He saw again the sad stern +face that had lived as an ideal in his memory for two long eventful +years. There was none like her in the whole world to him, not one. + +The years had come to her in this stifling city, amid her struggling and +wrestling of spirit, but the strong soul in her had borne her up through +all, she had aged without wearying, grown older and sadder without +withering from her intense womanhood. Broader of hip a little, as Ned +could see with the keen eyes of love, not quite so slender in the waist, +fuller in the uncorsetted bust, more sloping of shoulder as though the +pillared neck had fleshed somewhat at the base; the face, too, had +gathered form and force, in the freer curve of her will-full jaw, in the +sterner compression of fuller lips that told their tale of latent +passions strangely bordering on the cruel, in the sweeter blending of +Celt and Saxon shown in straight nose, strong cheek-bones and well-marked +brows. She trod still with the swinging spring of the bill-people, erect +and careless. Only the white gleam of her collar and a dash of colour in +her hat broke the sombre hue that clothed her, as before, from head to +foot. + +Ned devoured her with his eyes as she came rapidly towards him, +unconscious of his presence. She was full grown at last, in woman's +virgin prime, her mind, her soul, her body, all full and strong with pure +thoughts, natural instincts and human passions. Her very sadness gave her +depths of feeling that never come to those who titter and fritter youth +away. Her very ignoring of the love-instincts in her, absorbed as her +thoughts were in other things, only gave those instincts the untrammelled +freedom that alone gives vigorous growth. She was barbarian, as her +thoughts had been beside the dying baby: the barbarian cultured, as +Shakespeare was, the barbarian wronged, as was Spartacus, the barbarian +hating and loving and yearning and throbbing, the creature of her +instincts, a rebel against restrictions, her mind subject only to her own +strong will. She was a woman of women, in Ned's eyes at least. One kiss +from her would be more than all other women could give, be their +self-abandonment what it might. To be her lover, her husband, a man might +yield up his life with a laugh, might surrender all other happiness and +be happy ever after. There was none like her in the whole world to Ned, +not one--and he came to say good-bye to her, perhaps for ever. + +In the black shadows thrown by the high-rising moon, the crossing +alley-way cut a slice of brilliancy as if with a knife. From the shadow +into the moonshine two hands stretched towards her as Ned's voice greeted +her. She saw his tall form looming before her. + +"Ned!" she cried, in answer, grasping both his hands and drawing him +forward into the light. "I was expecting you. I've been thinking of you +every minute for the last week. How tired you look! You're not ill?" + +"No! I'm all right," he answered, laughing. "It's those confounded +trains. I can't sleep on them, and they always give me a headache. But +you're looking well, Nellie. I can't make out how you do it in this +stuffed-up town." + +"I'm all right," She replied, noticing a red rose in his coat but saying +nothing of it. "Nothing seems to touch me. Did you come straight +through?" + +"Straight through. We rushed things all we could but I couldn't get away +before. Besides, as long as I get Saturday's boat in Brisbane it'll be as +soon as it's possible to get on. That gives me time to stay over to-night +here. I didn't see you going down and I began to wonder if I'd see you +going back. You can do a pitch, Nellie. When a fellow's waiting for you, +too." + +Nellie laughed, then sobered down. "The baby's dead," she said, sadly. +"You recollect it was born when you were here before, the day we went to +the Strattons." + +"I don't wonder," he answered, looking round at the closed-in street, +with its dull, hopeless, dreary rows of narrow houses and hard roadway +between. "But I suppose you're tired, Nellie. Let's go and get some +oysters!" + +"I don't care to, thanks. I feel like a good long walk," she went on, +taking his arm and turning him round to walk on with her. "I'm thirsting +for a breath of fresh air and to stretch myself. I'm a terrible one for +walks, you know." + +"Not much riding here, Nellie;" walking on. + +"That's why I walk so. I can go from here right down to Lady Macquarie's +Chair in under half-an-hour. Over two miles! Not bad, eh, Ned?" + +"That's a good enough record. Suppose we go down there now, Nellie, only +none of your racing time for me. It's not too late for you?" + +"Too late for me! My word! I'm still at the Phillipses and they don't +bother. I wouldn't stay anywhere where I couldn't come and go as I liked. +I'd like to go it you're not too tired." + +"It'll do me good," said Ned, gleefully. So they set off, arm in arm. +After they had walked a dozen yards he stopped suddenly. + +"I've brought you a rose, Nellie," he exclaimed, handing it to her. "I'm +so pleased to see you I forgot it." + +"I knew it was for me," she said, fondly, pinning it at her throat. "How +ever did you recollect my colour?" + +"Do you think I forget anything about you, Nellie?" he asked. She did not +answer and they walked on silently. + +"Where is Geisner?" he enquired, after a pause. "I don't know. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing. Only he'd advise us a little." + +After a pause: "What do you think of things, Ned?" + +"What do I think? We couldn't get any wires through that explained +anything. There was nothing on but the ordinary strike business when I +came down. I suppose some of the chaps have been talking wild and the +Government has snapped at the chance to down the union. You know what our +fellows are." + +"Yes. But I don't quite see what the Government's got to gain. +Proclamations and military only make men worse, I think." + +"Sometimes they do and sometimes they don't," answered Ned. "A crowd +that's doing no harm, only kicking up a bit of a row, will scatter like +lambs sometimes if a single policeman collars one of them. Another time +the same crowd will jump on a dozen policemen. The Government thinks the +crowd'll scatter and I'm afraid the crowd'll jump." + +"Why afraid?" enquired Nellie, biting her lips. + +"Because it has no chance," answered Ned. "These are all newspaper lies +about them having arms and such nonsense. There aren't 500 guns in the +whole Western country and half of them are old muzzle-loading shot guns. +The kangarooers have got good rifles but nineteen men out of twenty no +more carry one than they carry a house." + +"But the papers say they're getting them!" + +"Where are they to get them from, supposing they want them and naturally +the chaps want them when they hear of military coming to 'shoot 'em +down'? You can reckon that the Government isn't letting any be carried on +the railways and, even if they did I don't believe you could buy 500 +rifles in all Queensland at any one time." + +"Then it's all make-up that's in the papers? It certainly seemed to me +that there was something in it." + +"That's just it, there is something in it. Just enough, I'm convinced, to +give the Government an excuse for doing what they did during the maritime +strike without any excuse and what the squatters have been planning for +them to do all along." + +"One of the Queensland men who was here a week or two ago was telling me +about the maritime strike business. It was the first I'd heard of that. +Griffith didn't seem to be that way years ago," said Nellie. + +"Griffith is a fraud," declared Ned, hotly. "I'd sooner have one of the +Pure Merinoes than Griffith. They do fight us out straight and fair, +anyway, and don't cant much about knowing that things aren't right, with +Elementary Property Bills and 'Wealth and Want' and that sort of wordy +tommy-rot. I like to know where to find a man and that trick of Griffith +at the maritime strike in Brisbane showed where to find him right +enough." + +"Was it Griffith?" asked Nellie. + +"Of course it was Griffith. Who else would it be? The fellows in Brisbane +feel sore over it, I tell you. When they'd been staying up nights and +getting sick and preaching themselves hoarse, talking law and order to +the chaps on strike and rounding on every man who even boo'd as though he +were a blackleg, and when the streets were quieter with thousands of +rough fellows about than they were ordinary times, those shop-keepers and +wool-dealers and commission agents went off their heads and got the +Government to swear in 'specials' and order out mounted troopers and +serve out ball cartridges. And all the time the police said it wasn't +necessary, that the men on strike were perfectly orderly. Who'd ever do +that but Griffith? And what can we expect from a government that did such +a thing?" + +"The Brisbane men do seem sore over that," agreed Nellie. "The man who +told me vowed it would be a long time before he'd do policeman's work +again. He said that for him Government might keep its own order and see +how soon it got tired of it." + +"Well, it's the same thing going on now. I mean the Government and the +squatters fixing up this military business between them just to +dishearten our fellows. Besides, they've got it into their heads, +somehow, that most men are only unionists through fear and that if +they're sure of 'protection' they'll blackleg in thousands." + +"That's a funny notion," said Nellie. "But all employers have it or +pretend to have it. I fancy it comes through men, afraid of being +victimised if they display independence, shifting the responsibility of +their sticking up for rules upon the union and letting the boss think +they don't approve of the rules but are afraid to break them, when +they're really afraid to let him know they approve them." + +"That's about it, Nellie, but most people find it easy to believe what +they want to believe. Anyway, I've got it straight from headquarters that +the squatters expect to get blacklegs working under enough military +protection to make blacklegging feel safe, as they look at it, and then +they think our unions will break right down. And, of course, what maddens +our crowd is that blacklegs are collected in another part of the world +and shipped in under agreements which they can be sent to prison if they +break, or think they can, which amounts to the same, and are kept guarded +away from us, like convicts, so that we can't get to them to talk to them +and win them over as is done in ordinary strikes in towns." + +"That's shameful!" said Nellie. "The squatter governments have a lot to +answer for." + +"And what can we do?" continued Ned. "They won't let us have votes. There +are 20,000 men in the back country altogether and I don't believe 5000 of +them have votes and they're mostly squatters and their managers and +'lifers' and the storekeepers and people who own land. I've no vote and +can't get one. None of the fellows in my lot can get votes. We can't +alter things in Parliament and the law and the government and the +military and the police and the magistrates and everything that's got +authority are trying to down us and we can't help ourselves. Do you +wonder that our chaps get hot and talk wild and act a little wild now and +then?" + +Nellie pressed his arm answeringly. + +"I feel myself a coward sometimes," went on Ned. "Last drought-time some +of us were camped 'way back at a water-hole on a reserve where there was +the only grass and water we could get for hundreds of miles. We had our +horses and the squatter about wanted the grass for his horses and tried +to starve us away by refusing to sell us stores. He wouldn't even sell us +meat. He was a fool, for we took his mutton as we wanted it, night-times, +and packed our stores from the nearest township, a hundred and eighty +miles off. I used to think that the right thing to do was to take what we +wanted off his run and from his store, in broad daylight, and pay him +fair prices and blow the heads off anybody who went to stop us. For we'd +a better right to the grass than he had. Only, you see, Nellie, it was +easier to get even with him underhand and we seem to do always what's +easiest." + +"They've always acted like that, those squatters, Ned," said Nellie. +"Don't you recollect when they closed the road across Arranvale one +drought 'cause the selectors were cutting it up a bit, drawing water from +the reserve, and how everybody had to go seven miles further round for +every drop of water? I've often wondered why the gates weren't lifted and +the road used in spite of them." + +"They'd have sent for the police," remarked Ned. "Next year Arranvale +shed was burned," he added. + +"It's always that way," declared Nellie, angrily. "For my part I'd sooner +see the wildest, most hopeless outbreak, than that sort of thing." + +"So would the squatters, Nellie," retorted Ned, grimly. "I feel all you +do," he went on. "But human nature is human nature and the squatters did +their level best, ignorantly I admit, to make the men mere brutes, and +the life alone has made hundreds mad, so we can't wonder if the result +isn't altogether pleasant. They've made us hut in with Chinese and +Malays. They've stuck up prices till flour that cost them tuppence a +pound I've seen selling us for a shilling. They've cut wages down +whenever they got a chance and are cutting them now, and they want to +break up our unions with their miserable 'freedom of contract' agreement. +Before there were unions in the bush the only way to get even with a +squatter was by some underhand trick and now we've got our unions and are +ready to stand up manly and fight him fair he's coming the same dodge on +us that the shipowners came on the seamen, only worse. Going to use +contract labour from the South that we can't get near to talk to and that +can't legally knock off if we did talk it over, and going to break up the +camps and shoot down unarmed men just to stop the strike. How can you +wonder if a few fires start or expect the chaps to be indignant if they +do? Besides, half the fires that happen at times like this are old +shanties of sheds that are insured above their value. It's convenient to +be able to put everything down to unionists." + +"It worries me," said Nellie, after a few minutes' silence. + +"Me too," said Ned. "We've got such a good case if both sides could only +be shown up. We've been willing to talk the whole thing over all along +and we're willing yet or to arbitrate it either. We're right and lots of +these fellows know it who abuse us. And if our chaps do talk a bit rough +and get excited and even if they do occasionally carry on a bit, it's not +a circumstance to the way the other side talk and get excited and carry +on. Only all the law is against us and none against them. Our chaps are +so hot that they don't go at it like lawyers but like a bull at a gate, +when they talk or write. And so the Government gets a hold on us and can +raise a dust and prevent people from seeing how things really are!" + +"Ned," she said, after a pause. "Tell me honestly! Do you thing there +will be any trouble?" + +"Honestly, I don't, Nellie. At least nothing serious. Some of the fellows +may start to buck if the Government does try to break up the camps and it +might spread a little, but there are no guns and so I don't see how it +could. There seems to be a lot of talk everywhere but that's hard fact. +Ten thousand bushmen with rifles wouldn't have much trouble with the +Government and the Government wouldn't have much trouble with ten +thousand bushmen without rifles. Besides, we're trying to do things +peacefully and I don't see why we shouldn't win this round as things +stand and get votes soon into the bargain!" + +"But if there is trouble, Ned?" she persisted. "Supposing it does start?" + +"I shall go with the chaps, of course, if that's what you mean." + +"Knowing it's useless, just to throw your life away?" she asked, quietly, +not protestingly, but as one seeking information. + +"I've eaten their bread," answered Ned. "Whatever mad thing is done, +however it's done, I'm with them. I should be a coward if I stood out of +it because I didn't agree with it. Besides----" + +"Besides what?" + +"I believe in Fate somehow. Not as anything outside bossing us, you know, +but as the whole heap of causes and conditions, of which we're a part +ourselves. But I don't feel that there'll be any real trouble though some +of us'll get into trouble just the same." + +"The Government will pick the big thistles, you mean." + +"Those they think the big thistles, I suppose. Of course the Government +is only the squatters and the companies in another shape and they only +want to break down the strike and are glad of any excuse that'll give +them a slant at us. They have a silly idiotic notion that only a few men +keep the unions going and that if they can get hold of a dozen or two the +others will all go to work like lambs just as the squatter wants The +fellows here have heard that the Government's getting ready to make a lot +of arrests up there. I'm one." + +Nellie squeezed his arm again; "I've heard that. I suppose they can do +anything they like, Ned, but surely they won't dare to really enforce +that old George the Fourth law they've resurrected?" + +"Why not? They'll do anything, Nellie. They're frantic and think they +must or the movement will flood them out. They'd like nothing better than +a chance to shoot a mob of us down like wild turkeys. They have squatter +magistrates and squatter judges--you know we've got some daisies up in +Queensland--and they'll snap up all the best lawyers and pack the jury +with a lot of shopkeepers who're just in a panic at the newspaper yarns. +The worst interpretation'll be put on everything and every foolish word +be magnified a thousand times. I know the gentry too well. They'll have +us sure as fate and all I hope is that the boys won't be foolish enough +to give them an excuse to massacre a few hundred. It'll be two or three +years apiece, the Trades Hall people have heard. However, I suppose we +can stand it. I don't care so long as the chaps stick to the union." + +"Do you think they will?" asked Nellie, after another pause. + +"I'm sure they will. They can rake a hundred of us in for life and knock +the union endways and in a year there'll be as much fight in the boys as +there is now, and more bitter, too. Why they're raising money in Sydney +for us already and I'm told that it was squeezed as dry as a bone over +the maritime strike. The New South Wales fellows are all true blue and so +they are down Adelaide way, as good as gold yet. The bosses don't know +what a job they tackled when they started in to down unionism. They fancy +that if they can only smash our fellows they'll have unionism smashed all +over Australia. The fun will only just have started then." + +"What makes you so sure the men will stick, Ned?" enquired Nellie. + +"Because they all know what the squatter was before the union and what +he'll be the minute he gets another chance. The squatters will keep the +unions going right enough. Besides everybody's on for a vote now in the +bush and, of course, the Government is going to keep it from them as long +as possible. Without unionism they'll never get votes and they know it." + +They had reached the path by Wooloomooloo Bay. Ned took off his hat and +walked bareheaded. "This is lovely!" he remarked, refreshed. + +"What a fool Griffith is!" cried Nellie, suddenly. + +"He's not as cunning as he ought to be," assented Ned. "But why?" + +"Do you know what I'd do if I were him?" answered Nellie. "I'd send all +the military and all the police home and go up into the bush by myself +and have a chat with the committee and the men at the camps and find out +just how they looked at the thing and ask them to assist in keeping order +and I'd see that they got justice if Parliament had to be called together +specially to do it." + +"He's not smart enough to do that," answered Ned. "Besides, the squatters +and the capitalistic set are the Parliament and wouldn't let him. I +suppose he believes every lie they stuff him with and never gives a +minute's thought to our having a side." + +"He didn't use to be a bad man, once," persisted Nellie. + +"I suppose he's not a bad man now," cried Ned, boiling over. "He's not on +the make like most of them and he fancies he's very patriotic, I imagine, +but what does he know of us or of the squatter? He sees us at our worst +and the squatter at his best and we've got different ways of talking and +when we get drunk on poisoned rum that the Government lets be sold we +aren't as gentlemanly as those who get drunk on Hennessy and champagne. +We don't curse in the same gentlemanly way and we splash out what we +think and don't wear two faces like his set. And so he thinks we're +ruffians and outlaws and he can't feel why the bushmen care for the +unions. The squatter has taken up all the land and the squatter law has +tied up what hasn't been taken and most of us are a lot of outcasts, +without homes or wives or children or anything that a man should have +barring our horses. We've got no votes and every law is set against us +and we've no rights and the squatter'd like to throw us all out to make +room for Chinese. There's nothing in front of the bushman now unless the +union gets it for him and they're trying to break up our union, Griffith +and his push, and, by God, they shan't do it. They haven't gaols enough +to hold every good unionist, not if they hang a thousand of us to start +with." + +"What does it matter, after all, Ned?" said Nellie, gently. "The Cause +itself gains by everything that makes men think. There'll never be peace +until the squatter goes altogether and the banks and the whole system. +And the squatter can't help it. I abuse him myself but I know he only +does what most of our own class in his place would do." + +"Of course he can't help it, Nellie," agreed Ned. "They're mostly +mortgaged up to the neck like the shopkeepers and squeeze us partly to +keep afloat themselves. It's the system, not the squatters personally. A +lot of them are decent enough, taking them off their runs and some are +decent even on their runs. Even the squatters aren't all bad. I don't +wish them any harm individually but just the same we're fighting them and +they're fighting us and what I feel sorest about is that it's just +because the New Unionism is teaching our chaps to think and to be better +and to have ideas that they are trying so hard to down it." + +"They don't know any better," repeated Nellie. + +"That's what Geisner says, I recollect. I mind how he said they'd try +sending us to prison here in Australia. They're beginning soon." + +They were right at the point now. + +"There's only one thing I'd like to know first, Nellie." + +"What is it, Ned?" she asked, unconsciously, absorbed in her fear for +him. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +A WOMAN'S WHIM. + +"Nellie!" + +It was a husky whisper. His throat was parched, his lips dry, his mouth +also. His heart thumped, thumped, thumped, so that it sickened him. He +shook nervously. His face twitched. He felt burning hot; then deadly +cold. He turned his hat slowly round and round in his trembling fingers. + +It was as though he had turned woman. He did not even feel passion. He +dared not look at her. He could feel her there. He did not desire as he +had desired so often to snatch her to him, to crush her in his arms, to +smother her with kisses, to master her. All his strength fled from him in +an indescribable longing. + +He had dreamed of this moment, often and often. He had rehearsed it in +his mind a thousand times, when the reins dropped on his horse's neck, +when he lay sleepless on the ground, even as he chatted to his mates. He +had planned what to say, how to say it, purposing to break down her +stubborn will with the passionate strength of his love for her, with mad +strong words, with subtle arguments. He had seen her hesitating in his +dreaming, had seen the flush come and go on her cheeks, her bosom heaving +beneath the black dress he knew so well. He had made good his wooing with +the tender violence that women forgive for love's sake, had caught her +and kissed her till her kisses answered and till she yielded him her +troth and pledged herself his wife. So he had dreamed in his folly. And +now he stood there like a whipped child, pleading huskily: + +"Nellie!" + +He had not known himself. He had not known her. Even now he hardly +understood that her glorious womanliness appealed to all that was highest +in him, that in her presence he desired to be a Man and so seemed to +himself weak and wicked. It was not her body only, it was her soul also +that he craved, that pure, clear soul of hers which shone in every tone +and every word and every look and every gesture. Beautiful she was, +strong and lithe and bearing her head up always as if in stern defiance; +beautiful in her cold virginity; beautiful in the latent passion that +slumbered lightly underneath the pale, proud face. But most beautiful of +all to him, most priceless, most longed for, was the personality in her, +the individuality which would have brought him to her were she the +opposite, physically, of all she was. He had wondered in reading +sometimes of the Buddhist thoughts if it were indeed that she was his +mate, that in re-incarnation after re-incarnation they had come together +and found in each other the completed self. And then he had wondered if +there were indeed in him such power and forcefulness as were in her and +if he were to her anything more than a rough, simple, ignorant bush +fellow, in whom she was interested a little for old acquaintance sake and +because of the common Cause they served. For to himself, he had been +still the same as before he ate from her hands the fruit of the Tree of +Knowledge. Absorbed in his work, a zealot, a fanatic, conscious of all +she had and of all he lacked, he had not noticed how his own mind had +expanded, how broader ideas had come to him, how the confidence born of +persistent thought gave force to his words and how the sincerity and +passion that rang in his voice reached if but for a moment the hearts of +men. When he thought of her mentality he doubted that she would be his, +she seemed so high above him. It was when he thought of her solely as a +Woman, when he remembered the smile of her parting, the hand-clinging +that was almost a caress, the tender "Come back to me again, Ned!" that +he felt himself her equal in his Manhood and dreamed his dream of how he +would woo and win her. + +And now! Ah, now, he knew himself and knew her. He realised all that he +was, all that he might have been. He would have wooed her and Nemesis +struck him on the mouth, struck him dumb. + +There come moments in our lives when we see ourselves. For years, for a +generation, till dying often, we live our lives and do not know except by +name the Ego that dwells within. We face death unflinchingly, as most men +do, and it never speaks. We love and we hate, with a lightness that is +held civilised, and it never stirs. We suffer and mourn and laugh and +sneer and it lies hidden. Then something stirs us to the very base of our +being and self-consciousness comes. And happy, thrice happy, in spite of +all sorrow and pain, no matter what has been or what awaits him, is he to +whom self-consciousness does not bring the self reproach that dieth not, +the remorse that never is quite quenched. He would have wooed and he was +dumb. For with a flash his life uprose before him. He saw himself naked +and he was ashamed. + +Tremblingly, shaken with anguish, he saw himself--unfit to look into +the eyes of a woman such as this. Like loathsome images of a drunkard's +nightmare scenes that were past came to him. Upon his lips were kisses +that stung and festered, around his neck were the impress of arms that +dragged him down, into his eyes stared other eyes taunting him with the +evil glances that once seemed so dear. What had he of manhood to offer to +this pure woman. It seemed to him a blasphemy even to stand there by her. +His passion fled. He only felt a pitiful, gnawing, hopeless, +indescribable longing. + +What he had been! How he had drunk and drunk and drunk again of the +filthy pools wherewith we civilised peoples still our yearnings for the +crystal spring of Love, that the dragon of Social Injustice guards from +us so well! His sins rose in front of him. They were sins now as they had +never been before. The monogamy of his race triumphed in him. For men and +for women alike he knew there was the same right and the same wrong. + +His soul abhorred itself because of his unfitness to match with this +ideal woman of his people. He could feel her purity, as he stood there by +her. He could feel that her lips still waited for the lover of her life, +that round her waist the virgin zone still lay untied, that she could +still give herself with all the strength of unsullied purity and +unweakened passion. And he, who had thought in his miserable folly that +at least he was as much Man as she was Woman? He could only give her the +fragments of a life, the battered fragments of what once had been well +worth the having. + +He knew that now. He saw himself naked and he knew what he was and what +he had been. He had feared comparison with her intellectually and he +towered above her, even now; he knew it. He knew now that to him it had +been given to sway the thoughts of men, to feel the pulse of the great +world beat, to weld discontent into action, to have an idea and to dare +and to give to others faith and hope. That came to him also, without +conceit, without egotism--with a rush of still more bitter infinitely +more unbearable, pain. For this, too, he had wasted, flung away, so it +seemed to him in his agony of degradation: because he had not been true +to his higher self, because he had not done as a true Man would. And so, +he had been blind. He saw it plainly, now, the path he should have trod, +trampling his weaknesses down, bending his whole life in one strong +effort, living only for the work at hand. And to him it came that, +perchance, on him was this great punishment that because of his +unworthiness the Cause must wait longer and struggle more; that because +he had not been strong little children would sob who might have laughed +and men would long for death who might have joyed in living. And he knew, +too, that had he but been what he might have been he would have stood +fearlessly by her side at last and won her to cast in her lot with his. +For there was a way out, indeed, a way out from the house of bondage, and +none had been so near to it in all time as he had all his life, none had +had their feet pointed so towards it, none had failed so strangely to +pick up the track and follow it to the end. Years ago, as he thought, +sleepless, under the stars, he had touched on it, Geisner had brought him +near to it. And still he had not seen it, had not seen as he saw now that +those who seek to change the world must first of all show the world that +change is possible, must gather themselves together and go out into the +desert to live their life in their own way as an example to all men. Who, +could do this as the bushmen could, as he and his houseless, homeless, +wandering mates could? If he only could lead them to it, Geisner helping +him! If another chance might be his as the chance had been! Now, life +seemed over. He had a prescience of misfortune. A Queensland gaol would +swallow him up. That would be the end of it all. + +He did not think that he was much the same as others, more forceful +perhaps for evil as for good but still much the same. He did not think +that social conditions had been against him, that Society had refused him +the natural life which gives morality and forced upon him the unnatural +life which fosters sin. What did that matter? The Puritan blood that +flowed in his veins made him stern jury and harsh judge. He tried himself +by his own ideal and he condemned himself. He was unworthy. He had +condemned those who drank; he had condemned those who cursed and swore +meaninglessly; he had looked upon smoking as a weakness, almost a fault. +Now, he condemned himself, without reservation. He had sinned and his +punishment had begun. He had lived in vain and he had lost his love. It +never occurred to him that he might play a part before her--he was too +manly. Yet his great longing grew greater as he realised everything. All +the loneliness of his longing spoke in that hoarse whisper: + +"Nellie?" + +And Nellie? Nellie loved him. + +She had held him as a brother for so long that this love for him had +crept upon her, little by little, inch by inch, insidiously, unperceived. +She remembered always with pleasure their school days together and their +meetings since, that meeting here in Sydney two years before most of all. +She had felt proud of him, of his strength and his fiery temper, of his +determined will, of the strong mind which she could feel growing and +broadening in the letters he had sent her of late. She could not but know +that to him she was very much, that to her he owed largely the bent of +his thinking, that to her he still looked as a monitress. But she lulled +herself with the delusion that all this was brotherliness and that all +her feelings were sisterliness. His coming that night, his gift of the +rose, had filled her with a happiness that mingled strangely with the +pain of her fears. + +Coming along, arm in arm with him, she had been thinking of him, even +while she spoke earnestly of other things. Would she ever see him again, +she wondered with a sinking of the heart, would she ever see him again. +Never had he thought or care for himself, never would he shrink from fear +of consequences if it seemed to him that a certain course was "straight." +She would not have him shrink, of course. He was dear to her because he +was what he was, and yet, and yet, it pained her so to think that she +nevermore might see him. Seldom she saw him it was true, only now and +then, years between, but she always hoped to see him. What if the hope +left her! What should she do if she should see him again nevermore? + +The kaleidoscope of her memories showed to her one scene, one of the +episodes that had gone to make up her character, to strengthen her +devotion: the whirring of a sewing machine in a lamp-lit room and a +life-romance told to the whirring, the fate of a woman as Geisner's was +the fate of a man. A romance of magnificent fidelity, of heroic sacrifice +illumined by a passionate love, of a husband followed to the land of his +doom from that sad isle of the Atlantic seas, of prison bars worn away by +the ceaseless labour of a devoted woman and of the cruel storm that beat +the breath from her loved one as freed and unfettered he fled to liberty +and her! She heard again the whirr of the machine, saw again the +lamplight shine on the whitening head majestic still. For Ned, while he +lived, no matter where, she would toil so. Though all the world should +forget him she would not. But supposing, after all, she never saw him +more. What should she do? What should she do? And yet, she did not know +yet that she loved him. + +They walked along, side by side, close together, through the dull weary +streets, by barrack-rows of houses wrapped in slumber or showing an +occasional light; through thoroughfares which the windows of the shops +that thrive, owl-like, at night still made brilliant; down the long +avenue of trim-clipped trees whereunder time-defying lovers still sat +whispering; past the long garden wall, startling as they crossed the road +a troop of horses browsing for fallen figs; along the path that winds, +water-lapped, under the hollowed rocks that shelter nightly forlorn +outcasts of Sydney. She saw it all as they passed along and she did not +see it. Afterwards she could recall every step they took, every figure +they passed, every tree and seat and window and lamp-post on the way. + +At one corner a group of men wrangled drunkenly outside a public-house. +Down one deserted street another drunkard staggered, cursing with awful +curses a slipshod woman who kept pace with him on the pavement and +answered him with nerveless jeers. Just beyond a man overtook them, +walking swiftly, his tread echoing as he went; he turned and looked at +her as he passed; he had a short board and wore a "hard hitter." Then +there was a girl plying her sorry trade, talking in the shadow with a +young man, spruce and white-shirted. They had to wait at one street for a +tram to rush past screeching and rattling. At one crossing Ned had seized +her arm because a cab was coming carelessly. One of the lovers in the +avenue was tracing lines on the ground with a stick, while her sweetheart +leaned over her. Down under the rocks she saw the forms of sleepers here +and there; from one clump of bushes came a sound of heavy snoring. She +saw all this, everything, a thousand incidents, but she did not heed +them. She was as one in a daze; or as one who moves and thinks and sees, +sleep-walking. + +So they reached the point by Lady Macquarie's Chair, paused for a moment +at the turn, hesitated, then together, as of one accord, went down the +grassy slope by the landing stairs and out upon the rough wave-eaten +fringe of rock to the water's edge. They were alone together, alone in +Paradise. There were none others in the whole world. + +Above them, almost overhead, in the starry sky, the full round moon was +sailing, her white glare falling upon a matchless scene of mingling land +and water, sea and shore and sky. Like a lake the glorious harbour +stretched before them and on either hand. In its bosom the moon sailed as +in a mirror; on it great ships floated at anchor and islets nestled down; +all round the sheltering hills verily clapped their hands. In the great +dome of the universe there was not a cloud. Through the starless windows +of that glorious dome they could see into the fathomless depths of +Eternity. Under the magic of the moon not even the sordid work of man +struck a discordant note. At their feet the faint ripplings of this +crystal lake whispered their ceaseless lullaby and close behind them the +trees rustled softly in the languid breathings of the sleeping sea. Of a +truth it was Paradise, fit above all fitness to gladden the hearts of +men, worthy to fill the soul to overflowing with the ecstasy of living, +deserving to be enshrined as a temple of the Beautiful wherein all might +worship together, each his own God. + +The keen sense of its loveliness, its perfect beauty, its sublime +simplicity, stole over Nellie as she stood silently by Ned's side in the +full moonlight and gazed. Over her angry soul, tortured by the love she +hardly knew, its pure languor crept, soothing, softening. She looked up +at the silvery disc and involuntarily held out her hands to it, its +radiance overpowering her. She wrenched her eyes away from it suddenly, a +strange fearfulness leaping in her who knew no fear; the light at the +South Heads flashed before her, the convent stood out in the far +distance, a ferry-house shone white, the towers and roofs of Sydney +showed against the sky, the lights on the shipping and on the further +shore were as reflections of the stars above. And there in the water, as +in a mirror, was that glowing moon. Startled, she found herself thinking +that it would be heavenly to take Ned's hand and plunge underneath this +crystal sheet that alone separated them from peace and happiness. She +looked up again. There was the moon itself, swimming amid the twinkling +stars, full and round and white and radiant. As its rays enwrapped her +eyes, she heard the leaves rustling in melody and the wavelets rippling +in tune. + +All Nature lived to her then. There was life in the very rocks under her +feet, language in the very shimmer of the waters, a music, as the +ancients dreamed in the glittering spheres that circled there in space. +The moon had something to say to her, something to tell her, something +she longed to hear and shrank from hearing. She knew she was not herself +somehow, not her old self, that it was as though she were being +bewitched, mesmerised, drawn out of herself by some strange influence, +sweet though fearful. Suddenly a distant clock struck and recalled her +wandering thoughts. + +"Half-past! Half-past eleven I suppose! I thought it was later, ever so +much later. It has seemed like hours, it is so beautiful here, but we +haven't been here many minutes," she said. Adding incongruously: "Let's +go. It's getting very late." She spoke decidedly. She felt that she dare +not stay; why, she had not the least idea. + +Then she heard Ned, who was standing there, rigid, except that he was +twirling his soft straw hat round and round in his fingers, say in a low +tremulous husky whisper: + +"Nellie!" + +Then she knew. + +She was loved and she loved. That was what the stars sang and the little +ripples and the leaves. That was what the hard rock knew and what the +shimmer of the water laughed to think of and what the glowing moon had to +tell her as it swam high in heaven, looking down into her heart and +swelling its tumultuous tide. The moon knew, the full moon that ever made +her pulse beat strong and her young life throb till its throbbing was a +pain, the full white moon that, dethroned on earth, still governs from +the skies the lives of women. She was loved. She was loved. And she, who +had vowed herself to die unmarried, she loved, loved, loved. + +She knew that those only laugh at Love to whom the fullness of living has +been denied, in whose cold veins, adulterate with inherited disease, a +stagnant liquid mocks the purpose of the rich red blood of a healthy +race; that in that laugh of theirs is the, knell of them and of their +people; that the nation which has ceased to love has almost ceased to +live. + +She knew that every breath she had ever drawn had been drawn that she +might live for this moment; that every inch of her stature and every +ounce of her muscle and every thought of her brain had built up slowly, +surely, ultimately, this all-absorbing passion; that upon her was the +hand of the Infinite driving her of her own nature to form a link in the +great Life-chain that stretches from the Whence into the Whither, to lose +herself in the appointed lot as the coral insect does whose tiny body +makes a continent possible. + +She knew that Love is from the beginning and to all time, knew that it +comes to each as each is, to the strong in strength and to the weak in +weakness. She knew that to her it had come with all the force of her +grand physique and vigorous brain and dominant emotionality, that in her +heart one man, one hero, one lover, was enshrined and that to him she +would be loyal and true for ever and ever, choosing death rather than to +fail him. + +She knew that they do rightly and for themselves well who in Love's +strength brush aside all worldly barriers and insensate prejudice. She +knew that it is the one great Democrat strong as Death--when it comes, +though sad to say in decaying states it comes too seldom; that its +imperious mandate makes the king no higher than the beggar-girl and binds +in sweet equality the child of fortune and the man of toil. She knew that +the mysterious Power which orders all things has not trusted to a frail +support in resting the conservation of the race upon the strength of +loving. + +All this she knew and more, knew as by instinct as her love flamed +conscious in her. + +She knew that there was one thing to which love like hers could not link +itself and that was to dishonour, not the false dishonour of +conventionalism but the real dishonour of proving untrue to herself. She +know that when she ceased to respect herself, when she shrank from +herself, then she would shrink before him whom she loved and who loved +her. She knew that she could better bear to lose him, to go lonely and +solitary along the future years, than shame that self-consciousness which +ever she had held sacred but which was doubly sacred now he loved her. + +How she loved him! For his soul, for his body, for his brain, for his +rough tenderness, for his fiery tongue! She loved his broad shoulders and +his broad mind. She loved his hearty laugh and his hearty hand-grip and +his homely speech and his red-hot enthusiasm. She loved him because she +felt that he dared and because she felt that he loved her. She loved him +because she had learned to see in him her ideal. She loved him because he +was in danger for the Cause and because he was going from her and because +she had loved him for years had she but known. She loved him for a +thousand things. And yet! Something held her back. It only needed a word +but the word did not come. It was on her lips a dozen times, that one +word "Ned!" which meant all words, and she did not say it. + +They stood there side by side, motionless, silent, waiting, Ned suffering +anguish unspeakable, Nellie plunged in that great joy which comes so +seldom that some say it only comes to herald deeper sadness. To him the +glorious scene around spoke nothing, he hardly saw it; to her it was +enchanted with a strange enchantment, never had it seemed so, all the +times she had seen it. How beautiful life was! How sweet to exist! How +glad the world! + +"Nellie!" said Ned, at last, humbly, penitently, hopelessly. "I'm not a +good man. I haven't been just what you think I've been." He stopped, then +added, slowly and desperately as if on an afterthought: "If--your own +heart--won't plead--for--me--it's not a bit of use my saying +anything." + +When one speaks as one feels one generally speaks to the point and this +sudden despairing cry of Ned's was a better plea than any he could by +long thinking have constructed. Wonderful are the intricacies of a man's +mind, but still more intricate the mind of woman. Nellie at the moment +did not care whether he had been saint or sinner. She felt that her love +was vast enough to, wash him clean of all offending and make amend in him +for all shortcoming. She could not bear to see him in pain thus when she +was so happy; in uncertainty, in despair, when the measure of her love +was not to be taken, so huge was it and all for him. If he had sinned, +and how men sin there is little hid from the working girl, it was not +from evil heart. If he had not been good he would be good. He would +promise her. + +"But you will be good now, will you not, Ned?" she asked, softly, not +looking at him, dropping her hand against his, stealing her slender +fingers into the fingers that nervously twirled the hat. + +From bitter despondency Ned's thoughts changed to ecstatic hope. He swung +round, his hand in Nellie's, his brain in a whirl. Was it a dream or was +she really standing there in the strong moonshine, her lovelit eyes +looking into his for a moment before the down-cast lids veiled them, her +face flushed, her bosom heaving, her hand tenderly pressing his? He +dropped his hat, careless, of the watery risk, and seizing her by both +arms above the elbows, held her for a moment in front of him, striving to +collect himself, vainly trying to subdue the excitement that made him +think he was going to faint. + +"Nellie!" he whispered, passionately, his craving finding utterance. +"Kiss me!" She lifted up the flushed face, with the veiled downcast eyes +and soft quivering lips. He passed his hands under her arms and bent +down. Then a white mist came over his eyes as he crushed her to him and +felt on his parched lips the burning kiss of the woman he loved. For a +moment she rested there, in his arms, her mouth pressed to his. The rose, +shattered, throw its petals as an offering upon the altar of their joy. + +The Future, what did it matter to him? The scaffold or the gaol might +come or go, what did it matter to him? It flashed through his mind that +Nellie could be his wife before he went and then all the governments in +the world and all the military and all the gatling guns might do their +worst. They could not take from him a happiness he had not deserved, but +which had come to him as a free gift in despite of his unworthiness. And +as he thought this, Nellia shook herself out of his arms, pushing him so +violently that he staggered and almost fell on the uneven rocks. + +"I cannot," she cried, holding up her arms as if to ward him off. "I +cannot, Ned. You mustn't touch me. I cannot." + +"Nellie!" he replied, bewildered. "What on earth is the matter?" + +"I cannot," she cried again. "Ned, you know I can't." + +"Can't what?" he asked, gradually understanding. + +"I can't marry. I shall never marry. It's cruel to you, contemptible of +me, to be here. I forgot myself, Ned. Come along! It's madness to stay +here." + +She turned on her heel and walked off sharply, taking the upper path. He +picked up his hat and hastily followed. There was nothing else to be +done. Overtaking her, he strode along by her side in a fury of mingled +rage, sorrow, anger and disappointment. + +She paused at the corner of her street. As she did so bells far and near +began to strike midnight, the clock at the City Hall leading off with its +quarters. They had been gone an hour and a quarter. To both of them it +seemed like a year. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +THE WHY OF THE WHIM. + +Nellie stopped at the corner of her street, under the lamp-post. Ned +stopped by her side, fuming by now, biting his moustache, hardly able to +hold his tongue. Nellie looked at him a moment, sadly and sorrowfully. +The look of determination that made her mouth appear somewhat cruel was +on her whole face; but with it all she looked heart-broken. + +"Ned," she begged. "Don't be angry with me. I can't. Indeed, I can't." + +"Why not?" he demanded, boiling over. "If you wouldn't have had me at +first I wouldn't have blamed you. But you say you love me, or as good as +say, and then you fly off. Nellie! Nellie, darling! If you only knew how +for years I've dreamed of you. When I rode the horse's hoofs kept saying +'Nellie.' I used to watch the stars and think them like your eyes, and +the tall blue gum and think it wasn't as full of grace as you. Down by +the water just now I thought you wouldn't have me because I wasn't fit, +and I'm not, Nellie, I'm not, but when I thought it I felt like a lost +soul. And then, when I thought you loved me in spite of all, everything +seemed changed. I seemed to feel that I was a man again, a good man, fit +to live, and all that squatter government of ours could do, the worst +they could do, seemed a bit of a joke while you loved me. And----" + +"Ned! Ned!" begged Nellie, who had put her hands over her face while he +was speaking. "Have pity on me! Can't you see? I'm not iron and I'm not +ice but I can't do as others do. I cannot. I will not." + +"Why not?" he answered. "I will speak, Nellie. Do you----" + +"Ned!" she interrupted, evidently forcing herself to speak. "It's no use. +I'll tell you why it's not." + +"There can be no reason." + +"There is a reason. Nobody knows but me. When I have said I would never +marry people think it is a whim. Perhaps it is, but I have a reason that I +thought never to tell anyone. I only tell you so that you may understand +and we may still be friends, true friends." + +"Go on! I'll convince you that it doesn't mean what you think it does, +this reason, whatever it is." + +"Ned! Be reasonable!" She hesitated. She looked up and down the street. +Nothing moved. The moon was directly overhead. There were no shadows. It +was like day. An engine whistle sounded like a long wail in the distance. +In the silence that followed they could hear the rushing of a train. Ned +waited, watching her pain-drawn face. A passionate fear assailed him, +blotting out his wrath. + +"You recollect my sister?" she asked, looking away from him. + +He nodded. + +"You heard she died? You spoke of her two years ago." + +He nodded again. + +"I did not tell you the whole truth then . . . . . . I did not tell +anybody . . . . . . I came down here so as not to tell . . . . . . I +could not bear to go home, to chance any of them coming down to Brisbane +and seeing me . . . . . . You know." She stopped. He could see her hands +wringing, a hunted look in the eyes that would not meet his. + +"Never mind telling me, Nellie," he said, a great pity moving him. "I'm a +brute. I didn't mean to be selfish but I love you so. It shall be as you +say. I don't want to know anything that pains you to tell." + +"That is your own self again, Ned," she answered, looking at him, smiling +sadly, a love in her face that struck him with a bitter joy. "But you +have a right. I must tell you for my own sake. Only, I can't begin." Her +mouth trembled. Great tears gathered in her eyes and rolled down her +cheeks. A lump rose in his throat. He seized her hands and lifted them +reverently to his lips. He could not think of a word to say to comfort +her. + +"Ned!" she said, in a tone almost inaudible, looking at him through her +tears. "She died in the hospital but I didn't tell you how. . . . . She +died, oh, a terrible death . . . . . . She had gone . . . . . down, Ned. +Right down. Down to the streets, Ned." + +He pressed her hands, speechless. They stood thus facing one another, +till down his face, too, the sad tears rained in sympathy, sad tears that +mourned without reproach the poor dead sister whom the hard world had +crushed and scorned, sad tears that fell on his passion like rain on fire +and left in him only a yearning desire to be a comforter. Nellie, +snatching her hands away, pressed them to her mouth to stifle the frantic +sobs that began to shake her, long awful sobs that drew breath whistling +through clenched fingers. And Ned, drawing her to him, laid her head on +his shoulder, stroking her hair as a mother does, kissing her temple with +loving, passionless kisses, striving to comfort her with tender brotherly +words, to still her wild cries and frantic sobs in all unselfishness. +There were none to see them in all this moonlit city. The wearied +toilers, packed around them, slumbered or tossed unconsciously. Above +them, serene and radiant, the full moon swam on amid the stars. + +"She was so good, Ned," cried Nellie, choking, with sobs, almost +inarticulate, pouring out to him the pent-up thinking of long years. "She +was so good. And so kind. Don't you remember her, Ned? Such a sweet girl, +she was. It killed her, Ned. This cruel, cruel life killed her. But +before it killed her--oh!--oh!--oh!--oh! Why are we ever born? +Why are we ever born?" + +It was heart-rending, her terrible grief, her abandonment of anguish +which she vainly endeavoured to thrust back into her throat. With all her +capacity for passionate love she bewailed her sister's fate. Ned, +striving to soothe her, all the while mingled his tears with hers. A +profound sadness overshadowed him. He felt all his hopes numbed and +palsied in the face of this omnipotent despair. This girl who was dead +seemed for the time the symbol of what Life is. He had hated Society, +hated it, but as its blackest abyss opened at his very feet his hate +passed from him. He only felt an utter pity for all things, a desire to +weep over the helpless hopelessness of the world. + +Nellie quieted at last. Her sobs ceased to shake her, her tears dried on +her pale face, but still she rested her head on Ned as if finding +strength and comfort in him. Her eyelids were closed except for an +occasional belated lingering sob she might have been asleep. Her grief +had exhausted her. At last a coming footfall roused her. She raised her +head, putting her hands instinctively to her hat and hair, pulling +herself together with a strong breath. + +"You are very kind to me, Ned," she said, softly. "I've been so silly but +I'm better now. I don't often carry on like that." She smiled faintly. +"Let's walk a bit! I shall feel better and I have such a lot to tell you. +Don't interrupt! I want you to know all about it, Ned." And so, walking +backwards and forwards in the moonlit streets, deserted and empty, +passing an occasional night prowler, watched with suspicious eyes by +energetic members of the "foorce" whose beats they invaded, stopping at +corners or by dead-walls, then moving slowly on again, she told him. + +* * * * * + +"You know how things were at home on the Darling Downs, Ned. Father a +'cooky,' going shearing to make both ends meet, and things always going +wrong, what with the drought and the wet and having no money to do things +right and the mortgage never being cleared off. It wasn't particularly +good land, either, you know. The squatters had taken all that and left +only stony ridges for folks like ours. And we were all girls, six of us. +Your father was sold up, and he had you boys to help him. Well, my father +wasn't sold up but he might as well have been. He worked like a horse and +so did mother, what with the cows and the fowls and looking after things +when father was away, and we girls did what we could from the time we +were little chits. Father used to get up at daybreak and work away after +dark always when he was at home. On Sunday mornings after he'd seen to +the things he used to lie on his back under that tree in front if it was +fine or about the house if it was wet, just dead beat. He used to put a +handkerchief over his face but he didn't sleep much. He just rested. In +the afternoon he used to have a smoke and a read. Poor father! He was +always thought queer, you recollect, because he didn't care for +newspapers except to see about farming in and took his reading out of +books of poetry that nobody else cared about. On Monday he'd start to +work again, with only a few hours for sleep and meals, till Saturday +night. Yet we had only just a living. Everything else went in interest on +the mortgage. Twelve per cent. Mother used to cry about it sometimes but +it had to be paid somehow. + +"When Mary was fifteen and I was thirteen, you remember, she went to +Toowoomba, to an uncle of ours, mother's brother, who had four boys and +no girls and didn't know what to put the boys to. Father and mother +thought this a splendid chance for Mary to learn a trade, there were so +many of us at home, you know, and so they took one of my cousins and +uncle took Mary and she started to learn dressmaking. Uncle was a small +contractor, who had a hard time of it, and his wife was a woman who'd got +frozen about the heart, although she was as good as gold when it melted a +little. She was always preaching about the need for working and saving +and the folly of wasting money in drink and ribbons and everything but +what was ugly. She said that there was little pleasure in the world for +those who had to work, so the sooner we made up our minds to do without +pleasure the better we'd get on. Mary lived with them a couple of years, +coming home once in a while. Then she got the chance of a place where +she'd get her board and half-a-crown a week. She couldn't bear aunt and +so she took it and I went to live at uncle's and to learn dressmaking, +too. That was six months after you went off, Ned. I wasn't quite fifteen +and you were eighteen, past. Seven years ago. I was so sorry when you +went away, Ned. + +"Aunt wasn't pleasant to live with. I used to try to get on with her and +I think she liked me in her way but she made me miserable with her +perpetual lecturing about the sin of liking to look nice and the +wickedness of laughing and the virtue of scraping every ha'penny. I used +to help in the house, of course, when I came from work and I was always +getting into trouble for reading books, that I borrowed, at odd minutes +when aunt thought I ought to be knitting or darning or slaving away +somehow at keeping uncomfortable. I used to tell Mary and Mary used to +wish that I could come to work where she did. We used to see each other +every dinner hour and in the evening she'd come round and on Sundays we +used to go to church together. She was so kind to me, and loving, looking +after me like a little mother. She used to buy little things for me out +of her halfcrown and say that when she was older aunt shouldn't make me +miserable. Besides aunt, I didn't like working in a close shop, shut up. +I didn't seem to be able to take a good breath. I used to think as I sat, +tacking stuff together or unpicking threads that seemed to be endless, +how it was out in the bush and who was riding old Bluey to get the cows +in now I was gone and whether the hens laid in the same places and if it +was as still and fresh as it used to be when we washed our faces and +hands under the old lean-to before breakfast. And Toowoomba is fresher +than Sydney. I don't know what I'd have thought of Sydney then. I used to +tell Mary everything and she used to cheer me up. Poor Mary! + +"For a long while she had the idea of going to Brisbane to work. She said +there were chances to make big wages there, because forewomen and draping +hands were wanted more and girls who had anything in them had a better +show than in a little place. I used to remind her that it was said there +were lots too many girls in Brisbane and that unless you had friends +there you couldn't earn your bread. But she used to say that one must +live everywhere and that things couldn't be worse than they were in +Toowoomba. You see she was anxious to be able to earn enough to help with +the mortgage. Father had been taken sick shearing: and had to knock off +and so didn't earn what he expected and that year they'd got deeper into +debt and things looked worse than ever. One day he came into Toowoomba +with his cart, looking ten years older. Next day, Mary told me she didn't +care what happened, she was going to Brisbane to see if she couldn't earn +some money or else they'd lose the selection and that she'd spoken for +her place for me and I was to have it. She'd been saving up for a good +while what she could by shillings and sixpences and pennies, doing sewing +work for anybody who'd pay her anything in her own time. She said that +when she'd got a five-pound-a-week place she'd come back for a visit and +bring me a new dress, and mother and father and the others all sorts of +things and pay the interest all herself and that I should have the next +best place in the shop and come to live with her. We talked about going +into business together and whether it wouldn't be better for father to +throw up the selection after a while and live with us in Brisbane. Ah! +What simple fools we were! If we had but known! + +"So Mary went to Brisbane, with just a few shillings beside her ticket +and hardly knowing a soul in the big town. I went to the station with her +in the middle of the night. She was going by the night train because then +she'd get to Brisbane in the morning and have the day in front of her and +she had nowhere to go if she got in at night. I recollect thinking how +sweetly pretty she looked as she sat in the carriage all alone. + +"You remember her, Ned? Well, she got prettier and prettier as she grew +older, not tall and big and strong-looking like me but smaller than I was +even then and with a fresh round face that always smiled at you. She had +small feet and hands and hair that curled naturally and her skin was +dark, not fair like mine. People in Toowoomba used to turn and look at +her when she went out and everybody liked her. She was so kind to +everybody. And she was full of courage though she did cry a little when +she kissed me good-bye, because I cried so. I could never have stopped +crying had I but known how I should see her again. + +"She wrote in two or three days to say that she had got a place, just +enough to pay her board, and expected to get a better one soon. She was +always expecting something better when she wrote and my aunt when I saw +her wagged her head and said that rolling stones gathered no moss. The +interest-day came round and father just managed to scrape the money +together. They'd got so poor and downhearted that I used to cry at night +thinking of them and I used to tell Mary when I wrote. I used to blame +myself for it once but I don't now. We all get to believe at last in what +must be will be, Ned. And then I had a letter from Mary telling me she +had a much better place and in two or three weeks mother wrote such a +proud pleased letter to say that Mary had sent them a five-pound note. +And for about a year Mary sent them two or three pounds every month and +at Christmas five pounds again. Then her letters stopped altogether, both +to them and to me. To me she had kept writing always the same, kind and +chatty and about herself. She told me she had to save and scrape a little +but that she had hope some day to be able to get me down. I never dreamed +it was not so, not even when the letters stopped, though afterwards, when +I went through them, I saw that the handwriting, in the later ones, was +shaky a little. + +"We waited and waited to hear from her but no letter came to anybody. +There was a girl I knew whose father had been working in Toowoomba and +who was in the same shop for a little while and her father was going to +Brisbane to a job and they were all going. He was a carpenter. She and I +had got to be friendly after Mary went away and she promised to find her +but couldn't. You see we were bush folks still and didn't think anything +of streets and addresses and thought the post office enough. And when two +months passed and no letter came mother wrote half crazy, and I didn't +know what to do, and I wrote to the girl I knew to ask her to get me work +so that I could go to look for Mary. It just happened that they wanted a +body hand in her shop and they promised me the place and I went the next +day I heard. They wanted a week's notice where I was working and didn't +want to give up my things without but aunt went and got them and gave me +the money for my fare and told me if I wanted to come back to write to +her and she'd find the money again. Poor old aunt! I shall never forget +her. Her heart was all right if she had got hard and unhappy. That's how +I got to Brisbane to look for Mary. + +"I went to board with the girl I knew. I was earning ten shillings a week +and paid that for my board and helped with the ironing for my washing. +Her father had got out of work again for times were bad and they were +glad to get my money. Lizzie got ten shillings a week and she had a +brother about fourteen who earned five shillings. That was about all they +had to live on often, nine in the family with me and the rent seven +shillings for a shell of a place that was standing close up against other +humpies in a sort of yard. There were four little rooms unceiled and +Lizzie and I slept together in a sort of shelf bedstead, with two little +sisters sleeping on the floor beside us. When it was cold we used to take +them in with us and heap their bedclothes on top of us. The wind came +through the walls everywhere. Out in the bush one doesn't mind that but +in town, where you're cooped up all day, it doesn't seem the same thing. +We had plenty of bread and meat and tea generally but the children didn't +seem to thrive and got so thin and pale-looking that I thought they were +going to be ill. Lizzie's father used to come home, after tramping about +for work, looking as tired as my father did after his long day in the +fields and her mother fretted and worried and you could see things +getting shabbier and shabbier every week. I don't know what I should have +done only Lizzie and I now and then got a dress to make for a neighbour +or some sewing to do, night-times. Lizzie's mother had a machine and we +used that and they always made me keep my half of what we got that way, +no matter how hard up they were. They never thought of asking for +interest for the use of the machine. And all the while I was looking for +Mary. + +"I used to stand watching as the troops of girls went by to work and from +work, morning and evening, going to a new place every day so that I +shouldn't miss her and in the dinner hours I used to go round the work +rooms to see if she worked in one of them or if anybody knew her. At +first, when I had a shilling to spare, I put an advertisement that she +would understand in the paper, but I gave that up soon. I never dreamed +of going to the police station, any more than we had dreamed of it in +Toowoomba. I just looked and looked but I couldn't find her. + +"I shall never forget the first time I got out of work. One Saturday, +without a minute's warning, a lot of us were told that we wouldn't be +wanted for a week or two. Lizzie and I were both told. She could hardly +keep herself from crying but I couldn't cry. I was too wretched. I +thought of everything and there seemed nothing to do anywhere. At home +they couldn't help me. I shrank from asking aunt, for she'd only offered +to help me to come back and what could I do in Toowoomba if I got there? +And how could I find Mary? I had only ten shillings in the world and I +owed it all for my board. I got to imagining where I should sleep and how +long I could go without dying of hunger and I hated so to go into the +house with Lizzie to tell them. Lizzie's mother cried when she heard it +and Lizzie cried, but I went into the bedroom when I'd put my money on +the table and began to put my things in my box. They called me to dinner +and when I didn't come and they found out that I meant to go because I +couldn't pay any more they were so angry. Lizzie's mother wanted to know +if they looked altogether like heathens and then we three cried like +babies and I felt better. I used to cry a good deal in those days, I +think. + +"Lizzie's father got a job next week a few miles out of Brisbane and went +away to it and on the Monday I answered an advertisement for a woman to +do sewing in the house and was the first and got it. She was quite young, +the woman I worked for, and very nice. She got talking to me and I told +her how I'd got out of work and about Mary. I suppose she was Socialist +for she talked of what I didn't understand much then, of how we ought to +have a union to get wages enough to keep us when work fell off and of the +absurdity of men and women having to depend for work upon a few employers +who only worked them when they could get profit. She thought I should go +to the police-station about Mary but I said Mary wouldn't like that. What +was more to me at the time, she paid me four shillings a day and found me +work for two weeks, though I don't think she wanted it. There are kind +people in the world, Ned. + +"I got back to regular work again, not in the same shop but in another, +and then Lizzie's folks moved out to where her father was working. I and +another girl got a room that we paid five shillings a week for, +furnished, with the use of the kitchen. It cost us about ten shillings a +week between us for food, and I got raised to twelve-and-six a week +because they wanted me back where I'd worked before. So we weren't so +badly off, and we kept a week ahead. Of course we lived anyhow, on dry +bread and tea very often, with cakes now and then as a treat, boiled eggs +sometimes and a chop. There was this about it, we felt free. Sometimes we +got sewing to do at night from people we got to hear of. So we managed to +get stuff for our dresses and we kept altering our hats and we used to +fix our boots up with waxed threads. And all the time I kept looking for +Mary and couldn't see her or hear of her. + +"I had got to understand how Mary might live for years in a place like +Brisbane without being known by more than a very few, but I puzzled more +and more as to how she'd got the money she'd sent home. The places where +she might have earned enough seemed so few that everybody knew of them. +In all dressmaking places the general run of girls didn't earn enough to +keep themselves decently unless they lived at home as most did. Even then +they had a struggle to dress neatly and looked ill-fed, for, you see, it +isn't only not getting enough it's not getting enough of the right food +and getting it regularly. Most of the girls brought their lunch with them +in a little paper parcel, bread and butter, and in some places they made +tea. Some had lots of things to eat and lots to wear and plenty of pocket +money and didn't seem to have to work but they weren't my sort or Mary's. + +"What made me think first how things might be was seeing a girl in the +second place I worked at. She looked so like Mary, young and fresh and +pretty and lively, always joking and laughing. She was very shabby and +made-over when I saw her first, with darned gloves and stitched-up boots +down at heel and bits of ribbon that she kept changing to bring the best +side up. Then she got a new dress all at once and new boots and gloves +and hat and seemed to have money to spend and the girls began to pass +remarks about her when she wasn't bearing and sometimes to her face when +they had words with her. I didn't believe anything bad at first but I +knew she wasn't getting any more pay and then, all at once, I recollected +being behind her one night when we came out of the shop and seeing a +young fellow waiting in a door-way near. He was a good-looking young +fellow, well-dressed and well to do, and as she passed with some other +girls he dropped his stick out in front of her and spoke to her. She +laughed and ran back to the shop when we'd gone on a little further and +spoke to him for a second or two as she passed him. It was after that she +was well dressed and I saw her out with him once or twice and--and--I +began to think of Mary. You see, I knew how hard the life was and how +wearying it is to have to slave and half-starve all the time, and then +Mary wanted money so to send home to help them. And when the girls talked +at work they spoke of lots of things we never heard of in the bush and +gradually I got to know what made me sick at heart. + +"I was nearly mad when I thought of that about Mary, my sister Mary who +was so good and so kind. I hated myself for dreaming of such a thing but +it grew and grew on me and at last I couldn't rest till I found out. I +didn't think it was so but it began to seem just possible, a wild +possibility that I must satisfy to myself, the more I couldn't find her. +I somehow felt she was in Brisbane somewhere and I learnt how easily one +slips down to the bottom when one starts slipping and has no friends. So +I used to go on Queen Street at night and look for her there. But I never +saw her. I wanted to ask about her but I couldn't bear to. I thought of +asking the Salvation Army people but when I went one night I couldn't. + +"At last one night when we'd been working late at the shop, till eleven, +as we did very often in busy times without getting any overtime pay +though they turned us off as they pleased when work got slack, I saw a +girl coming that I thought I'd ask. She was painted up and powdered and +had flaring clothes but she looked kind. It was a quiet street where I +met her and before I had time to change my mind she got to me and I +stopped and asked her. I told her I'd lost my sister and did she know +anything of her. She didn't laugh at me or say anything rude but talked +nice and said she didn't think so and I mustn't think about that but if I +liked she'd find out. I told her the name but she said that wasn't any +good because girls always changed their name and she looked like crying +when she said this. I had a photograph of Mary's that I always carried +with me to show anybody who might have seen her without knowing her and +the girl said if I'd trust her with it for a week she'd find Mary if she +was in Brisbane and meet me. So I lent it to her. And we were just +talking a bit and she was telling me that she was from London and that +when she was a little girl a great book-writer used to pat her on the +head and call her a pretty little thing and give her pennies and how +she'd run away from home with a young officer, who got into trouble +afterwards and came out to Australia without her and how she came out to +find him and would some day, when a policeman came along and asked us +what we were doing. She said we weren't doing anything and that he'd +better mind his business and he said he knew her and she'd better keep a +civil tongue in her head. Then he wanted to know what my name was and +where I lived and the girl told me not to tell him or he'd play a trick +on me and I didn't. But I told him I worked at dressmaking and roomed +with another girl and he gave a kind of laugh and said he thought so and +that if I didn't give him my name and address I'd have to come along with +him. I began to cry and the girl told him he ought to be ashamed of +himself ruining a poor hard-working girl who was looking for her sister +and he only laughed again and said he knew all about that. I don't know +what would have happened only just then an oldish man came along, wearing +spectacles and with a kind sharp face, who stopped and asked what was the +matter. The policeman was very civil to him and seemed to know him and +told him that I wouldn't give him my address and that I was no good and +that he was only doing his duty. The girl called the policeman names and +told how it really was, only not my name, and the man looked at me and +told the policeman I was shabby enough to be honest and that he'd answer +for me and the policeman touched his hat and said 'good-night, sir,' and +went on. Then the man told me I'd had a narrow escape and that it should +be a lesson to me to keep out of bad company and I told him the girl had +told the truth and he laughed, but not like the policeman, and said that +was all the more reason to be careful because policemen could do what +they liked with dressmakers who had no friends. Then be pulled out some +money and told me to be a good girl and offered it to me, so kindly, but +of course I didn't take it. Then he shook hands and walked off. There are +kind people in the world, Ned, but we don't always meet them when we need +them. I didn't know then how much he did for me or what cruel, wicked +laws there are. + +"Next week I met the girl again. I wanted so to find Mary I didn't care +for all the policemen. I knew when I saw her coming that she'd found her. +I didn't seem to care much, only as though something had snapped. It was +only afterwards, when Mary was dead, that I used to get nearly crazy. I +never told anybody, not even my room-mate, that I'd found her. + +"She was in the hospital, dying, Mary was. I've heard since how that +awful life kills the tender-hearted ones soon and Mary wasn't 21. She was +in a bleak, bare ward, with a screen round her, and near by you could +hear other girls laughing and shouting. You wouldn't have known her. Only +her eyes were the same, such loving, tender eyes, when she opened them +and saw me. She looked up and saw me standing there by the bedside and +before she could shrink away I put my arms round her neck and kissed her +forehead, where I used to kiss her, because I was the tallest, just where +the hair grew. And I told her that she mustn't mind me and that she was +my dear, dear sister and that she should have let me known because it had +taken me so long to find her. And she didn't say anything but clung tight +to me as though she would never let me go and then all at once her arms +dropped and when I lifted my head she had fainted and her eyelids were +wet. + +"She died three days after. I made some excuse to get away and saw her +every day. She hardly spoke she was so weak but she liked to lie with my +hand in hers and me fanning her. She said that first day, when she came +to, that she thought I would come. But she wouldn't have written or +spoken a word, Mary wouldn't. She didn't even ask after the folks at home +or how I was getting on. She said once she was so tired waiting and I +knew she meant waiting to die. She didn't want to live. The last day she +lay with her eyes half-closed, looking at me, and all at once her lips +moved. I bent down to her and heard her murmur: 'I did try, Nellie, I did +try,' and I saw she was crying. I put my arms round her and kissed her on +the forehead and told her that I knew she had, and then she smiled at me, +such a sweet pitiful smile, and then she stopped breathing. That was the +only change. + +"I couldn't stay in Brisbane. I was afraid every minute of meeting +somebody who'd known Mary and who might ask me about her, or of father or +uncle or somebody coming down. I wrote home and said I'd found out that +Mary had died in the hospital of fever and they never thought of wanting +to know any more, they were so full of grief. And then I got wondering +how I should get away, somewhere, where nobody would be likely to come to +ask me about her, and I couldn't go because I had no money and I was just +wishing one day that I could see you when who should I meet but that Long +Jack. He gave me your address and I wrote to ask you to lend me thirty +shillings, the fare to Sydney, and you sent me five pounds, Ned. That's +how I came here. Mary wouldn't have anybody know if she could help it and +I couldn't have stayed there to meet people who knew her and would have +talked of her." + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +AS THE MOON WANED. + +The shadows were beginning to throw again as Nellie finished telling her +story. The quarters had sounded as they walked backwards and forwards. It +was past one when they stopped again under the lamp-post at the corner. + +"You see, Ned," she went on. "Mary couldn't help it. It's easy enough to +talk when one has everything one wants or pretty well everything but when +one has nothing or pretty well nothing, it's different. I've been through +it and know. The insults, the temptations, the constant steady pressure +all the time. If you are poor you are thought by swagger people fair +game. And, even workingmen, the young ones, who don't think themselves +able to marry generally, help hunt down their working sisters. Women +can't always earn enough to live decently and men can't always earn +enough to marry on; and when well-to-do men get married they seem to get +worse instead of better, generally. So upon the hungry, the weary, the +hopeless, girls who have to patch their own boots and go threadbare and +shabby while others have pretty things, and who are despised for their +shabbiness by the very hypocrites who cant about love of dress, and who +have folks at home whom they love, and who are penniless as well and in +that abject misery which comes when there isn't any money to buy the +little things, upon these is forced the opportunity to change all this if +only for a little while. Besides, you know, women have the same instincts +as men--why do we disguise these things and pretend they haven't and +shouldn't when we know that it is right and healthy that they should?-- +and though it is natural for a woman to hate what is called vice, because +she is better than man--she is the mother-sex, you know--yet the very +instincts which if things were right would be for good and happiness seem +to make things worse when everything is wrong. Women who work, growing +girls as many are, have little pleasure in their lives, less even than +men. And wiseacres say we are light and frivolous and chattering, because +most women can only find relief in that and know of nothing else, though +all the time in the bottom of their hearts there are deep wells of human +passion and human love. If you heard sewing-room talk you would call us +parrots or worse. If you knew the sewing-room lives you would feel as I +do." + +He did not know what to say. + +"For myself," straightening herself with unconscious pride, "it has not +been so much. I have been hungry and almost ragged, here in Sydney, +wearing another girls dress when I went to get slop-work, so as to look +decent, living on rye bread for days at a time, working for thirty-eight +hours at a stretch once so as to get the work done in time to get the +money. That's sweating, isn't it? Of course I'm all right now. I get +thirty shillings a week for draping and the wife of the boss wants to +keep on friendly terms with Mrs. Stratton and I'm a good hand, so I can +organise without being victimised for it. But even when I was hardest up +it wasn't the same to me as to most girls. As a last resort I used to +think always of killing myself. That would have been ever so much easier +to me than the other thing. But I am hard and strong. I've heard my +mother say that her father was the first of his people to wear boots. +They went barefooted before then and I'm barefooted in some things yet. +Mary wasn't like me, but better, not so hard or so selfish. And so, she +couldn't help it, any more than I can." + +"Nellie," he said, speaking the thought he had been thinking for an hour. +"What difference does all this make between you and me?" + +"Don't you understand?" she cried. "When people marry they have children. +And when my sister Mary ended so, who is safe? Nothing we can do, no care +we can take, can secure a child against misery while the world is what it +is. I try to alter things for that. I would do anything, everything, no +matter what, to make things so that little children would have a chance +to be good and happy. Because the unions go that way I am unionist and +because Socialism means that I am Socialist and I love whatever strikes +at things that are and I hate everything that helps maintain them. And +that is how we all really feel who feel at all, it is the mother in us, +the source of everything that is good, and mothers do not mind much how +their children are bettered so long as they are bettered. No matter what +the bushmen do up there in Queensland, my heart is with them, so long as +they shake this hateful state of things. I can't remember when everybody +round weren't slaving away and no good coming of it. My father has only a +mortgaged farm to show for a life of toil. My sister, my own sister, who +grew up like a flower in the Queensland bush and worked her fingers to +the bone and should have been to-day a happy woman with happy children on +her knee, they picked her up when she lay dying in the gutter like a dog +and in their charity gave her a bed to die on when they wouldn't give her +decent wages to live on. Everywhere I've been it's the same story, men +out of work, women out of work, children who should be at school the only +ones who can always get work. Everywhere men crawling for a job, sinking +their manhood for the chance of work, cringing and sneaking and +throat-cutting, even in their unionism. In every town an army of women +like my Mary, women like ourselves, going down, down, down. Honesty and +virtue and courage getting uncommon. We're all getting to steal and +plunder when we get a chance, the work people do it, the employers do it, +the politicians do it. I know. We all do it. Women actually don't +understand that they're selling themselves often even when a priest does +patter a few clap-trap phrases over them. Oppression on every hand and we +dare not destroy it. We haven't courage enough. And things will never be +any better while Society is as it is. So I hate what Society is. Oh! I +hate it so. If word or will of mind could sweep it away to leave us free +to do what our inner hearts, crushed by this industrialism that we have, +tell us to do it should go. For we've good in our hearts, most of us. We +like to do what's kind, when we've a chance. I've found it so, anyway. +Only we're caught in this whirl that crushes us all, the poor in body and +the rich in soul. But till it goes, if it ever goes, I'll not be guilty +of bringing a child into such a hell as this is now. That to me would be +a cruelty that no weakness of mine, no human longing, could excuse ever. +For no fault of her own Mary's life was a curse to her in the end. And so +it may be with any of us. I'll not have the sin of giving life on me." + +They stood face to face looking into each other's eyes. Unflinchingly she +offered up her own heart and his on the altar of her ideal. + +He read on her set lips the unalterability of her determination. It was +on his tongue to suggest that it was easy to compromise, but there was +that about her which checked him. Above all things there was a +naturalness about her, an absence of artificiality, the emanation of a +strong and vigorous womanliness. The very freedom of her speech was +purity itself. The dark places of life had been bared to her and she did +not conceal the fact or minimise it but she spoke of it as something +outside of herself, as not affecting her excepting that it roused in her +an intense sympathy. She was indeed the barefooted woman in her +conception of morality, in her frankness and in her strong emotions +untainted by the gangrene of a rotting civilisation. To suggest to her +that fruitless love, that barren marriage, which destroys the soul of +France and is spreading through Australia, would be to speak a strange +language to her. He could say nothing. He was seized with a desire to get +away from her. + +"Good-bye!" he said, holding out his hand. She took it in both her own. + +"Ned!" she cried. "We part friends, don't we? If there is a man in the +world who could make me change my mind, it's you. Wherever you go I shall +be thinking of you and all life through I shall be the same. You have +only to let me know and there's nothing possible I wouldn't do for you +gladly. We are friends, are we not? Mates? Brother and sister?" + +Brother and sister! The spirit moved in Ned's hot heart at the words. +Geisner's words came to him, nerving him. + +"No!" he answered. "Friends? Yes. Mates? Yes. Brother and sister? No, +never. I don't feel able to talk now. You're like a thorn bush in front +of me that it's no use rushing at. But I'm not satisfied. You're wrong +somewhere and I'm right and the right thing is to love when Love comes +even if we're to die next minute. I'm going away and I may come back and +I mayn't but if I do you'll see my way. I shall think it out and show +you. Why, Nellie, I'm a different man already since you kissed me. You +and I together, why, we'd straighten things out if they were a thousand +times as crooked. What couldn't we do, you and me? And we'll do it yet, +Nellie. When I come back you'll have me and we two will give things such +a shaking that they'll never be the same again after we've got through +with them. Now, goodbye! I'll come back if it's years and years, and +you'll wait for me, I know. Good-bye, till then." + +She felt her feet leave the ground as he lifted her to him in a hug that +made her ribs ache for a week, felt his willing lips on her passive ones, +felt his long moustache, his warm breath, his reviving passion. Then she +found herself standing alone, quivering and pulsating, watching him as he +walked away with the waddling walk of the horseman. + +In her heart, madly beating, two intense feelings fought and struggled. +The dominant thought of years, to end with herself the life that seems a +curse and not a blessing, to be always maid, to die in the forlorn hope +and to leave none to sorrow through having lived by her, was shaken to +its base by a new-born furious desire to yield herself utterly. It came +to her to run after Ned, to go with him, to Queensland, to the bush, to +prison, to the gallows if need be. An insane craving for him raged within +her as her memory renewed his kisses on her lips, his crushing arm-clasp, +the strength that wooed with delicious bruisings, the strong personality +that smote against her own until she longed to stay the smiting. It +flashed through her mind that crowning joy of all joys would be to have +his child in her arms, to rear a little agitator to carry on his father's +fight when Ned himself was gone for ever. + +Then--she stamped her foot in self-contempt and walked resolutely to +her door. When she got up to her room she went to the open window and, +kneeling down there, watched with tearless eyes the full white moon that +began to descend towards the roofs amid the gleaming stars of the +cloudless sky. + +The hours passed and she still knelt watching, tearless and sleepless, +mind and body numbed and enwrapped by dull gnawing pain. + +* * * * * + +Pain is to fight one's self and to subdue one's self. Nellie fought with +herself and conquered. + +A paradox this seems but is not, for in truth each individual is more +than one, far more. Every living human is a bundle of faggot faculties, +in which bundle every faculty is not an inert faggot but a living, +breathing, conscious serpent. The weakling is he in whose forceless +nature one serpent after another writhes its head up, dominant for a +moment only, doomed to be thrust down by another fancy as fickle. The +strong man is he whose forceful nature casts itself to subdue its own +shifting desires by raising one supreme above the others and holding it +there by identifying the dearest aspirations with its supremacy. And we +call that man god-like whose heart yearns towards one little ideal, +struggling for existence amid the tumultuous passions that clash in him +around it, threatening to stifle it, and whose personality drives him to +pick this ideal out and to lift it up and to hold it supreme lifelong. He +himself is its bitterest enemy, its most hateful foe, its would-be +murderer. He himself shrinks from and cowers at and abhors the choking +for its sake of faculties that draw titanic strength from the innermost +fibres of his own being. Yet he himself shelters and defends and battles +for this intruder on his peace, this source of endless pain and +brain-rending sorrow. A strength arises within him that tramples the +other strength underfoot; he celebrates his victory with sighs and tears. +So the New rises and rules until the Old is shattered and broken and +fights the New no more; so Brutality goes and so Humanity comes. + +Nellie fought with herself kneeling there at her window, watching the +declining moon, staring at it with set eyes, grimly willing herself not +to think because to think was to surrender. Into heart and ear and brain +the serpents hissed words of love and thoughts of unspeakable joy. Upon +her lips they pressed again Ned's hot kisses. Around her waist they threw +again the clasping of his straining arms. "Why not? Why not?" they asked +her. "Why not? Why not?" they cried and shouted. "Why not? Oh, why not?" +they moaned to her. And she stared at the radiant moon and clenched her +fingers on the window sill and would not answer. Only to her lips rose a +prayer for death that she disowned unuttered. Had she fallen so low as to +seek refuge in superstition, she thought, and from that moment she bore +her agony in her own way. + +It did pass through her mind that the ideal she had installed in her +passionate heart did not aid her, that it had shrunk back out of sight +and left her alone to fight for it against herself, left her alone to +keep her life for it free from the dominance of these mad passions that +had lifted their heads within her and that every nerve in her fought and +bled for. She crushed this back also. She would not think. Only she would +be loyal to her conception of Right even though the agony of her loyalty +drove her mad. + +She knew what Pain meant, now. She drank to the very dregs the cup of +human misery. To have one's desires within one's reach, to have one's +whole being driving one to stretch out one's hand and satisfy the eternal +instincts within, and to force one's self to an abnegation that one's +heart revolts from, that indeed was Pain to her. She learnt the weakness +of all the philosophies as in a flash of lightning one sees clearly. She +could have laughed at the sophism that one chooses always that which +pleases one most. She knew that there are unfathomed depths in being +which open beneath us in great crises and swallow up the foundations on +which we builded and thought sure. She paralysed her passion intuitively, +waiting, as one holds breath in the water when a broken wave surges over. + +Gradually she forgot, an aching pain in her body lulling the aching pain +of her mind. Gradually the white disc of the moon expanded before her and +blotted out all active consciousness. Slowly the fierce serpents withdrew +their hissing heads again. Slowly the ideal she had fought for lifted +itself again within her. She began to feel more like her old self, only +strangely exhausted and sorrowful. She was old, so old; weary, so weary. +Hours went by. She passed into abstraction. + +The falling of the moon behind the roofs roused her. She gazed at its +disappearing rim in bewilderment, for the moment not realising. Then the +sense of bodily pain dawned on her and assured her of the Reality. + +She stood up, feeling stiff and bruised, her back aching, her head +swimming, all her desiring ebbing as the moon waned. Already the glimmer +of dawn paled the moonshine. She could hear the crowing of the cocks, the +occasional rumble of a cart, the indescribable murmur that betokens an +awakening city. The night had gone at last and the daylight had come and +she had worn herself out and conquered. She thought this without joy; it +was her fate not her heart. Nature itself had come to her rescue, the +very Nature she had resisted and denied. + +She struck a light and looked into the glass, curious to know if she were +the same still. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, her nose was pinched, +her cheeks wan, on her forehead between the brows were distinct wrinkles, +from the corners of the mouth were chiselled deeply the lines of pain. +She was years older. Could it be possible that only five hours ago she +had flung herself into a lover's arm by the moonlit water, a passionate +girl, in womanhood's first bloom? She had cast those days behind her for +ever, she thought; she would serve the Cause alone, henceforth, while she +lived. Rest, eternal rest, must come at last; she could only hope that it +would come soon. At least, if she lived without joy, she would die +without self-reproach. + +Exhausted, she sank to sleep almost as her head touched the pillow. And +in her sleep she lived again that night at the Strattons with Ned and +heard Geisner profess God and condemn her hatred of maternity. "You close +the gates of Life," he said. Taking her hand he led her to where a great +gate stood, of iron, brass bound, and there behind it a great flood of +little children pressed and struggled, dashing and crashing till the +great gates shook and tottered. + +"They will break the gates open," she cried to him in anguish. + +"Did you deem to alter the unalterable?" he asked. And his voice was +Ned's voice and turning round she saw it was Ned who held her hand. They +stood by the harbour side again and she loved him. Again her whole being +melted into his as he kissed her. Again they were alone in the Universe, +conscious only of an ineffable joy. + +* * * * * + +"Time to get up, Nellie!" called Mrs. Phillips, who was knocking at the +door. Nellie's working day began again. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +UNEMPLOYED. + +After ten minutes' walking Ned reached a broad thoroughfare. Hesitating +for a moment, to get his bearings, he saw across the way one of the cheap +restaurants of which "all meals sixpence" is the symbol and which one +sees open until all sorts of hours. The window was still lighted, so Ned, +parched with thirst, entered to get a cup of coffee. It was a +clean-looking place, enough. He saw on the wall the legend "Clean beds" +as he gulped down his coffee thirstily from the saucer. + +"Can you put me up to-night?" he asked, overpowered with a drowsiness +that dulled even his thoughts about Nellie and unwilling to walk on to +his hotel. + +"Yes, sir," answered the waiter, a young man who was making preparations +to close for the night. "In half a minute." + +Soon a cabman had finished his late midnight meal and departed. But +another passer-by dropped in, who was left over a plate of stew while the +waiter led Ned to a narrow stair at the end of the room, passing round a +screen behind which a stout, gray-haired man slumbered in an arm chair +with all the appearance of being the proprietor. The waiter showed Ned +the way with a lighted match, renewed when burnt out. Ned noticed that +the papered walls and partitions of the stairway and upper floor were +dirty, torn and giving way in patches. From the first landing a dark +narrow passage led towards the front street while three or four ricketty, +cracked doors were crowded at the stairhead. Snoring sounds came from all +quarters. The waiter turned up a still narrower twisting stairway. As +they neared the top Ned could see a dim light coming through an open +doorway. + +The room to which he was thus introduced was some fifteen feet long and +as many broad, on the floor. Two gabled windows, back and front, made +with the centre line of the low-sloping ceiling a Greek cross effect. A +single candle, burning on a backless chair by one of the windows, threw +its flickering light on the choked room-full of old-fashioned iron +bedsteads, bedded in make-shift manner, six in all, four packed against +the wall opposite the door at which the stairs ended and one on each side +of the window whereby was the light. On one of these latter beds a +bearded man lay stretched, only partly undressed; on its edge sat a youth +in his shirt. Although it was so late they were talking. + +"Not gone to bed yet?" asked the waiter. + +"Hullo, Jack!" replied the youth. "Aren't you coming to bed yet?" + +"A gentleman of Jack's profession," said the bearded man, whose liquorous +voice proclaimed how he had put in his evening, "doesn't require to go to +bed at all. 'Gad, that's very good. You understand me?" He referred his +wit to the youth. He spoke with the drawling hesitation of the English +"swell." + +"I understand you," replied the youth, in a respectful voice that had +acquired its tone in the English shires. + +"I don't get much chance whether I require it or not," remarked Jack, +with an American accentuation, proceeding to make up the other bed by the +light. There was nothing on the grimy mattress but a grimy blanket, so he +brought a couple of fairly clean sheets from a bed in the opposite corner +and spread them dexterously. + +"Have we the pleasure of more company, Jack?" enquired the broken-down +swell. "You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the English lad. + +"This gentleman's going to stay," replied Jack, putting the sheet over +the caseless pillow. + +"Glad to make your acquaintance, sir," said the swell to Ned, upon this +introduction. "We can't offer you a chair but you're welcome to a seat on +the bed. If you can't offer a man wine give him whisky, and if you +haven't got whisky offer him the best you've got." This last to the +youth. "You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the youth. "I understand you perfectly." + +"Thanks," replied Ned. "But it won't hurt to stand for a minute. There +ain't much room to stand though, is there?" + +His head nearly touched the ceiling in the highest part; on either side +it sloped sharply, the slope only broken by the window gables, the stair +casement being carried into the very centre of the room to get height for +the door. The plaster on the ceiling had come off in patches, as if +cannon-balled by unwary heads, showing the lath, and was also splashed by +the smoke-wreaths of carelessly held candles; the papering was half torn +from the shaky plastering of the wall; the flooring was time-eaten. A +general impression of uncleanness was everywhere. On a ricketty little +table behind the candle was a tin basin and a cracked earthenware +pitcher. Excepting a limited supply of bedroom ware, which was very +strongly in evidence, there was no other furniture. Looking round, Ned +saw that on the bed opposite the door, hidden in the shadows, a man lay +groaning and moaning. Through the windows could be seen the glorious +moonlight. + +"No. A man wants to be careful here," said the waiter, throwing the +blanket over the sheets and straightening it in a whisk. "There," he went +on, "will that suit you?" + +"Anything'll suit me," said Ned, pulling off his coat and hanging it over +the head of the postless bed. "I'm much obliged." + +"That's all right," replied Jack, cheerfully. "I'll be up to bed soon," +he informed the others and ran down stairs again. + +"Will you have a cigarette?" asked the English lad, holding out a box. + +"Thanks, but I don't smoke," answered Ned, who had pulled off his boots +and was wrestling with his shirt. Finally it came over his head. He lay +down in his underclothing, having first gingerly turned back the blanket +to the foot. + +"I don't desire to be personal," said the broken-down swell. "You'll +excuse me, but I must say you're a finely built man. You understand me? +No offence!" + +"He is big," chipped in the youth. + +"You don't offend a man much by telling him he's well built," retorted +Ned, with an attempt at mirth. + +"Certainly. You understand me. It's not the size, my boy"--to the +youth. "Size is nothing. It's the proportion, the capacity for putting +out strength. I've been an athlete myself and I'm no chicken yet. But our +friend here ought to be a Hercules. Will you take a drink? You'll excuse +the glass." He offered Ned a flask half full of whisky. + +"Thanks just the same but I never drink," answered Ned, stretching +himself carelessly. The lad refused also. + +"You're wise, both of you," commented the other, swallowing down a couple +of mouthfuls of the undiluted liquor. "If I'd never touched it I should +have been a wealthy man to-day. But I shall be a wealthy man yet. You +understand me?" + +"Yes," answered Ned, mechanically. He was looking at the frank, open, +intelligent face and well-made limbs of the half-naked lad opposite and +wondering what he was doing here with this grizzled drunkard. The said +grizzled drunkard being the broken-down swell, whose highly-coloured +face, swollen nose and slobbery eyes told a tale that his slop-made +clothes would have concealed. "How old are you?" he asked the lad, the +drunkard having fallen asleep in the middle of a discourse concerning a +great invention which would bring him millions. + +"I'm nineteen." + +"You look older," remarked Ned. + +"Most people think I'm older," replied the lad proudly. + +"You're not a native." + +"No. I'm from the west of England." + +"Which county?" + +"Devon." + +"My father's Devon," said Ned, at which the poor lad looked up eagerly, +as though in Ned he recognised an old friend. + +"That's strange, isn't it? How you meet people!" he remarked. + +"I've never been there, you know," explained Ned. "Fact is I don't think +it would be well for me to go. If all my old dad used to say is true I'd +soon get shipped out." + +"How's that?" + +"Why, they transport a man for shooting a rabbit or a hare, don't they? +My dad told me a friend of his was sent out for catching salmon and that +his mother was frightened nearly to death when she knew he'd been off +fishing one night. Of course, they don't transport to here any more. We +wouldn't have it. But they do it to somewhere still, I suppose." + +"I don't know, I'm sure," answered the lad. "I never heard much about +that. I came out when I was fourteen." + +"How was that?" + +"Well, there was nothing to do in England that had anything in it and +everybody was saying what a grand country Australia was and how everybody +could get on and so I came out." + +"Your folks come?" + +"My father was dead. I only had a stepfather." + +"And he wanted to get rid of you, eh?" enquired Ned, getting interested. + +"I suppose he did, a little," said the lad, colouring. + +"You came out to Sydney?" + +"No. To Brisbane. That didn't cost anything." + +"You hadn't any friends?" + +"No. I got into a billet near Stanthorpe, but when I wanted a raise they +sacked me and got another boy. Then I came across to New South Wales. It +wasn't any use staying in Queensland. I wish I'd stayed in England," he +added. + +"How's that?" + +"I can't get work. I wouldn't mind if I could get a job but it's pretty +hard when you can't." + +"Can't you get work?" + +"I haven't done a stroke for ten weeks." + +"Well, are you hard up?" enquired Ned, to whose bush experience ten weeks +out-of-work meant nothing. + +"Look here," returned the lad, touching the front of his white shirt and +the cuffs. Ned saw that what he had taken for white flannel in the dim +candle-light was white linen, guileless of starch, evidently washed in a +hand-basin at night and left to dry over a chair till morning. "A man's +pretty hard up--ain't he?--when he can't get his shirt laundried." + +"That's bad," said Ned, sympathetically, determining to sympathise a +pound-note. Starched shirts did not count to him personally but he +understood that the town and the bush were very different. + +"I've offered three times to-day to work for my board," said the lad, not +tremulously but in the matter-of-fact voice of one who had looked after +himself for years. + +"Where was that?" asked Ned, wide-awake at last, alarmed for the bushmen +rapidly turning over in his mind the effect of strong young men being +ready to work for their board. + +"One place was down near the foot of Market Street, a produce merchant. +He told me he couldn't, that it was as much as he could do to provide for +his own family. Another place was at a wood and coal yard and the boss +said I'd leave in a week at that price so it wasn't any good talking. The +other was a drayman who has a couple of drays and he said he'd never pay +under the going wage to anybody and gave me sixpence. He said it was all +he could afford because times were so bad." + +"Are you stumped then?" asked Ned. + +"I haven't a copper." + +Just then the broken-down swell woke up from his doze and demanded his +flask. After some search it was found underneath him. Then, heedless of +his interruptions, Ned continued the conversation. + +"Do they take you here on tick?" he enquired. + +"Tick! There's no tick here. That old man downstairs is as hard as nails. +Why, if it hadn't been for this gentleman I'd have had to walk about all +night or sleep in the Domain." + +"Fair dues, my boy, fair dues?" put in the broken-down swell, "Never +refer to private matters like that. You make me feel ashamed, my boy. I +should never have mentioned that little accommodation. You understand +me?" + +"I understand you," replied the lad. "I understand you perfectly." + +"That's all right," said Ned, suddenly feeling a respect for this +grizzled drunkard. "We must all help one another. How was it?" + +"Well," said the lad. "I met a friend of mine and he gave me sixpence and +this box of cigarettes. It was all he had. I've often slept here and so I +came and asked the old man to trust me the other half. He wouldn't listen +to it. I was going away when this gentleman came along. He only had +threepence more than his own bed-money but he persuaded the old man to +knock off threepence and he'd pay threepence. I thought I'd have had to +go to the Domain." + +"But that's nothing," said Ned. "I'd just as soon sleep out as sleep in." + +"I've never come down to sleeping out yet," returned the lad, simply. +"Perhaps your being a native makes a difference." Ned was confronted +again with the fact that the bushman and the townsman view the same thing +from opposite sides. To this lad, struggling to keep his head up, to lie +down nightly in the Domain meant the surrender of all self-respecting +decency. + +"I shouldn't have brought up the subject. You understand me?" said the +drunkard. "But now it's mentioned I'll ask if you noticed how I talked +over that old scoundrel downstairs. You understand me? Where's that +flask? My God! I am feeling bad," he continued, sitting up on the bed. + +"You're drinking too much," remarked Ned. + +The man did not reply, but, with a groan, pushed the lad aside, sprang +from the bed, and began to retch prodigiously into the wash basin, after +which he announced himself better, lay down and took another drink. +Meanwhile the man in the far corner tossed and groaned as if he were +dying. + +"You're friend's still worse," said the lad. + +"He's just out of the hospital. I told him he shouldn't mix his drinks so +soon but he would have his own way. He'll be all right when he's slept it +off. A man's a fool who gets drunk. You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the lad. "I never want to get drunk. All I want +is work." + +"Why don't you go up to Queensland?" asked the man, to Ned's hardly +suppressed indignation. "The pastoralists would be glad to get a +smart-looking lad like you. Good pay, all expenses paid, and a six +months' agreement! I believe that's the terms. You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the English lad. "I understand you perfectly. +But that's blacklegging and I'd sooner starve than blackleg. I ain't so +hard up yet that I'll do either." + +"Put it there, mate," cried Ned, stretching his hand out. "You're a +square little chap." His heart rose again at this proof that the union +spirit was spreading. + +"You're a good boy," said the drunkard, slapping his shoulder. "I'm not a +unionist and I'm against the unions. You understand me? I am a gentleman +--poor drunken broken-down swell-and a gentleman must stick to his own +Order just as you stick to your Order. I'd like to see the working +classes kept in their places, but I despise a traitor, my boy. You +understand me?" + +"I understand you perfectly," said the lad. + +"Yet you'd work for your board?" said Ned, enquiringly. + +"I suppose I shouldn't," said the lad. "But one must live. I wouldn't cut +a man out of a job by going under him when he was sticking up for what's +right but where nobody's sticking up what's the use of one kicking. +That's how I look at it. Of course, a lot don't." + +"They'll get a lot to go then?" + +"I think they'll get a lot. Some fellows are so low down they'll do +anything and a lot more don't understand. I didn't use to understand." + +"Would you go up with them for the union?" asked Ned, after a pause. + +"You mean to come out again?" + +"Yes, and to get as many to come out as you can by explaining things. It +may mean three months' gaol so you want to make up your mind well." + +"I wouldn't mind going to gaol for a thing like that. It's not being in +gaol but what you're in for that counts, isn't it?" + +So they talked while the two drunkards groaned and tossed, the stench of +this travellers' bedroom growing every moment more unbearable. Finally +the waiter returned. + +"Not gone to bed yet," he exclaimed. "Phew! This is a beauty to-night, a +pair of beauties. Ain't it a wonder their insides don't poison 'em?" + +"I thought I'd never get to bed," he went on, coming to light his pipe at +the candle and then returning to the bed he had taken Ned's sheets from. +"First one joker in, then another, and the old man 'ud stay open all +night for a tanner. Past two! Jolly nice hour for a chap that's to be up +at six, ain't it?" + +He pulled off his boots and vest and threw himself down on the bare +mattress in his trousers. "Ain't you fellows going to bed to-night?" he +enquired. + +"It's about a fair thing," said Ned, feeling nervous and exhausted with +lack of sleep. So the young fellow blew the candle out and went over to +the bed a adjoining Jack's. As he lay down Jack picked up a boot and +tapped the wall alongside him gently. "I think I hear her," he remarked. +In a few moments there was an answering tap. + +"Who's that?" asked Ned. + +"The slavey next door," answered Jack, upon which an interchange of +experience took place between Jack and the young fellow in which gable +windows and park seats and various other stage-settings had prominent +parts. + +At last they all slept but Ned. Drowsy as he was he could not sleep. It +was not that he thought much of Nellie, at least he did not feel that he +was thinking of her. He only wanted to sleep and forget and he could not +sleep. The moonshine came through the curtainless window and lit up the +room with a strange mysterious light. The snoring breathing that filled +the room mingled with other snoring sounds that seemed to come up the +stairway and through the walls. The stench of the room stifled him. The +drunkards who tossed there, groaning; this unemployed lad who lay with +his white limbs kicked free and bathed in the moonlight; the tired waiter +who lay motionless, still dressed; were there with him. The clock-bells +struck the quarters, then the hour. + +Three o'clock. + +He had never felt so uncomfortable, he thought, so uneasy. He twisted and +squirmed and rubbed himself. Suddenly a thought struck him. He leaned up +on his elbow for a moment, peering with his eyes in the scanty light, +feeling about with his hand, then leaped clean out of the bed. It swarmed +with vermin. + +Like most bushmen, Ned, who was sublimely tolerant of ants, lizards and +the pests of the wilds generally, shivered at the very thought of the +parasites of the towns. To strip himself was the work of an instant, to +carefully re-dress by the candle-end he lighted took longer; then he +stepped to the English lad's side and woke him. + +"Hello?" said the lad, rubbing his eyes in sleepy astonishment. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I can't sleep with bugs crawling over me," said Ned. "I'm going to camp +out in the park. Here's a 'note' to help you along and here's the address +to go to if you conclude to go up to Queensland for the union. I'll see +about it first thing in the morning so he'll expect you. The 'note's' +yours whether you go or not." + +"I'm ever so much obliged," said the lad, taking the money and the slip +of paper. "I'll go and I'll be square. You needn't be afraid of me and +I'll pay it back, too, some day. Do you know the way out?" + +"I'll find it all right," replied Ned. + +"Oh! I'll go down with you or you'd never find it. It's through the back +at night." So the good-hearted young fellow pulled on his trousers and +conducted Ned down the creaking, stairway, through the kitchen and the +narrow back yard to the bolted door that led to the alley behind. + +"Shall I see you again?" asked the lad. Somehow everybody who met Ned +wanted to see more of him. + +"My name's Hawkins," replied Ned. "Ned Hawkins. Ask anybody in the +Queensland bush about me, if you get there." + +"I suppose you're one of the bushmen," remarked the lad, pausing. "If +they're all as big as you it ought to be bad for the blacklegs." + +"Why, I'm a small man up on the Diamantina," said Ned laughing. "Which is +the way to the park?" + +"Turn to your right at the end of the alley, then turn to the left. It's +only five minutes' walk." + +"Thanks. Good-bye!" said Ned. + +"It's thank you. Good-bye!" said the lad. + +They shook hands and parted. In a few minutes Ned was in the park. He +stepped over a low railing, found a branching tree and decided to camp +under it. He pulled his boots off and his coat, loosened his belt, put +boots and coat under his head for a pillow, stretched out full length on +the earth and in ten seconds was in a deep slumber. + +He was roused a moment after, it seemed to him; in reality it was nearly +six hours after--by kicks on the ribs. He turned over and opened his +eyes. As he did so another kick made him stagger to his feet gasping with +pain. A gorilla-faced constable greeted him with a savage grin. + +"Phwat d'ye mane, ye blayguard, indaycently exposing yersilf in this +parrt av th' doomane? Oi've as good a moind as iver a man had in the +wurrld to run yez in. Can't ye find anither place to unthdress yersilf +in, ye low vaygrant?" + +Ned did not answer. He buttoned up the neck of his shirt, which had +opened in the night, tightened his belt again, drew on his boots and +thrust his arms into his coat. While he did so the constable continued +his abuse, proud to show his authority in the presence of the crowd that +passed in a continuous stream along the pathway that cut through the +carefully tended flower-bedded lawn-like park. It was one of Ned's strong +points that he could control his passionate temper. Much as he longed to +thrash this insolent brute he restrained himself. He desired most of all +to get back to Queensland and knew that as no magistrate would take his +word against a "constable's" as to provocation received, to retaliate now +would keep him in Sydney for a month at least, perhaps six. But his +patience almost gave way when the constable followed as he walked away, +still abusing him. + +"You'd better not go too far," warned Ned, turning round. + +It suddenly dawned upon the constable that this was not the ordinary +"drunk" and that it was as well to be satisfied with the exhibition of +authority already made. Ned walked off unmolested, chewing the cud of his +thoughts. + +This sentence of Geisner's rang in his ears: + +"The slaves who 'move on' at the bidding of a policeman." + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +"THE WORLD WANTS MASTERS." + +"It can't do any good. We have made up our minds that the matter might +just as well be fought out now, no matter what it costs. We've made all +our arrangements. There is nothing to discuss. We are simply going to do +business in our own way." + +"It can't do any harm. There is always something to be said on the other +side and I always find workingmen fairly reasonable if they're met +fairly. At any rate, you might as well see how they look at it. The +labour agitation itself can't be stifled. The great point, as I regard +it, is to make the immediate relations of Capital and Labour as peaceable +as possible. The two parties don't see enough of each other." + +"I think we see a great deal too much of them. It's a pretty condition of +things when we can't go on with our businesses without being interfered +with by mobs of ignorant fools incited by loud-tongued agitators. The +fools have got to be taught a lesson some day and we might as well teach +it to them now." + +"You know I'm no advocate of Communism or Socialism or any such nonsense. +I look at the matter solely from a business standpoint. I am a loser by +disturbances in trade, so I try to prevent disturbances. I've always been +able to prevent them in my own business and I think they can always be +prevented." + +"Well, Melsom, you may be right when it's a question of wages, but this +is a question of principle. We're willing to confer if they'll admit +'freedom of contract.' That's all there is to say about it." + +"But what is 'freedom of contract?' Besides, if it is questioned, there +can't be much harm in understanding why. For my part, I find it an +interminable point of discussion when it is raised and one of the +questions that settles itself easily when it isn't." + +"It is the key of the whole position. If we haven't a right to employ +whoever we like at any terms we may make with any individual we employ +what rights have we?" "Hear what they think of it, Strong! It can surely +do no harm to find out what makes them fight so." + +And so on for half an hour. + +"Well, I don't mind having a chat with one of them," conceded Strong at +last. "It's only because you persist so, Melsom. I suppose this man +you've been told is in town is an oily, ignorant fellow, who'll split +words and wrangle up a cloud of dust until nobody can tell what we're +talking about. I've heard these fellows." + +Thus it was that Ned, calling at the Trades Hall, after having washed and +breakfasted at his hotel and seen to various items of union business +about town, was greeted with the information that Mr. Melsom was looking +for him. + +"Who's Melsom?" + +"Oh! A sort of four-leaved clover, a reasonable employer," answered his +genial informant. "He's in a large way of business, interested in a good +many concerns, and whenever he's got a finger in anything we can always +get on with it. He's a great man for arbitration and conciliation and has +managed to settle two or three disputes that I never thought would be +arranged peaceably. He's a thoroughly decent fellow, I can assure you." + +"What does he want with me, I wonder?" + +"He wants you to see Strong, just to talk matters over and let Strong +know how you Queenslanders look at things." + +"Who's Strong?" + +"Don't you know? He's managing director of the Great Southern Mortgage +Agency. He's the man who's running the whole show on the other side and a +clever man, too, don't you forget it." + +Ned recollected the man he had seen at the restaurant and what Nellie had +said of him, two years ago. + +"But I can't see him without instructions. I must wire up to know what +they say about it," said Ned. + +"That's just what you mustn't do, old man. Strong won't consent to any +formal interview, but told Melsom, that he'd be glad to see anybody who +knew how the other side saw things, to chat the matter over as between +one man and another. I told Melsom yesterday that you were in town till +to-night and he came this morning to get you to see Strong at eleven. +He'll be back before then. I told him I thought it would be all right." + +"I don't see how I can do that without instructions," repeated Ned. + +"If it were formal there could be only one possible instruction, surely," +urged the other. "As it is absolutely informal and as all that Melsom +hopes is that it may lead to a formal conference, I think you should go. +You'd talk to anybody, wouldn't you? Besides, Melsom has his heart set on +this. I don't believe it will lead to anything, mind you, but it will +oblige him and he often does a good turn for us." + +"That settles it," said Ned. "Only I'll have to say I'm only giving my +own opinion and I'll have to talk straight whether he likes it or not." + +"Of course. By the way, here are some wires that'll interest you, and I +want to arrange about sending money up in case they proclaim the unions +illegal. Heaven knows what they can't do now-a-days! Have you heard what +they did here during the maritime strike?" + +* * * * * + +Shortly before eleven, Strong was closeted in his private office with a +burly man of unmistakably bush appearance, modified both in voice and +dress by considerable contact with the towns. Of sandy complexion, broad +features and light-coloured eyes that did not look one full in the face, +the man was of the type that attracts upon casual acquaintance but about +which there is an indefinable something which, without actually +repelling, effectually prevents any implicit confidence. + +"You have been an officer of the shearers' union, you say?" enquired +Strong, coldly. + +"I've been an honorary officer, never a paid one," answered the man, who +held his hat on his knee. + +"There's a man in Sydney now, named Hawkins. Do you know him?" + +"Yes. I've shorn with him out at the--" + +"What sort of a man is he?" interrupted Strong. + +"He's a young fellow. There's not much in him. He talks wild." + +"Has he got much influence?" + +"Only with his own set. Most of the men only want a start to break away +from fellows like Hawkins. I'm confident the new anion I was talking of, +admitting 'freedom of contract,' would break the other up and that +Hawkins and the rest of them couldn't stop it." + +"It seems feasible," said Strong, sharply. "At any rate, there's nothing +lost by trying it. This is what we will do. We will pay you all expenses +and six pounds a week from to-day to go up to Queensland, publicly +denounce the union, support 'freedom of contract' and try to start +another union against the present one; generally to act as an agent of +ours. Payment will be made after you come out. Until then you must pay +your own expenses." + +"I think I should have expenses advanced," said the man. + +"We know nothing of you. You represent yourself as so-and-so and if you +are genuine there is no injustice done by our offer. You must take or +leave it." + +"I'll take it," said the man, after a slight hesitation. + +"There's another matter. Do you know the union officials in Brisbane?" + +"I know all of them, intimately." + +"Then you may be able to do something with them. We are informed that +they are implicated in all that's going on, the instigators of it. Bring +us evidence criminally implicating them and we will pay well." + +"This is business," said the man, a little shamefacedly. "What will you +pay?" + +Strong jotted some figures on a slip of paper. "If you are a friend of +these men," he said, passing the slip over, "you will know their value +apiece to you." A sneer he could not quite conceal peeped from under his +business tone. + +"That concludes our business, I think," he continued, tearing the slip +up, having received it back. "I will instruct our secretary and you can +call on him this afternoon." + +He touched an electric bell-button on his desk. A clerk appeared at the +door instantly. + +"Show this man out by the back way," ordered Strong, glancing at the +clock. "Good-day!" + +The summarily dismissed visitor had hardly gone when another clerk +announced Mr. Melsom. + +"Anybody with him?" + +"Yes, sir. A tall, bush-looking man." + +"Show them both in." + +"What sneaking brutes these fellows are!" Strong thought, contemptuously, +jotting instructions on some letters he was glancing through, working +away as one accustomed to making the most of spare minutes. + +* * * * * + +Mr. Melsom had left Ned and Strong together, having to attend to his own +business which had already been sufficiently interfered with by his +exertions on behalf of his pet theory of "getting things talked over." +Ned had felt inwardly agitated as he walked under the great archway and +up the broad iron stairway that led to the inner offices of this great +fortress-like building, the centre of the southern money-power. He had +noted the massive walls of hewn stone, the massive gates and the enormous +bolts, chains and bars. In the outer office he had glanced a little +nervously around the lofty, stuccoed, hall-like room, of which the +wood-work was as massive in its way as were the stone walls without and +of which the very glass of the partitions looked put in to stay, while +the counters and desks, with their polished brass-work and great +leathern-bound ledgers, seemed as solid as the floor itself; he wondered +curiously what all these clerks did who leaned engrossed over their desks +or flitted noiselessly here and there on the matting-covered flagstones +of the flooring. Why he should be nervous he could not have explained. +But he was cool enough when, after a minute's delay, a clerk led Melsom +and himself through a smaller archway opening from this great office hall +and up a carpetted stone stairway loading between two great bare walls +and along a long lofty passage, wherein footfalls echoed softly on the +carpetted stone floor. Finally they reached a polished, pannelled door +which being opened showed Strong writing busily at a cabinet desk placed +in the centre of the handsomely furnished office-room. The great +financier greeted Melsom cordially, nodded civilly enough to Ned and +agreed with the latter's immediate statement that he came, as a private +individual solely, to see a private individual, at the request of Mr. +Melsom. + +"Now, where do we differ?" Strong asked, when Melsom had gone. + +"We are you and me, of course," said Ned, putting his hat on the floor. + +Strong nodded. + +"Well, you have sat down at your desk here and drawn up a statement as to +how I shall work without asking me. I object. I say that, as I'm +concerned, you and I together should sit down and arrange how I shall +work for you since I must work for you." + +"In our agreement, that you refer to, we have tried to do what is fair," +replied Strong, looking sharply at Ned. + +"Do you want me to talk straight?" asked Ned. "Because, if you object to +that, it's better for me to go now than waste words talking round the +subject." + +"Certainly," answered Strong. "Straight talk never offends me." + +"Then how do I know you have tried to do fairly?" enquired Ned. "Our +experience with the pastoralists leads us to think the opposite." + +"There have been rabid pastoralists," admitted Strong, after a moment's +thought, "just as there have been rabid men on the other side. I'll tell +you this, that we have had great difficulty in getting some of the +pastoralists to accept this agreement. We had to put considerable +pressure on them before they would moderate their position to what we +consider fair." + +Ned did not reply. He stowed Strong's statement away for future use. + +"Besides," remarked Strong, after a pause, during which he arranged the +letters before him. "There is no compulsion to accept the agreement. If +you don't like it don't work under it, but let those who want to accept +it." + +"I fancy that's more how it stands than by being fair," commented Ned, +bitterly. + +"Well! Isn't that fair?" asked Strong, leaning back in his office chair. + +"Is it fair?" returned Ned. + +"Well! Why not?" + +"How can it be fair? We have nothing and you have everything. All the +leases and all the sheep and all the cattle and all the improvements +belong to you. We've got to work to live and we can't work except for +you. What's the sense of your saying that if we don't like the agreement +we needn't take it? We must either break the agreement or take it. That's +how we stand." + +"Well, what do you object to in it?" + +"I don't know what the others object to in it. I know what I object to." + +"That's what I want to know." + +"Well, for one thing, when I've earned money it's mine. The minute I've +shorn a sheep the price of shearing it belongs to me and not to the +squatter. It's convenient to agree only to draw pay at certain times, but +it's barefaced to deliberately withhold my money weeks after I've earned +it, and it's thieving to forfeit wages in case a squatter and I differ as +to whether the agreement's been broken or not." + +"There ought to be some security that a pastoralist won't be put to loss +by his men leaving him at a moment's notice," asserted Strong. + +"You've got the law on your side," answered Ned. "You can send a man to +prison, like a thief, if he has a row with a squatter after signing an +agreement, but we can't send the squatter to prison if he's in fault. The +Masters and Servants Act is all wrong and we'll alter it when we get a +chance, I can assure you, but you're not content with the Masters and +Servants Act. You want a private law all in your own hand." + +"We've had a very serious difficulty to meet," said the other. "Men go on +strike on frivolous pretext and we must protect our interests. We've not +cut down wages and we don't intend to." + +"You have cut down wages, labourers' wages," retorted Ned. + +"That has been charged," replied Strong, lifting his eyebrows. "But I can +show you the list of wages paid on our stations during the last five +years and you will see that the wages we now offer are fully up to the +average." + +"That may be," said Ned. "But they are less than they were last year. I'm +speaking now of what I know." + +"Oh! There may be a few instances in which the unions forced up wages +unduly which have been rectified," said Mr. Strong. "But the general rate +has not been touched." + +"The pastoralists wouldn't dare arbitrate on that," answered Ned. "In +January, 1890, they tried to force down wages and we levelled them up. +Now, they are forcing them down again. At least it seems that way to me." + +"That matter might be settled, I think," said Strong, dismissing it. +"What other objections have you to the agreement?" + +"As an agreement I object to the whole thing, the way it's being worked. +If it were a proposal I should want to know how about the Eight Hours and +the Chinese." + +"We don't wish to alter existing hours," answered Strong. + +"Then why not put it down?" + +"And we don't wish to encourage aliens." + +"A good many pastoralists do and we are determined to try to stop them. +It looks queer to us that nothing is said about it." + +"Some certainly did urge that Chinese should be allowed in tropical +Queensland but our influence is against that and we hope to restrain the +more impetuous and thus prevent friction." + +Ned shrugged his shoulders without answering. + +"We hope--" began Strong. Then he broke off, saying instead: "I do not +see why the men should regard the pastoralists as necessarily inimical +and as not desirous of doing what is fair." + +"Look here, Mr. Strong," said Ned leaning forward, as was his habit when +in earnest. "We are beginning to understand things. We know that you +people are after profits and nothing else, that to you we are like so +many horses or sheep, only not so valuable because we're harder to break +in and our carcasses aren't worth anything. We know that you don't care a +curse whether we live or die and that you'd fill the bush with Chinese +to-morrow if you could see your way to making an extra one per cent. by +it." + +"You haven't much confidence in us, at any rate," returned Strong, +coolly. "But if we look carefully after profits you must recollect that a +great deal of capital is trust funds. The widow and the orphan invest +their little fortunes in our hands. Surely you wouldn't injure them?" + +"I thought we were talking straight to one another," said Ned. "You will +excuse me, Mr. Strong, for thinking that to talk 'widow and orphan' isn't +worthy of a man like you unless you've got a very small opinion of me. +When you think about our widows and orphans we'll think about your widows +and orphans. That's only clap-trap. It doesn't alter the hard fact that +you're only after profit and don't care what happens to us so long as you +get it." + +The financier bit his lips, flushing. He took up a letter and glanced +over it before replying. + +"Do you care what happens to us?" + +"As things are, no. How can we? The worst that could happen to one of +you would leave you as well off as the most fortunate of us. There is war +between us, only I think it possible to be a little civilised and not to +fight each other like savages as we are doing." + +"I am glad you admit that some of your methods are savage." + +"Of course I admit it," answered Ned. "That is my opinion of the way both +sides fight now. Instead of conferring and arbitrating on immediate +questions and leaving future questions to be talked over and understood +and thoroughly threshed out in free discussion, we strike, you lockout, +you victimise wholesale and, naturally, we retaliate in our own ways." + +"You prefer to be left uninterrupted to preach this new socialistic +nonsense?" + +"Why not, if it is sound? And if it isn't sound, why not? Surely your +side isn't afraid of discussion if it knows it's right." + +"Do you really think that we should leave our individual rights to be +decided upon by an ignorant mob?" + +"My individual rights are at the mercy of ignorant individuals at +present," said Ned. "I am not allowed to work if I happen to have given +offence to a handful of squatters." + +"I think you exaggerate," answered Strong. "I know that some pastoralists +are very vindictive but I regard most of them as honorable men incapable +of a contemptible action." + +"Of course they are," said Ned. "The only thing is what do they call +contemptible? You and I are very friendly, just now, Mr. Strong. You're +not small enough to feel any hatred just because I talk a bit straight +but you know very well that you'd regard it as quite square to freeze me +out because I do talk straight." + +The two men looked into each other's eyes. Strong began to respect this +outspoken bushman. + +"I think that one of the most fundamental of all rights in any civilised +society is the right of a man to employ whom he likes at any terms and +under any conditions that he can get men to enter his employment. It +seems to me that without this right the very right to private property +itself is disputed for in civilisation private property does not mean +only a hoard, stored up for future use, but savings accumulated to carry +on the industrial operations of civilisation. These savings have been +prompted by the assurance that society will protect the man who saves in +making, with the man who has not saved, the contracts necessary to carry +on industry, unhampered by the interference of outsiders. That seems to +me, I repeat, a fundamental right essential to the very existence of +society. The man who disputes it seems to me an enemy of society. Whether +he is right or wrong, or whether society itself is right or wrong, is +another question with which, as it is a mere theory, practical men have +nothing to do." Strong had only been fencing in his talk before. Now that +he was ready he stated his position, quite coolly, with a quiet emphasis +that made his line of argument clear as day. + +"Then why confer at all, under any conditions, oven if unionists admitted +all this?" asked Ned. + +"Simply for convenience. Some of our members object to any conference but +the general opinion is that it does not involve a sacrifice of principle +to discuss details provided principles are admitted. In the same way, +some favoured the employment of men at any wage arranged between the +individual man and hie employer, but the general opinion was that it is +advisable and convenient for pastoralists in the same district to pay the +same wages." + +"Then the pastoralists may combine but the bushmen mayn't." + +"We don't object to the bushmen forming unions. We claim the right to +employ men without asking whether they are unionist or non-unionist." + +"Which means," said Ned, "the right to victimise unionists." + +"How is that?" asked Strong. + +"We know how. Do you suppose for a moment, Mr. Strong, that ideas spring +up with nothing behind them? All those who are acquainted with the +history of unionism know that 'close unionism,' the refusal to work with +non-unionists, arose from the persistent preference given by employers to +non-unionists, which was a victimising of unionists." + +"That may have been once, but things are different now," answered Strong. + +"They are not different now. Wherever employers have an opportunity they +have a tendency to weed out unionists. I could give you scores of +instances of it being done. The black list is bad enough now. It would be +a regular terrorism if there was nothing to restrain the employer. Then +down would come wages, up would go hours and in would come the Chinese. +If it is a principle with you, it is existence itself with us." + +"I think the pastoralists would agree not to victimise, as you call it," +said Strong, after thinking a minute. + +"Who is to say? How are we to know?" answered Ned. "Supposing, Mr. +Strong, you and I had a dispute in which we both believed ourselves right +would you regard it as a fair settlement to submit the whole thing, +without any exception, to an arbiter whom we both chose and both believed +to be fair?" + +"Certainly I should," said Strong. + +"The whole dispute, no matter what it was? You'd think it fair to leave +it all to the arbiter?" + +"Certainly." + +"Then why not leave 'freedom of contract' to arbitration?" demanded Ned. +"You say you are right. We say we are right. We have offered to go to +arbitration on the whole dispute, keeping nothing back. We have pledged +ourselves to stand by the arbitration. Isn't that honest and fair? What +could be fairer? It may be that we have taken a wrong method against +victimising in close unionism. But it cannot be that we should not have +some defence against victimising, and close unionism is the only defence +we have as yet, that any union has had, anywhere, except in Sheffield and +I don't suppose you want rattening to start here. Why not arbitrate?" + +"It is a question of principle," answered Strong, looking Ned in the +face. + +"That means you'll fight it out," commented Ned, rising and picking up +his hat. Then he put his foot on his chair and, leaning on his knee, thus +expressed his inward thoughts: "You can fight if you like but when it's +all over you'll remember what I say and know it's the straight wire. +You've been swallowing the fairy tales about ours being a union of +pressed men but you will see your mistake, believe me. You may whip us; +you've got the Government and the police and the P.M.'s and the money and +the military but how much nearer the end will you be when you have +whipped us? You'll know by then that the chaps up North, like men +everywhere else, will go down fighting and will come up smiling to fight +again when you begin to take it out of them because they're down. And in +the end you'll arbitrate. You'll have no way out of it. Its fair and +because it's fair and because we all know it's fair we'll win that or-- +" Ned paused. + +"I'm sorry you look at the matter so," said Strong, arranging his papers. + +"How else should we look at it? If we pretend to give in as you want us +to do, it'll only be as a trick to gain time, as a ruse to put you off +until we're readier. We won't do that. For my part, and for the part of +the men I know, the union is a thing which mustn't get a bad name. We may +lie individually but the union's word must be as good as gold no matter +what it says. If the union says the sheep are wet, they're wet, and if it +says they're dry, they are dry--if the water's dripping off 'em," added +Ned, with a twinkle in his eye. "I mean, Mr. Strong, that we're trying to +be better men in our rough way and the union is what's making us better +and some of us would die for it. But we'd sooner see it die than see it +do what's cowardly." + +"I am sorry that men like you are so deceived as to what is right," said +Strong. + +"Perhaps we're all deceived. Perhaps you're deceived. Perhaps the whole +of life is a humbug." So Ned said, with careless fatalism. "Only, if your +mates were in trouble you'd be a cur if you didn't stand by them, +wouldn't you? That's the difference between you and me, Mr. Strong. You +don't believe that we're all mates or that the crowd has any particular +troubles and I do. And as long as one believes it, well, it doesn't +matter to him whether he's deceived or not, I think. I won't detain you +any longer. Its no use our talking, I can see." + +Strong got up and walked towards the door. + +"I think not," he said. "But I am glad to have met you, Mr. Hawkins, and +I can't help feeling that you're throwing great abilities away. You'll +get no thanks and do no good and you'll live to regret it. It's all very +well to talk lightly of the outlook in Queensland but when you have +become implicated in lawlessness and are suffering for it the whole +affair will look different. Don't misunderstand me! You are a young man, +capable, earnest. There is no position you might not aspire to. Be warned +in time. Let me help you. I shall be only too glad. You will never repent +it for I ask nothing dishonourable." + +"I don't quite understand," said Ned, sternly, his brow knitting. + +"I'm not offering a bribe," continued Strong, meeting Ned's gaze +unflinchingly. "That's not necessary. You know very well that you will +hang yourself with very little more rope. I am talking as between one man +and another. I meet only too few manly men to let one go to destruction +without trying to save him. The world doesn't need saviours; it needs +masters. You can be one of them. Think well of it: Not one in a million +has the chance." + +"You mean that you'll help me to get rich?" + +"Rich!" sneered Strong. "What is rich? It is Power that is worth having +and to have power one must control capital. In your wildest ranting of +the power of the capitalist you have hardly touched the fringe of the +power he has. Only there are very few who are able to use it. I offer you +the opportunity to become one of the few. I never make a mistake in men. +If you try you can be. There is the offer, take it or leave it." + +For an instant Ned dreamed of accepting it, of throwing over everything +to become a great capitalist, as Strong said so confidently he could be, +and then, after long years, to pour his wealth into the treasuries of the +movement, now often checked for lack of funds. Then he thought of Nellie +and of Geisner, what they would say, still hesitating. Then he thought of +his mates expecting him, waiting for him, and he decided. + +"I was thinking," he said, straightforwardly, "whether I wouldn't like to +make a pile so as to give it to the movement. But, you see, Mr. Strong, +the chaps are expecting me and that settles it. I am much obliged but it +would be dishonourable in me." + +"You know what is in front?" asked Strong, calmly, making a last effort. + +"I think so. I'm told I'm one of those to be locked up. What does that +matter? That won't lose me any friends." + +"A stubborn man will have his way," remarked Strong. Adding, at a +venture: "Particularly when there is a woman in it." + +"There is a woman in it," answered Ned, flushing a little; "a woman who +won't have me." + +Strong opened the door. "I've done my best for you," he said. "Don't +blame me whatever happens. You, at least, had your choice of peace or +war, of more than peace." + +"I understand. Personally, I shan't blame you," said Ned. "I choose war, +more than war," and he set his mouth doggedly. + +"War, at any rate," answered Strong, holding out his hand, his face as +grave as Ned's. The two men gripped hands tightly, like duellists +crossing swords. Without another word they shook hands heartily and +separated. + +Strong closed the door and walked up and down his room, hurriedly, deep +in thought, pulling his lip. He sat down at his desk, took up his pen, +got up and paced the room again. He went to the window and looked out +into the well that admitted light to the centre of the great +fortress-building. Then walked back to his desk and wrote. + +"He is a dangerous man," he murmured, as if excusing himself. "He is a +most dangerous man." + +A youth answered a touch of the button. Strong sent for his confidential +clerk. + +"Send this at once to Queensland in cipher," he instructed, in a business +tone, when the man appeared; "this" being: + +Prominent bush unionist named Hawkins leaves Sydney to-night by train for +Central Queensland via Brisbane. Have him arrested immediately. Most +important. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +THE REPUBLICAN KISS. + +"I've never felt so before," said Ned. "For about ten minutes I wanted to +go back and kill him." + +"Why?" + +"Because he is like a wall of iron in front of one. If he were a fat +hulking brute, as some of them are, I wouldn't have minded. I could have +pitied him and felt that he wasn't a fair specimen of Humanity. But this +man is a fair specimen in a way. He looks like a man and he talks like a +man and you feel him a man, only he's absolutely unable to understand +that the crowd are the same flesh and blood as he is and you know that +he'd wipe us down like ninepins if he could see he'd gain by it. He's all +brains and any heart he's got is only for his own friends. He is +Capitalism personified. He made me feel sick at heart at the hopelessness +of fighting such men in the old ways. I felt for a little while that the +only thing to do was to clear them out of the way as they'd clear us if +they were in our shoes." + +"You've got over it soon." + +"Of course," admitted Ned, with a laugh. "He can live for ever, for me, +now. It was a fool's thought. It's the system we're fighting, not the +products of it, and he's only a product just like the fat beasts we abuse +and the ignorant drunken bushmen he despises. I was worrying, as you call +it, or I shouldn't have even thought of it." + +Ned was talking to Connie. After having had dinner at a restaurant with +his Trades Hall friend, to whom he related part of his morning's +interview, he had found himself with two or three hours on his hands. So +he had turned his steps towards the Strattons, longing for sympathy and +comfort, being strangely depressed and miserable without being able to +think out just how he felt. + +He found Mrs. Stratton writing in her snug parlour. The rooms had the +same general appearance that they had two years before. The house, seen +by daylight for the first time, was embowered in trees and fringed back +and front with pretty flower beds and miniature lawns. Connie herself was +fair and fresh as ever and wore a loose robe of daintily flowered stuff; +the years had passed lightly over her, adding to rather than detracting +from the charms of her presence. She welcomed him warmly and with her +inimitable tact, seeing his trouble, told him how they all were, +including that Josie had married and had a beautiful baby, adding with a +flush that she herself had set Josie a bad example and bringing in the +example for Ned to admire. The other children were boating with George +and Josie, she explained, George not having yet escaped from that +horrible night-work. Harry was well and would be home after a while. He +was painting a series of scenes from city life, the sketches of which she +showed him. Arty was married to a very nice girl, who knew all his +poetry, every line, by heart. Ford was well, only more bitter than ever. +When Ned asked after Geisner, she said he had not been back since and she +had only heard once, indirectly, that he was well. Thus she led him to +talk and he told her partly what took place between Strong and himself. +Strong's offer he could not tell to anyone. + +"You didn't get on with Nellie last night?" she asked, alluding to his +"worrying." Having taken the baby out she had sat down on the stool by +the open piano. + +Ned looked up. "How do you know? Has she been here?" + +"No. She hasn't been here, but I can tell. You men always carry your +hearts on your sleeve, when you think you aren't. You asked her to marry +you, I suppose, and she said 'No.' Isn't that it?" + +"I can't tell you all about it, Mrs. Stratton," answered Ned, frankly. +"That's about it. But she did quite right. She thought she shouldn't and +when Nellie thinks anything she tries to do it. That's what should be." + +Mrs. Stratton strummed a few notes. "I'll show you something," she said, +finally, getting up. "It passes the time to show old curiosities." + +She left the room, returning in a few minutes with a quaint box of dark +wood, bound with chased iron work and inlaid with some semi-transparent +substance in the pattern of a coat-of-arms. She opened it with a little +key that hung on her watch chain. Inside were a number of compartments, +covered with little lids. She lifted them all, together, exposing under +the tray a deeper recess. From this she took a miniature case. + +"Look at it!" she said, smiling. "I ought to charge you sixpence but I +won't." + +Ned pressed the spring, the lid of the case flew up, and there, in +water-colour, was the head and bust of a girl. The face was a delicate +oval, the mouth soft and sweet, the eyes bright with youth and health, +the whole appearance telling of winning grace and cultured beauty. The +fullness of the brows betrayed the artist instinct. The hair was drawn to +the top of the head in a strange foreign fashion. The softly curving +lines of face and figure showed womanhood begun. + +"She is very beautiful," commented Ned. Then, looking at it more closely: +"Do you know that somehow, although it's not like her, this reminds me of +Nellie?" + +"I knew you'd say that," remarked Connie, swinging round on the music +stool so as to reach the keys again and striking a note or two softly. +"It has got Nellie's presentment, whatever you call it. I noticed it the +first time I saw Nellie. That was how we happened to speak first. Harry +noticed it, too, without my having said a word to him. They might be +sisters, only Nellie's naturally more self-reliant and determined and has +had a hard life of it, while she"--nodding at the miniature--"had +been nursed in rose-leaves up to the time it was taken." + +"I don't see just where the likeness comes in," said Ned, trying to +analyse the portrait. + +"It's about the eyes and the mouth particularly, as well as a general +similitude," explained Connie. + +"As I tell Nellie, she's got a vicious way of setting her lips, so," and +Mrs. Stratton, mimicking, drew the corners of her mouth down in Nellie's +style. "Then she draws her brows down till altogether she looks as though +the burden of the whole world was on her. But underneath she has the same +gentle mouth and open eyes and artist forehead as the picture and one +feels it. It's very strange, don't you know, that Geisner never seemed to +notice it and yet he generally notices everything. After all, I don't +know that it is so strange. It's human nature." + +"Geisner?" said Ned, clumsily, having nothing particular to say. "Has he +seen it?" + +"Once or twice," observed Connie. "It belongs to him. He leaves it with +me. That's how Harry's seen it and you. It's the only thing he values so +he takes care of it by never having it about him, you know," she added, +in the flippant way that hid her feelings. + +"I suppose it is--that it's--it's the girl he--" stumbled Ned, +beginning to understand suddenly. + +"That's her," said Connie, strumming some louder notes. "She died. They +had been married a few days. She was taken ill, very ill. He left her, +when her life was despaired of. She would have him go, too. She got +better a little but losing him killed her." + +Ned gazed at the portrait, speechless. What were his troubles, his grief, +his sorrows, beside those of the man who had loved and lost so! Nellie at +least lived. At least he had still the hope that in the years to come he +and she might mate together. His thoughts flew back to Geisner's talk on +Love on the garden terrace, in the bright afternoon sunshine. Truly +Geisner's had been the Love that elevated not the Lust that pulled down. +The example nerved him like fresh air. The pain that had dumbed his +thoughts of Nellie passed from him. + +"He is a man!" cried Ned. + +"That wasn't all," went on Connie, taking the case from his hands and +officiously dusting it with her handkerchief. "When she was pining for +him, dying of grief, because she had lost her strength in her illness, +they offered him his liberty if he would deny the Cause, if he would +recant, if he would say he had been fooled and misled and desired to +redeem his position. They let him hear all about her and then they +tempted him. They wanted to disgust the people with their leaders. But it +wasn't right to do that. It was shameful. It makes me wild to think of it +yet. The way it was done! To torture a man so through his love! Oh, the +wretches! The miserable dogs! I'd----" Connie broke off suddenly to put +the handkerchief to her indignant eyes. The thunderstorm of her anger +burst in rain. She was a thorough woman. "I suppose they didn't know any +better, as he always says of everybody that's mean. It's some consolation +to think that they overshot the mark, though," she concluded, tearfully. + +"How?" + +"How! Why if they had let Geisner go and everybody else, there'd be no +martyrs to keep the Cause going. Even Geisner, if his wife had lived, +poor girl, and if children had grown up, could hardly be quite the same, +don't you know. As it is he only lives for the Cause. He has nothing else +to live for. They crushed his weakness out of him and fitted him to turn +round and crush them." + +"It's time he began," remarked Ned, thoughtfully. + +"He has begun." + +"Where?" + +"Everywhere. In you, in me, in Nellie, in men like Ford and George and +Harry, in places you never dream of, in ways nobody knows but himself. He +is moulding the world as a potter moulds clay. It frightens me, +sometimes. I open a new book and there are Geisner's very ideas. I see a +picture, an illustrated paper, and there is Geisner's hand passed to +another. I was at a new opera the other night and I could hardly believe +my ears; it seemed as though Geisner was playing. From some out of the +way corner of the earth comes news of a great strike; then, on top of it, +from another corner, the bubbling of a gathering rising; and I can feel +that Geisner is guiding countless millions to some unseen goal, safe in +his work because none know him. He is a man! He seeks no reward, despises +fame, instils no evil, claims no leadership. Only he burns his thoughts +into men's hearts, the god-like thoughts that in his misery have come to +him, and every true man who hears him from that moment has no way but +Geisner's way. A word from him and the whole world would rock with +Revolution. Only he does not say it. He thinks of the to-morrow. We all +suffer, and he has passed through such suffering that he is branded with +it, body and soul. But he has faced it and conquered it and he +understands that we all must face it and conquer it before those who +follow after us can be freed from it. 'We must first show that Socialism +is possible,' he said to me two years ago. And I think he hoped, Ned, +that some day you would show it." + +"You talk like Geisner," said Ned, watching her animated face. He had +come to her for comfort and upon his sad heart her words were like balm. +Afterwards, they strengthened the life purpose that came to him. + +"Of course. So do you when you think of him. So does everybody. His +wonderful power all lies in his impressing his ideas on everybody he +meets. Strong is a baby beside him when you consider the difference in +their means." + +"I wish Strong was on our side, just the same." + +"Why? The Strongs find the flint on which the Geisners strike the steel. +Do you think for a single moment that the average rich man has courage +enough or brains enough to drive the people to despair as this Strong +will do?" + +"Yes, monopoly will either kill or cure." + +"It will cure. This Strong is annihilating the squatters as fast as he's +trying to annihilate the unions. I hear them talking sometimes, or their +wives, which is the same thing. They fairly hate him. He's doing more +than any man to kill the old employer and to turn the owners of capital +into mere idle butterflies, or, if you like it better, into swine +wallowing in luxury, living on dividends. Not that they hate that," went +on Connie, contemptuously. "They're an idle, vicious set, taken all +round, at the best. But he's ruining a lot of the old landocrats and +naturally they don't like it. Of course, very few of them like his style +or his wife's." + +"Too quiet? Nellie was telling me something of him once." + +"Yes. He's very quiet at home. So is his wife. He reads considerably. She +is musical. They have their own set, quite a pleasant one. And +fashionable society can rave and splutter but is kept carefully outside +their door. They don't razzle-dazzle, at any rate." + +"Don't what?" asked Ned, puzzled. + +"Don't razzle-dazzle!" repeated Connie, laughing. "Don't dance on +champagne, like many of the society gems?" + +"The men, you mean." + +"The men! My dear Ned, you ought to know a little more about high life +and then you'd appreciate the Strongs. I've seen a dozen fashionable +women, young and old, perfectly intoxicated at a single fashionable ball. +As for the men, most of them haven't any higher idea of happiness than a +drunken debauch. While as for fashionable morality the less you say about +it the better. And the worst of the lot are among the canting ones. The +Strongs and their set at least are decent people. Wealth and poverty both +seem to degrade most of us." + +"Ah, well, it can't last so very much longer," remarked Ned. + +"It could if it weren't for the way both sides are being driven," +answered Connie. "These fat wine-soaked capitalists would give in +whenever the workmen showed a bold front if cast-iron capitalists like +Strong didn't force them into the fight and keep them fighting. And you +know yourself that while workmen get a little what they want they never +dream of objecting to greater injustices. And if it weren't for the new +ideas workmen would go on soaking themselves with drink and vice and +become as unable to make a change as the depraved wealthy are to resist a +change. Everything helps to make up the movement." + +"I know I'm inconsistent," she went on. "I talk angrily myself often but +it's not right to feel hard against anybody. These other people can't +help it, any more than a thief can help it or a poor girl on the streets. +They're not happy as they might be, either. And if they were, I think +it's better to suffer for the Cause than to have an easy time by opposing +it. I'd sooner be Geisner than Strong." + +"What a comparison!" cried Ned. + +"Of one thing I'm sure," continued Connie, "that it is noble to go to +prison in resisting injustice, that suffering itself becomes a glory if +one bears it bravely for others. For I have heard Geisner say, often, +that when penalties cease to intimidate and when men generally rise +superior to unjust laws those special injustices are as good as +overthrown. We must all do our best to prevent anything being done which +is unmanly in itself. If we try to do that prison is no disgrace and +death itself isn't very terrible." + +"I know you mean this for me," said Ned, smiling. "I didn't mind much, +you know, before. I was ready for the medicine. But, somehow, since I've +been here, I've got to feel quite eager to be locked up. I shall be +disappointed if it doesn't come off." He laughed cheerfully. + +"Well, you might as well take it that way," laughed Connie. "I can't bear +people who take everything seriously." + +"There was one thing I wanted you to do," said Ned, after a while. +"Nellie promised me years ago to tell me if ever she was hard up. I've +got a few pounds ahead and what my horses are worth. If anything happens +can I have it sent down to you so that you can give it to her if she +needs it?" + +Connie thought for a moment, "You'd better not," she answered. "We'll see +that Nellie's all right. I think she'd starve rather than touch what +you'll need afterwards." + +"Perhaps so," said Ned. "You know best about that. I must go now," +rising. + +"Can't you wait for dinner?" asked Connie. "Harry will be here then and +you'd have time to catch the train." + +"I've a little business to do before," said Ned. "I promised one of our +fellows to see his brother, who lives near the station." + +"Oh! You must have something to eat first," insisted Connie. "You'll miss +your dinner probably. That won't do." So he waited. + +They had finished the hurriedly prepared meal, which she ate with him so +that he might feel at home, when Stratton came in. + +"He's always just in time," explained Connie, when the greetings were +over. "He gives me the cold shivers whenever we're going to catch a +train. Say 'good-bye' to Ned now, and don't delay him! I'll tell you all +he said, all but the secrets. He's going to Queensland to-night and +hasn't a minute to spare." + +"I'm sorry you can't stay overnight," said Harry, heartily. "I'd like to +have a long talk but I suppose my fine society lady here hasn't wasted +time." + +"I've talked enough for two, you may depend upon it," announced Connie, +as they went to the front door together, chatting. + +"Well, good-bye, if you must go," said Harry, holding Ned by both hands. +"And remember, whatever happens, you've got good friends here, not +fair-weather friends either." + +"He must go, Harry," cried Connie. "I've kept him just to see you. You'll +make him miss the next boat. Come, Ned! Good-bye!" + +Ned turned to her, holding out his hand. + +"Bend down!" she said, suddenly, her lips smiling, her eyes filling. +"You're so tall." + +He bent to her mechanically, not understanding. She took his head between +her hands and kissed him on both cheeks. + +"The republican kiss!" she cried, trying to laugh, offering her own cheek +to him as he stood flushed and confused. Something choked him as he +stooped to her again, touching the fair face with his lips, +reverentially. + +"Good-bye!" she exclaimed, her mouth working, grasping his hands. "Our +hearts are with you all up there, but, oh, don't let your good heart +destroy you for no use!" Then she burst into tears and, turning to her +husband, flung herself into the loving arms that opened for her. "It's +beginning again, Harry. It's beginning again. Will it never end, I +wonder? And it's always the best it takes from us, Harry, the bravest and +the best." And she sobbed in his arms, quietly, resignedly, as she had +sobbed, Ned recollected, when Geisner thundered forth that triumphant +Marseillaise. + +Her vivid imagination showed her friends and husband and sons going to +prison and to death as friends and father and brother had gone to prison +and to death in the days gone by. She knew the Cause so well--had it +not suckled her and reared her?--with all the depth of the nature that +her lightness of manner only veiled as the frothy spray of the flooded +Barron veils the swell of the cataract beneath, with all the capacity for +understanding that made her easily the equal of brilliant men. It was a +Moloch, a Juggernaut, a Kronos that devoured its own children, a madness +driving men to fill with their hopes and lives the chasm that lies +between what is and what should be. It had lulled a little around her of +late years, the fight that can only end one way because generation after +generation carries it on, civilisation after civilisation, age after age. +Now its bugle notes were swelling again and those she cared for would be +called, sooner or later, one by one. Husband and children and friends, +all must go as this bushman was going, going with his noble thoughts and +pure instincts and generous manhood and eager brain. At least, it seemed +to her that they must. And so she bewailed them, as women will even when +their hearts are brave and when their devotion is untarnished and +undimmed. She yearned for the dawning of the Day of Peace, of the Reign +of Love, but her courage did not falter. Still amid her tears she clung +to the idea that those whom the Cause calls must obey. + +"Ned'll be late, Harry," she whispered. "He must go." So Ned went, having +grasped Harry's hand again, silently, a great lump in his throat and a +dimness in his eyes but, nevertheless, strangely comforted. + +He was just stepping on board the ferry steamer when Harry raced down, a +little roll of paper in his hand. "Connie forgot to give you this," was +all he had time to say. "It's the only one she has." + +Ned opened the little roll to find it a pot-shot photograph of Nellie, +taken in profile as she stood, with her hands clasped, gazing intently +before her, her face sad and stern and beautiful, her figure full of +womanly strength and grace. He lovered it, overjoyed, until the boat +reached the Circular Quay. He kept taking it out and stealing sly peeps +at it as the bus rolled up George-street, Redfern way. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +NED GOES TO HIS FATE. + +At the station some of the Sydney unionists wore waiting to see Ned off. +As they loaded him with friendly counsel and encouraged him with +fraternal promises of assistance and compared the threats made in Sydney +during the maritime strike with the expected action of the Government in +Queensland, a newspaper boy came up to them, crowded at the carriage +door. + +"Hello, sonny! Whose rose is that?" asked one of the group, for the +little lad carried a rose, red and blowing. + +"It's Mr. Hawkinses rose," answered the boy. + +"For me!" exclaimed Ned, holding out his hand. "Who is it from?" + +"I'm not to say," answered the urchin, slipping away. + +The other men laughed. "There must be a young lady interested in you, +Hawkins," said one jocularly; "our Sydney girls always have good eyes for +the right sort of a man." "I wondered why you stayed over last night, +Hawkins," remarked another. "Trust a Queenslander to make himself at home +everywhere," contributed a third. Ned did not answer. He did not hear +them. He knew who sent it. + +Then the guard's whistle blew; another moment and the train started, +slowly at first, gradually faster, amid a pattering of good-byes. + +"Give him a cheer, lads!" cried one of his friends. "Hip-hip-hurrah!" + +"And one for his red rose!" shouted another. "Hip-hip-hurrah!" + +"And another for the Queensland bush men! Hip-hip-hurrah!" + +Ned leaned over the door as the train drew away, laughing genially at the +cheering and waving his hand to his friends. His eyes, meanwhile, eagerly +searched the platform for a tall, black-clad figure. + +He saw her as he was about to abandon hope; she was half concealed by a +pillar, watching him intently. As his eyes drank her in, with a last fond +look that absorbed every line of her face and figure, every shade of her, +even to the flush that told she had heard the cheer for "his red rose," +she waved her handkerchief to him. With eager hands he tore the fastening +of a fantastically-shaped little nugget that hung on his watch-chain and +flung it towards her. He saw her stoop to pick it up. Then the train +swept on past a switch-house and he saw her no more, save in the picture +gallery of his memory stored with priceless paintings of the face he +loved; and in the little photo that he conned till his fellow-passengers +nudged each other. + +* * * * * + +At Newcastle he left the train to stretch himself and get a cup of tea. +As he stepped from the carriage a man came along who peered inquisitively +at the travellers. He was a medium-sized man, with a trimmed beard, +wearing a peaked cap pulled over his forehead. This inquisitive man +looked at Ned closely, then followed him past the throng to the end of +the platform. There, finding the bushman alone, he stepped up and, +clapping his hand on Ned's shoulder, said quietly in his ear: + +"In the Queen's name!" + +Ned swung round on his heel, his heart palpitating, his nerves shaken, +but his face as serene as ever. It had come, then. After all, what did it +matter? He would have preferred to have reached his comrades but at least +they would know he had tried. And no man should have reason to say that +he had not taken whatever happened like a man. At the time he did not +think it strange that he was not allowed to reach the border. The +squatters could do what they liked he thought. If they wanted to hang men +what was to stop them? So he swung round on his heel, convinced of the +worst, calm outwardly, feverish inwardly, to enquire in a voice that did +not shake: + +"What little game are you up to, mister?" + +The inquisitive man looked at him keenly. + +"Is your name Hawkins?" he asked. + +"Suppose it is! What does that matter to you?" demanded Ned, mechanically +guarding his speech for future contingencies. + +"It's all right, my friend," replied the other, with a chuckle. "I'm no +policeman. If you're Hawkins, I've a message for you. Show me your +credentials and I'll give it." + +"Who're you, anyway?" asked Ned. "How do I know who you are?" + +The inquisitive man stopped a uniformed porter who was passing. "Here, +Tom," he said, "this gentleman wants to know if I'm a union man. Am I?" + +"Go along with your larks!" retorted the man in uniform. "Why don't you +ask me if you're alive?" and he passed on with a laugh as though he had +heard an excellent joke. + +"Hang it!" said the inquisitive man. "That's what it is to be too well +known. Let's see the engine-driver. He'll answer for me." + +"The other's good enough," answered Ned, making up his mind, as was his +habit, from the little things. "Here's my credentials!" He pulled out his +pocket-book and taking out a paper unfolded it for the inquisitive man to +read. + +"That's good enough, too," was the stranger's comment. "You answer the +description but it's best to be sure. Now"--lowering his voice and +moving still further from the peopled part of the platform--"here's the +message. 'Dangerous to try going through Brisbane. Police expecting him +that way. Must go overland from Downs.' Do you understand it?" + +"I understand," said Ned, arranging his plans quickly. "It means they're +after me and I'm to dodge them. I suppose I can leave my portmanteau with +you?" + +"I'm here to help you," answered the man. + +"Well, I'll take my blankets and leave everything else. I'm a Darling +Downs boy and can easily get a horse there. And when I'm across a horse +in the bush they'll find it tough work to stop me going through." + +"You'd better take some money," remarked the man, after Ned had handed +out his portmanteau. "You may have to buy horses." + +"Not when I'm once among the camps," said Ned. "I can get relays there +every few miles. I've got plenty to do me till then. How do you fellows +here feel about things?" + +"Our fellows are as sound as a bell. If everybody does as much as the +miners will you'll have plenty of help. We don't believe everything the +papers say. You seem a cool one and if the others will only keep cool +you'll give the squatters a big wrestle yet." + +So they talked on till the train was about to start again. + +"Take my advice," said the man, drawing back further out of hearing and +putting the portmanteau down between them, "and get a cipher for +messages. We had to arrange one with Sydney during the end of the +maritime strike and that's what they've used to-night to get the tip to +you. If it wasn't for that the other side would know what was said just +as well as we do. Now, good-bye! Take care of yourself! And good luck to +you!" + +"Good-bye, and thanks!" said Ned, shaking hands as he jumped into his +carriage. "You've done us a good turn. We won't forget the South up in +Queensland. You didn't tell me your name," he added, as the train moved. + +The man answered something that was lost in the jarring. Ned saw him wave +his hand and walk away with the portmanteau. The train sped on, past +sheds and side-tracked carriages, past steaming engines and switch-houses +and great banked stacks of coal, out over the bridge into the open +country beyond, speeding ever Queenslandwards. + +Ned, leaning over the window, watched the sheen of the electric lights on +the wharves, watched the shimmering of the river, watched the glower that +hung over the city as if over a great bush fire, watched the glorious +cloudless star-strewn sky and the splendid moon that lit the opening +country as it had lit the water front of Sydney last night, as it would +light for him the backtracks of the mazy bush when he forced his horses +on, from camp to camp, six score miles and more a day. It was a +traveller's moon, he thought with joy; let him once get into the saddle +with relays ahead and let the rain hold off for four or five days more, +then they could arrest him if they liked; at least he would have got back +to his mates. + +Newcastle faded away. He took his precious photo out again and held it in +his hand after studying its outlines for the hundredth time; unobserved +he pressed the red rose to his lips. + +His heart filled with joy as he listened to the rumbling of the wheels, +to the puffing of the engine, to the rubble-double-double of the train. +Every mile it covered was a mile northward; every hour was a good day's +journeying; every post it flew by was a post the less to pass of the +hundred-thousand that lay between him and his goal. He would get back +somehow. Where "the chaps" were he would be, whatever happened. And when +he got back he could tell them, at least, that the South would pour its +willing levies to help them fight in Queensland the common enemy of all. +It never struck him that he was getting further and further from Nellie. +In his innermost soul he knew that he was travelling to her. + +What good fellows they were down South here, he thought, with a gush of +feeling. Wherever he went there were friends, cheering him, watching over +him, caring for him, their purses open to him, because he was a +Queensland bushman and because his union was in sore trouble and because +they would not see brother unionists fall into a trap and perish there +unaided. From the Barrier to Newcastle the brave miners, veterans of the +Labour war, were standing by. In Adelaide and Sydney alike the town +unions were voting aid and sympathy. The southern bushmen, threatened +themselves, were sending to Queensland the hard cash that turns doubtful +battles. If Melbourne was cool yet, it was only because she did not +understand; she would swing in before it was over, he knew it. The +consciousness of a continent throbbing in sympathy, despite the frowns +and lies and evil speakings of governments and press and capitalistic +organisations and of those whom these influence, dawned upon him. All the +world over it was the same, two great ideas were crystallising, two great +parties were forming, the lists were being cleared by combats such as +this for the ultimate death-struggle between two great principles which +could not always exist side by side. The robbed were beginning to +understand the robbery; the workers were beginning to turn upon the +drones; the dominance of the squatter, the mine-owner, the ship-owner, +the land-owner, the shareholder, was being challenged; this was not the +end, but surely it was the beginning of the end. + +"Curse them!" muttered Ned, grinding his teeth, as he gazed out upon the +moonlit country-side. "What's the good of that?" he thought. "As Geisner +says, they don't know any better. A man ought to pity them, for they're +no worse than the rest of us. They're no better and no worse than we'd be +in their places. They can't help it any more than we can." + +A great love for all mankind stole over him, a yearning to be at +fellowship with all. What fools men are to waste Life in making each +other miserable, he thought! Why should not men like Strong and Geisner +join hands? Why should not the republican kiss pass from one to another +till loving kindness reigned all the world round? Men were rough and +hasty and rash of tongue and apt to think ill too readily. But they were +good at heart, the men he knew, and surely the men he did not know were +the same. Perhaps some day----He built divine castles in the air as he +twisted Nellie's rose between his fingers. Suddenly a great wonder seized +him--he realised that he felt happy. + +Happy! When he should be most miserable. Nellie would not be his wife and +his union was in danger and prison gates yawned in front and already he +was being hunted like an outlaw. Yet he was happy. He had never been so +happy before. He was so happy that, he desired no change for himself. He +would not have changed of his free will one step of his allotted path. He +hated nobody. He loved everybody. He understood Life somewhat as he had +never understood before. A great calm was upon him, a lulling between the +tempest that had passed and the tempests that were coming, a forecast of +the serenity to which Humanity is reaching by Pain. + +"What does it matter, after all?" he murmured to himself. "There is +nothing worth worrying over so long as one does one's best. Things are +coming along all right. We may be only stumbling towards the light but +we're getting there just the same. So long as we know that what does the +rest matter?" + +"What am I?" he thought, looking up at the stars, which shone the +brighter because the moon was now hidden behind the train. "I am what I +am, as the, old Jew God was, as we all are. We think we can change +everything and we can change nothing. Our very thoughts and motives and +ideals are only bits of the Eternal Force that holds the stars balanced +in the skies and keeps the earth for a moment solid to our feet. I cannot +move it. I cannot affect it. I cannot shake it. It alone is." + +"No more," he thought on, "can Eternal Force outside of me move me, +affect me, shake me. The force in me is as eternal, as indestructible, as +infinite, as the whole universal force. What it is I am too. The unknown +Law that gives trend to Force is manifest in me as much as it is in the +whole universe beside, yet no more than it is in the smallest atom that +floats in the air, in the smallest living thing that swims in a drop of +water. I am a part of that which is infinite and eternal and which +working through Man has made him conscious and given him a sense of +things and filled him with grand ideals sublime as the universe itself. +None of us can escape the Law even if we would because we are part of the +Law and because every act and every thought and every desire follows +along in us to that which has gone before and to the influences around, +just as the flight of a bullet is according to the weight of the bullet, +and its shape, and the pressure, and the direction it was fired, and the +wind." + +"It is as easy," he dreamed on, "for the stars to rebel and start playing +nine-pins with one another, as it is for any man to swerve one hair's +breadth from that which is natural for him to do, he being what he is and +influences at any given time being what they are. None of us can help +anything. We are all poor devils, within whom the human desire to love +one another struggles with the brute desire to survive one another. And +the brute desire is being beaten down by the very Pain we cry out against +and the human desire is being fostered in us all by the very hatreds that +seem to oppose it. And some day we shall all love one another and till +then, I suppose, we must suffer for the Cause a little so that men may +see by our suffering that, however unworthy we are, the Cause can give us +courage to endure." + +"I must think that out when I have time," he concluded, as the train +slowed down at a stopping-place where his last fellow-passenger got out. +"I'll probably have plenty of time soon," he added, mentally, chuckling +good-humouredly at his grim joke. "It's a pity, though, one doesn't feel +good always. When a fellow gets into the thick of it, he gets hot and +says things that he shouldn't and does things, too, I reckon." + +He had not heeded the other passengers but now that he found himself +alone in the carriage he got down his blankets and made his bed. He took +off his boots and coat as he had done in the park, stretched himself out +on the seat, and slept at once the sleep of contentment. For the first +time in his life the jarring of the train did not make his head ache nor +its perpetual rubble-double irritate and unnerve him. He slept like a +child as the train bore him onward, passing into sleep like a child, full +of tenderness and love, slept dreamlessly and heavily, undisturbed, with +the photo against his heart and the rose in his fingers and about his +hands the hand-clasp of friends and on his cheeks the republican kiss as +though his long-dead mother had pressed her lips there. + +* * * * * + +In Queensland the chain was prepared already whereto he was to be +fastened like a dog, wherewith he was to be driven in gang like a bullock +because his comrades trusted him. Yet he smiled in his sleep as the train +sped on and as the moon stole round and shone in on him. + +Over the wide continent the moon shone, the ever-renewing moon that had +seen Life dawn in the distant Past and had seen Humanity falter up and +had witnessed strange things and would witness stranger. It shone on +towns restless in their slumbering; and on the countryside that dreamed +of what was in the womb of Time; and on the gathering camps of the North; +and on the Old Order bracing itself to stamp out the new thoughts; and on +the New Order uplifting men and women to suffer and be strong. Did it +laugh to think that in Australia men had forgotten how social injustice +broods social wrongs and bow social wrongs breed social conflicts, here +as in all other lands? Did it weep to think that in Australia men are +being crushed and women made weary and little children born to sorrow and +shame because the lesson of the ages is not yet learned, because Humanity +has not yet suffered enough, because we dare not yet to trust each other +and be free? Or did it joy to know that there is no peace and no +contentment so long as the fetters of tyranny and injustice gall our +limbs, that whether we will or not the lash of ill-conditions drives us +ever to struggle up to better things? Or did it simply not know and not +care, but move ever to its unknown destiny as All does, shedding its +glorious light, attracting and repelling, ceaseless obeying the Law that +needs no policeman to maintain it? + +The moon shone down, knowing nothing, and the moon sank down and the sun +rose and still Ned slept. But over him and over the world, in moonlight +and in darkness and in sunlight, sleeping or waking, in town and country, +by land and sea, wherever men suffer and hope, wherever women weep, +wherever little children wonder in dumb anguish, a great Thought +stretched its sheltering folds, brooding godlike, pregnant, inspiring, a +Thought mightier than the Universe, a Thought so sublime that we can +trust like children in the Purpose of the forces that give it birth. + +To you and to me this Thought speaks and pleads, wherever we are, whoever +we are, weakening our will when we do wrong, strengthening our weakness +when we would do right. And while we hear it and listen to it we are +indeed as gods are, knowing good from evil. + +It is ours, this Thought, because sinful men as we all are have shed +their blood for it in their sinfulness, have lived for it in their +earnest weakness, have felt their hearts grow tender despite themselves +and have done unwittingly deeds that have met them in the path, deeds +that shine as brightly to our mental eyes as do the seen and unseen stars +that strew the firmament of heaven. + +The brute-mother who would not be comforted because her young was taken +gave birth in the end to the Christs who have surrendered all because the +world sorrows. And we, in our yearnings and our aspirations, in our +longings and our strugglings and our miseries, may engender even in these +later days a Christ whom the world will not crucify, a Hero Leader whose +genius will humanise the grown strength of this supreme and sublime +Thought. + +Let us not be deceived! It is in ourselves that the weakness is. It is in +ourselves that the real fight must take place between the Old and the +New. It is because we ourselves value our miserable lives, because we +ourselves cling to the old fears and kneel still before the old idols, +that the Thought still remains a thought only, that it does not create +the New Order which will make of this weary world a Paradise indeed. + +Neither ballots nor bullets will avail us unless we strive of ourselves +to be men, to be worthier to be the dwelling houses of this Thought of +which even the dream is filling the world with madness divine. To curb +our own tongues, to soften our own hearts, to be sober ourselves, to be +virtuous ourselves, to trust each other--at least to try--this we +must do before we can justly expect of others that they should do it. +Without hypocrisy, knowing how we all fall far short of the ideal, we +must ourselves first cease to be utterly slaves of our own weaknesses. + + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Workingman's Paradise, by John Miller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE *** + +***** This file should be named 16366-8.txt or 16366-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/6/16366/ + +Produced by Col Choat + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** + diff --git a/16366-8.zip b/16366-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2710e9c --- /dev/null +++ b/16366-8.zip diff --git a/16366.txt b/16366.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53f4561 --- /dev/null +++ b/16366.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9826 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Workingman's Paradise, by John Miller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Workingman's Paradise + An Australian Labour Novel + +Author: John Miller + +Release Date: July 27, 2005 [EBook #16366] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE *** + + + + +Produced by Col Choat + + + + + + +The Workingman's Paradise: An Australian Labour Novel +by 'John Miller' (William Lane) (1861-1917) + +* * * + +IN TWO PARTS. +PART I. THE WOMAN TEMPTED HIM. +PART II. HE KNEW HIMSELF NAKED. + +First published 1892 + +* * * + + + +PREFACE + +The naming and writing of THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE were both done +hurriedly, although delay has since arisen in its publishing. The +scene is laid in Sydney because it was not thought desirable, for +various reasons, to aggravate by a local plot, the soreness existing +in Queensland. + +While characters, incidents and speakings had necessarily to be adapted +to the thread of plot upon which they are strung, and are not put forward +as actual photographs or phonographs, yet many will recognise enough in +this book to understand how, throughout, shreds and patches of reality +have been pieced together. The first part is laid during the summer of +1888-89 and covers two days; the second at the commencement of the +Queensland bush strike excitement in 1891, covering a somewhat shorter +time. The intention of the plot, at first, was to adapt the old legend +of Paradise and the fall of man from innocence to the much-prated-of +"workingman's paradise"--Australia. Ned was to be Adam, Nellie to be Eve, +Geisner to be the eternal Rebel inciting world-wide agitation, the Stratton +home to be presented in contrast with the slum-life as a reason for +challenging the tyranny which makes Australia what it really is; and so on. +This plot got very considerably mixed and there was no opportunity to +properly re-arrange it. After reading the MSS. one friend wrote advising +an additional chapter making Ned, immediately upon his being sentenced for +"conspiracy" under George IV., 6, hear that Nellie has died of a broken +heart. My wife, on the contrary, wants Ned and Nellie to come to an +understanding and live happily ever after in the good old-fashioned style. +This being left in abeyance, readers can take their choice until the matter +is finally settled in another book. + +Whatever the failings of this book are it may nevertheless serve the +double purpose for which t was written: (1) to assist the fund being +raised for Ned's mates now in prison in Queensland and (2) to explain +unionism a little to those outside it and Socialism a little to all +who care to read or hear, whether unionists or not. These friends of +ours in prison will need all we can do for them when they are released, +be that soon or late; and there are too few, even in the ranks of +unionism, who really understand Socialism. + +To understand Socialism is to endeavour to lead a better life, to regret +the vileness of our present ways, to seek ill for none, to desire truth +and purity and honesty, to despise this selfish civilisation and to +comprehend what living might be. Understanding Socialism will not make +people at once what men and women should be but it will fill them with +hatred for the unfitting surroundings that damn us all and with passionate +love for the ideals that are lifting us upwards and with an earnest +endeavour to be themselves somewhat as they feel Humanity is struggling +to be. + +All that any religion has been to the highest thoughts of any people +Socialism is, and more, to those who conceive it aright. Without blinding +us to our own weaknesses and wickednesses, without offering to us any +sophistry or cajoling us with any fallacy, it enthrones love above the +universe, gives us Hope for all who are downtrodden and restores to us +Faith in the eternal fitness of things. Socialism is indeed a +religion--demanding deeds as well as words. Not until professing +socialists understand this will the world at large see Socialism as it +really is. + +If this book assists the Union Prisoners assistance Fund in any way or if +it brings to a single man or woman a clearer conception of the Religion of +Socialism it will have done its work. Should it fail to do either it will +not be because the Cause is bad, for the cause is great enough to rise +above the weakness of those who serve it. + +J.M. + + + +CONTENTS + +PART I. THE WOMAN TEMPTED HIM. + +CHAPTER I. Why Nellie Shows Ned Round. +CHAPTER II. Sweating In The Sydney Slums. +CHAPTER III. Shorn Like Sheep. +CHAPTER IV. Saturday Night In Paddy's Market. +CHAPTER V. Were They Conspirators? +CHAPTER VI. "We Have Seen The Dry Bones Become Men." +CHAPTER VII. A Medley of Conversation. +CHAPTER VIII. The Poet And The Pressman. +CHAPTER IX. "This Is Socialism!" +CHAPTER X. Where The Evil Really Lies. +CHAPTER XI. "It Only Needs Enough Faith." +CHAPTER XII. Love And Lust. + +PART II. HE KNEW HIMSELF NAKED. + +CHAPTER I. The Slaughter Of An Innocent. +CHAPTER II. On The Road To Queensland. +CHAPTER III. A Woman's Whim. +CHAPTER IV. The Why Of The Whim. +CHAPTER V. As The Moon Waned. +CHAPTER VI. Unemployed. +CHAPTER VII. "The World Wants Masters." +CHAPTER VIII. The Republican Kiss. +CHAPTER IX. Ned Goes To His Fate. + + + +"On the Flinders. + +"In a western billabong, with a stretch of plain around, a dirty waterhole +beside me, I sat and read the WORKER. Maxwellton Station was handy; and +sick with a fever on me I crawled off my horse to the shed on a +Sunday. They invited me to supper; I was too ill. One gave me medicine, +another the WORKER, the cook gave me milk and soup. If this is Unionism, +God bless it! This is the moleskin charity, not the squatter's dole. The +manager gave me quinine, and this is a Union station. I read 'Nellie's +Sister' (from THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE) in you last. A woman's tenderness +pervades it. Its fiction is truth. Although my feelings are blunted by a +bush life, I dropped a tear on that page of the WORKER." + +--FROM A LETTER. + + + +PART I. + +THE WOMAN TEMPTED HIM. + +* * * * * + +Ah thy people, thy children, thy chosen, Marked cross from the womb and +perverse! They have found out the secret to cozen The gods that constrain +us and curse; They alone, they are wise, and none other; Give me place, +even me, in their train, O my sister, my spouse, and my mother, Our Lady +of Pain.--SWINBURNE. + + + +THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +WHY NELLIE SHOWS NED ROUND. + +Nellie was waiting for Ned, not in the best of humours. + +"I suppose he'll get drunk to celebrate it," she was saying, +energetically drying the last cup with a corner of the damp cloth. "And I +suppose she feels as though it's something to be very glad and proud +about." + +"Well, Nellie," answered the woman who had been rinsing the breakfast +things, ignoring the first supposition. "One doesn't want them to come, +but when they do come one can't help feeling glad." + +"Glad!" said Nellie, scornfully. + +"If Joe was in steady work, I wouldn't mind how often it was. It's when +he loses his job and work so hard to get--" Here the speaker subsided +in tears. + +"It's no use worrying," comforted Nellie, kindly. "He'll get another job +soon, I hope. He generally has pretty fair luck, you know." + +"Yes, Joe has had pretty fair luck, so far. But nobody knows how long +it'll last. There's my brother wasn't out of work for fifteen years, and +now he hasn't done a stroke for twenty-three weeks come Tuesday. He's +going out of his mind." + +"He'll get used to it," answered Nellie, grimly. + +"How you do talk, Nellie!" said the other. "To hear you sometimes one +would think you hadn't any heart." + +"I haven't any patience." + +"That's true, my young gamecock!" exclaimed a somewhat discordant voice. +Nellie looked round, brightening suddenly. + +A large slatternly woman stood in the back doorway, a woman who might +possibly have been a pretty girl once but whose passing charms had long +been utterly sponged out. A perceptible growth of hair lent a somewhat +repulsive appearance to a face which at best had a great deal of the +virago in it. Yet there was, in spite of her furrowed skin and faded eyes +and drab dress, an air of good-heartedness about her, made somewhat +ferocious by the muscularity of the arms that fell akimbo upon her great +hips, and by the strong teeth, white as those of a dog, that flashed +suddenly from between her colourless lips when she laughed. + +"That's true, my young gamecock!" she shouted, in a deep voice, strangely +cracked. "And so you're at your old tricks again, are you? Talking +sedition I'll be bound. I've half a mind to turn informer and have the +law on you. The dear lamb!" she added, to the other woman. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Macanany," said Nellie, laughing. "We haven't got yet +so that we can't say what we like, here." + +"I'm not so sure about that. Wait till you hear what I came to tell you, +hearing from little Jimmy that you were at home and going to have a +holiday with a young man from the country. We'll sherrivvery them if he +takes her away from us, Mrs. Phillips, the only one that does sore eyes +good to see in the whole blessed neighborhood! You needn't blush, my +dear, for I had a young man myself once, though you wouldn't imagine it +to look at me. And if I was a young man myself it's her"--pointing +Nellie out to Mrs. Phillips--that I'd go sweethearting with and not +with the empty headed chits that--" + +"Look here, Mrs. Macanany!" interrupted Nellie. "You didn't come in to +make fun of me." + +"Making fun! There, have your joke with the old woman! You didn't hear +that my Tom got the run yesterday, did you?" + +"Did he? What a pity! I'm very sorry," said Nellie. + +"Everybody'll be out of work and then what'll we all do?" said Mrs. +Philips, evidently cheered, nevertheless, by companionship in misfortune. + +"What'll we all do! There'd never be anybody at all out of work if +everybody was like me and Nellie there," answered the amazon. + +"What did he get the run for?" asked Nellie. + +"What can we women do?" queried Mrs. Phillips, doleful still. + +"Wait a minute till I can tell you! You don't give a body time to begin +before you worry them with questions about things you'd hear all about it +if you'd just hold your tongues a minute. You're like two blessed babies! +It was this way, Mrs. Phillips, as sure as I'm standing here. Tom got +trying to persuade the other men in the yard--poor sticks of men they +are!--to have a union. I've been goading him to it, may the Lord +forgive me, ever since Miss Nellie there came round one night and +persuaded my Tessie to join. 'Tom,' says I to him that very night, 'I'll +have to be lending you one of my old petticoats, the way the poor weak +girls are beginning to stand up for their rights, and you not even daring +to be a union man. I never thought I'd live to be ashamed of the father +of my children!' says I. And yesterday noon Tom came home with a face on +him as long as my arm, and told me that he'd been sacked for talking +union to the men. + +"'It's a man you are again, Tom,' says I. 'We've lived short before and +we can live it again, please God, and it's myself would starve with you a +hundred times over rather than be ashamed of you,' says I. 'Who was it +that sacked you?' I asked him. + +"'The foreman,' says Tom. 'He told me they didn't want any agitators +about.' + +"'May he live to suffer for it,' says I. 'I'll go down and see the boss +himself.' + +"So down I went, and as luck would have it the boy in the front office +wasn't educated enough to say I was an old image, I suppose, for would +you believe it I actually heard him say that there was a lady, if you +please, wanting to see Mister Paritt very particularly on personal +business, as I'd told him. So of course I was shown in directly, the very +minute, and the door was closed on me before the old villain, who's a +great man at church on Sundays, saw that he'd made a little mistake. + +"'What do you want, my good woman?' says he, snappish like. 'Very sorry,' +says he, when I'd told him that I'd eleven children and that Tom had +worked for him for four years and worked well, too. 'Very sorry,' says +he, my good woman, 'but your husband should have thought of that before. +It's against my principles,' says he, 'to have any unionists about the +place. I'm told he's been making the other men discontented. I can't take +him back. You must blame him, not me,' says he. + +"I could feel the temper in me, just as though he'd given me a couple of +stiff nobblers of real old whisky. 'So you won't take Tom back,' says I, +'not for the sake of his eleven children when it's their poor +heart-broken mother that asks you?' + +"'No,' says he, short, getting up from his chair. 'I can't. You've +bothered me long enough,' says he. + +"I So then I decided it was time to tell the old villain just what I +thought of his grinding men down to the last penny and insulting every +decent girl that ever worked for him. He got as black in the face as if +he was smoking already on the fiery furnace that's waiting for him below, +please God, and called the shrimp of an office boy to throw me out. +'Leave the place, you disgraceful creature, or I'll send for the police,' +says he. But I left when I got ready to leave and just what I said to +him, the dirty wretch, I'll tell to you, Mrs. Phillips, some time when +she"--nodding at Nellie--"isn't about. She's getting so like a +blessed saint that one feels as if one's in church when she's about, +bless her heart!" + +"You're getting very particular all at once, Mrs. Macanany," observed +Nellie. + +"It's a wonder he didn't send for a policeman," commented Mrs. Phillips. + +"Send for a policeman! And pretty he'd look with the holy bible in his +hand repeating what I said to him, wouldn't he now?" enquired Mrs. +Macanany, once more placing her great arms on her hips and glaring with +her watery eyes at her audience. + +"Did you hear that Mrs. Hobbs had a son this morning?" questioned Mrs. +Phillips, suddenly recollecting that she also might have an item of news. + +"What! Mrs. Hobbs, so soon! How would I be hearing when I just came +through the back, and Tom only just gone out to wear his feet off, +looking for work? A boy again! The Lord preserve us all! It's the devil's +own luck the dear creature has, isn't it now? Why didn't you tell me +before, and me here gossiping when the dear woman will be expecting me +round to see her and the dear baby and wondering what I've got against +her for not coming? I must be off, now, and tidy myself a bit and go and +cheer the poor creature up for I know very well how one wants cheering at +such times. Was it a hard time she had with it? And who is it like the +little angel that came straight from heaven this blessed day? The dear +woman! I must be off, so I'll say good-day to you, Mrs. Phillips, and may +the sun shine on you and your sweetheart, Nellie, even if he does take +you away from us all, and may you have a houseful of babies with faces as +sweet as your own and never miss a neighbour to cheer you a bit when the +trouble's on you. The Lord be with us all!" + +Nellie laughed as the rough-voiced, kind-hearted woman took herself off, +to cross the broken dividing wall to the row of houses that backed +closely on the open kitchen door. Then she shrugged her shoulders. + +"It's always the way," she remarked, as she turned away to the other door +that led along a little, narrow passage to the street. "What's going to +become of the innocent little baby? Nobody thinks of that." + +Mrs. Phillips did not answer. She was tidying up in a wearied way. +Besides, she was used to Nellie, and had a dim perception that what that +young woman said was right, only one had to work, especially on Saturdays +when the smallest children could be safely turned into the street to play +with the elder ones, the baby nursed by pressed nurses, who by dint of +scolding and coaxing and smacking and promising were persuaded to keep it +out of the house, even though they did not keep it altogether quiet. Mrs. +Phillips "tidied up" in a wearied way, without energy, working stolidly +all the time as if she were on a tread-mill. She had a weary look, the +expression of one who is tired always, who gets up tired and goes to bed +tired, and who never by any accident gets a good rest, who even when dead +is not permitted to lie quietly like other people but gets buried the +same day in a cheap coffin that hardly keeps the earth up and is doomed +to he soon dug up to make room for some other tired body in that +economical way instituted by the noble philanthropists who unite a keen +appreciation of the sacredness of burial with a still keener appreciation +of the value of grave-lots. She might have been a pretty girl once or she +might not. Nobody would ever have thought of physical attractiveness as +having anything to do with her. Mrs. Macanany was distinctly ugly. Mrs. +Phillips was neither ugly nor pretty nor anything else. She was a poor +thin draggled woman, who tried to be clean but who had long ago given up +in despair any attempt at looking natty and had now no ambition for +herself but to have something "decent" to go out in. Once it was her +ambition also to have a "I room." She had scraped and saved and pared in +dull times for this "room" and when once Joe had a long run of steady +work she had launched out into what those who know how workingmen's wives +should live would have denounced as the wildest extravagance. A gilt +framed mirror and a sofa, four spidery chairs and a round table, a +wonderful display of wax apples under a glass shade, a sideboard and a +pair of white lace curtains hanging from a pole, with various ornaments +and pictures of noticeable appearance, also linoleum for the floor, had +finally been gathered together and were treasured for a time as household +gods indeed. In those days there was hardly a commandment in the +decalogue that Mephistopheles might not have induced Mrs. Phillips to +commit by judicious praise of her "room." Her occasional "visitors" were +ushered into it with an air of pride that was alone enough to illuminate +the dingy, musty little place. Between herself and those of her +neighbours who had "rooms" there was a fierce rivalry, while those of +inferior grade--and they were in the majority--regarded her with an +envy not unmixed with dislike. + +But those times were gone for poor Mrs. Phillips. We all know how they +go, excepting those who do not want to know. Work gradually became more +uncertain, wages fell and rents kept up. They had one room of the small +five-roomed house let already. They let another--"they" being her and +Joe. Finally, they had to let the room. The chairs, the round table and +the sofa wore bartered at a second-hand store for bedroom furniture. The +mirror and the sideboard were brought out into the kitchen, and on the +sideboard the wax fruit still stood like the lingering shrine of a +departed faith. + +The "room" was now the lodging of two single men, as the good old +ship-phrase goes. Upstairs, in the room over the kitchen, the Phillips +family slept, six in all. There would have been seven, only the eldest +girl, a child of ten, slept with Nellie in the little front room over the +door, an arrangement which was not in the bond but was volunteered by the +single woman in one of her fits of indignation against pigging together. +The other front room was also rented by a single man when they could get +him. Just now it was tenantless, an additional cause of sorrow to Mrs. +Phillips, whose stock card, "Furnished Lodgings for a Single Man," was +now displayed at the front window, making the house in that respect very +similar to half the houses in the street, or in this part of the town for +that matter. Yet with all this crowding and renting of rooms Mrs. +Phillips did not grow rich. She was always getting into debt or getting +out of it, this depending in inverse ratio upon Joe being in work or out. + +When the rooms were all let they barely paid the rent and were always +getting empty. The five children--they had one dead and another +coming--ate so much and made so much work. There were boots and clothes and +groceries to pay for, not to mention bread. And though Joe was not like +many a woman's husband yet he did get on the spree occasionally, a little +fact which in the opinion of the pious will account for all Mrs. +Phillips' weariness and all the poverty of this crowded house. But +however that may be she was a weary hopeless faded woman, who would not +cause passers-by to turn, pity-stricken, and watch her when she hurried +along on her semi-occasional escapes from her prison-house only because +such women are so common that it is those who do not look hopeless and +weary whom we turn to watch if by some strange chance one passes. The +Phillips' kitchen was a cheerless place, in spite of the mirror that was +installed in state over the side-board and the wax flowers. Its one +window looked upon a diminutive back yard, a low broken wall and another +row of similar two-storied houses. On the plastered walls were some +shelves bearing a limited supply of crockery. Over the grated fireplace +was a long high shelf whereon stood various pots and bottles. There were +some chairs and a table and a Chinese-made safe. On the boarded floor was +a remnant of linoleum. Against one wall was a narrow staircase. + +It was the breakfast things that Nellie had been helping to wash up. The +little American clock on the sideboard indicated quarter past nine. + +Nellie went to the front door, opened it, and stood looking out. The view +was a limited one, a short narrow side street, blinded at one end by a +high bare stone wall, bounded at the other by the almost as narrow +by-thoroughfare this side street branched from. The houses in the +thoroughfare were three-storied, and a number wore used as shops of the +huckstering variety, mainly by Chinese. The houses in the side street +were two-storied, dingy, jammed tightly together, each one exactly like +the next. The pavement was of stone, the roadway of some composite, hard +as iron; roadway and pavement were overrun with children. At the corner +by a dead wall was a lamp-post. Nearly opposite Nellie a group of excited +women were standing in an open doorway. They talked loudly, two or three +at a time, addressing each other indiscriminately. The children screamed +and swore, quarrelled and played and fought, while a shrill-voiced mother +occasionally took a hand in the diversion of the moment, usually to scold +or cull some luckless offender. The sunshine radiated that sickly heat +which precedes rain. + +Nellie stood there and waited for Ned. She was 20 or so, tall and slender +but well-formed, every curve of her figure giving promise of more +luxurious development. She was dressed in a severely plain dress of black +stuff, above which a faint line of white collar could be seen clasping +the round throat. Her ears had been bored, but she wore no earrings. Her +brown hair was drawn away from her forehead and bound in a heavy braid on +the back of her neck. But it was her face that attracted one, a pale sad +face that was stamped on every feature with the impress of a determined +will and of an intense womanliness. From the pronounced jaw that melted +its squareness of profile in the oval of the full face to the dark brown +eyes that rarely veiled themselves beneath their long-lashed lids, +everything told that the girl possessed the indefinable something we call +character. And if there was in the drooping corners of her red lips a +sternness generally unassociated with conceptions of feminine loveliness +one forgot it usually in contemplating the soft attractiveness of the +shapely forehead, dashed beneath by straight eyebrows, and of the +pronounced cheekbones that crossed the symmetry of a Saxon face. Mrs. +Phillips was a drooping wearied woman but there was nothing drooping +about Nellie and never could be. She might be torn down like one of the +blue gums under which she had drawn in the fresh air of her girlhood, but +she could no more bend than can the tree which must stand erect in the +fiercest storm or must go down altogether. Pale she was, from the close +air of the close street and close rooms, but proud she was as woman can +be, standing erect in the door-way amid all this pandemonium of cries, +waiting for Ned. Ned was her old playmate, a Darling Downs boy, five +years older to be sure, but her playmate in the old days, nevertheless, +as lads who have no sisters are apt to be with admiring little girls who +have no brothers. Selectors' children, both of them, from neighbouring +farms, born above the frost line under the smelting Queensland sun, +drifted hither and thither by the fitful gusts of Fate as are the +paper-sailed ships that boys launch on flood water pools, meeting here in +Sydney after long years of separation. Now, Nellie was a dressmaker in a +big city shop, and Ned a sun-burnt shearer to whom the great trackless +West was home. She thought of the old home sadly as she stood there +waiting for him. + +It had not been a happy home altogether and yet, and yet--it was better +than this. There was pure air there, at least, and grass up to the door, +and trees rustling over-head; and the little children were brown and +sturdy and played with merry shouts, not with these vile words she heard +jabbered in the wretched street. Her heart grew sick within her--a +habit it had, that heart of Nellie's--and a passion of wild revolt +against her surroundings made her bite her lips and press her nails +against her palms. She looked across at the group opposite. More children +being born! Week in and week out they seemed to come in spite of all the +talk of not having any more. She could have cried over this holocaust of +the innocents, and yet she shrank with an unreasoning shrinking from the +barrenness that was coming to be regarded as the most comfortable state +and being sought after, as she knew well, by the younger married women. +What were they all coming to? Were they all to go on like this without a +struggle until they vanished altogether as a people, perhaps to make room +for the round-cheeked, bland-faced Chinaman who stood in the doorway of +his shop in the crossing thorough-fare, gazing expressionlessly at her? +She loathed that Chinaman. He always seemed to be watching her, to be +waiting for something. She would dream of him sometimes as creeping upon +her from behind, always with that bland round face. Yet he never spoke to +her, never insulted her, only he seemed to be always watching her, always +waiting. And it would come to her sometimes like a cold chill, that this +yellow man and such men as he were watching them all slowly going down +lower and lower, were waiting to leap upon them in their last +helplessness and enslave them all as white girls were sometimes enslaved, +even already, in those filthy opium joints whose stench nauseated the +hurrying passers-by. Perhaps under all their meekness these Chinese were +braver, more stubborn, more vigorous, and it was doomed that they should +conquer at last and rule in the land where they had been treated as +outcasts and intruders. She thought of this--and, just then, Ned turned +the corner by the lamp. + +Ned was a Down's native, every inch of him. He stood five feet eleven in +his bare feet yet was so broad and strong that he hardly looked over the +medium height. He had blue eyes and a heavy moustache just tinged with +red. His hair was close-cut and dark; his forehead, nose and chin wore +large and strong; his lips were strangely like a woman's. He walked with +short jerky steps, swinging himself awkwardly as men do who have been +much in the saddle. He wore a white shirt, as being holiday-making, but +had not managed a collar; his pants were dark-blue, slightly belled; his +coat, dark-brown; his boots wore highly polished; round his neck was a +silk handkerchief; round his vestless waist, a discoloured leather belt; +above all, a wide-brimmed cabbage tree hat, encircled by a narrow leather +strap. He swung himself along rapidly, unabashed by the stares of the +women or the impudent comment of the children. Nellie, suddenly, felt all +her ill-humour turn against him. He was so satisfied with himself. He +had talked unionism to her when she met him two weeks before, on his way +to visit a brother who had taken up a selection in the Hawkesbury +district. He had laughed when she hinted at the possibilities of the +unionism he championed so fanatically. "We only want what's fair," he +said. "We're not going to do anything wild. As long as we get L1 a +hundred and rations at a fair figure we're satisfied." And then he had +inconsistently proceeded to describe how the squatters treated the men +out West, and how the union would make them civil, and how the said +squatters were mostly selfish brutes who preferred Chinese to their own +colour and would stop at no trick to beat the men out of a few shillings. +She had said nothing at the time, being so pleased to see him, though she +determined to have it out with him sometime during this holiday they had +planned. But somehow, as he stepped carelessly along, a dashing manliness +in every motion, a breath of the great plains coming with his sunburnt +face and belted waist, he and his self-conceit jarred to her against this +sordid court and these children's desolate lives. How dared he talk as he +did about only wanting what was fair, she thought! How had he the heart +to care only for himself and his mates while in these city slums such +misery brooded! And then it shot through her that he did not know. With a +rapidity, characteristic of herself, she made up her mind to teach him. + +"Well, Nellie," he cried, cheerily, coming up to her. "And how are you +again?" + +"Hello, Ned," she answered, cordially, shaking hands. "You look as though +you were rounding-up." + +"Do I?" he questioned, seriously, looking down at himself. "Shirt and +all? Well, if I am it's only you I came to round up. Are you ready? Did +you think I wasn't coming?" + +"It won't take me a minute," she replied. "I was pretty sure you'd come. +I took a holiday on the strength of it, anyway, and made an engagement +for you to-night. Come in a minute, Ned. You must see Mrs. Phillips while +I get my hat. You'll have to sleep here to night. It'll be so late when +we get back. Unless you'd sooner go to a hotel." + +"I'm not particular," said Ned, looking round curiously, as he followed +her in. "I'd never have found the place, Nellie, if it hadn't been for +that pub, near the corner, where we saw that row on the other night." + +The women opposite had suspended their debate upon Mrs. Hobbs' latest, a +debate fortified by manifold reminiscences of the past and possibilities +of the future. It was known in the little street that Nellie Lawton +intended taking a holiday with an individual who was universally accepted +as her "young man," and Ned's appearance upon the stage naturally made +him a subject for discussion which temporarily over-shadowed even Mrs. +Hobbs' baby. + +"I'm told he's a sort of a farmer," said one. + +"He's a shearer; I had it from Mrs. Phillips herself," said another. + +"He's a strapping man, whatever he is," commented a third. + +"Well, she's a big lump of a girl, too," contributed a fourth. + +"Yes, and a vixen with her tongue when she gets started, for all her prim +looks," added a fifth. + +"She has tricky ways that get over the men-folks. Mine won't hear a word +against her." This from the third speaker, eager to be with the tide, +evidently setting towards unfavorable criticism. + +"I don't know," objected the second, timidly. "She sat up all night with +my Maggie once, when she had the fever, and Nellie had to work next day, +too." + +"Oh, she's got her good side," retorted the fifth, opening her dress to +feed her nursing baby with absolute indifference for all onlookers. "But +she knows a great deal too much for a girl of her age. When she gets +married will be time enough to talk as she does sometimes." The chorus of +approving murmurs showed that Nellie had spoken plainly enough on some +subjects to displease some of these slatternly matrons. + +"She stays out till all hours, I'm told," one slanderer said. + +"She's a union girl, at any rate," hazarded Nellie's timid defender. +There was an awkward pause at this. It was an apple of discord with the +women, evidently. A tall form turning the corner afforded further reason +for changing the subject. + +"Here's Mrs. Macanany," announced one. "You'd better not say anything +against Nellie Lawton when she's about." So they talked again of Mrs. +Hobbs' baby, making it the excuse to leave undone for a few minutes the +endless work of the poor man's wife. + +And sad to tell when, a few minutes afterwards, Ned and Nellie came out +again and walked off together, the group of gossipers unanimously +endorsed Mrs. Macanany's extravagant praises, and agreed entirely with +her declaration that if all the women in Sydney would only stand by +Nellie, as Mrs. Macanany herself would, there would be such a doing and +such an upsetting and such a righting of things that ever after every man +would be his own master and every woman would only work eight hours and +get well paid for it. Yet it was something that of six women there were +two who wouldn't slander a girl like Nellie behind her back. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +SWEATING IN THE SYDNEY SLUMS. + +"Well! Where shall we go, Nellie?" began Ned jauntily, as they walked +away together. To tell the truth he was eager to get away from this poor +neighborhood. It had saddened him, made him feel unhappy, caused in him a +longing to be back again in the bush, on his horse, a hundred miles from +everybody. "Shall we go to Manly or Bondi or Watson's Bay, or do you know +of a better place?" He had been reading the newspaper advertisements and +had made enquiries of the waitress, as he ate his breakfast, concerning +the spot which the waitress would prefer were a young man going to take +her out for the day. He felt pleased with himself now, for not only did +he like Nellie very much but she was attractive to behold, and he felt +very certain that every man they passed envied him. She had put on a +little round straw hat, black, trimmed with dark purple velvet; in her +hands, enclosed in black gloves, she carried a parasol of the same +colour. + +"Where would you like to go, Ned?" she answered, colouring a little as +she heard her name in Mrs. Macanany's hoarse voice, being told thereby +that she and Ned were the topic of conversation among the jury of matrons +assembled opposite. + +"Anywhere you like, Nellie." + +"Don't you think, Ned, that you might see a little bit of real Sydney? +Strangers come here for a few days and go on the steamers and through the +gardens and along George-street and then go away with a notion of the +place that isn't the true one. If I were you, Ned, right from the bush +and knowing nothing of towns, I'd like to see a bit of the real side and +not only the show side that everybody sees. We don't all go picnicking +all the time and we don't all live by the harbour or alongside the +Domain." + +"Do just whatever you like, Nellie," cried Ned, hardly understanding but +perfectly satisfied, "you know best where to take a fellow." + +"But they're not pleasant places, Ned." + +"I don't mind," answered Ned, lightly, though he had been looking +forward, rather, to the quiet enjoyment of a trip on a harbour steamer, +or at least to the delight of a long ramble along some beach where he +thought he and Nellie might pick up shells. "Besides, I fancy it's going +to rain before night," he added, looking up at the sky, of which a long +narrow slice showed between the tall rows of houses. + +There were no clouds visible. Only there was a deepening grey in the hard +blueness above them, and the breathless heat, even at this time of day, +was stifling. + +"I don't know that you'd call this a pleasant place," he commented, +adding with the frankness of an old friend: "Why do you live here, +Nellie?" + +She shrugged her shoulders. The gesture meant anything and everything. + +"You needn't have bothered sending me that money back," said Ned, in +reply to the shrug. + +"It isn't that," explained Nellie. "I've got a pretty good billet. A +pound a week and not much lost time! But I went to room there when I was +pretty hard up. It's a small room and was cheap. Then, after, I took to +boarding there as well. That was pretty cheap and suited me and helped +them. I suppose I might get a better place but they're very kind, and I +come and go as I like, and--" she hesitated. "After all," she went on, +"there's not much left out of a pound." + +"I shouldn't think so," remarked Ned, looking at her and thinking that +she was very nicely dressed. + +"Oh! You needn't look," laughed Nellie. "I make my own dresses and trim +my own hats. A woman wouldn't think much of the stuff either." + +"I want to tell you how obliged I was for that money, Ned," continued +Nellie, an expression of pain on her face. "There was no one else I could +ask, and I needed it so. It was very kind--" + +"Ugh! That's nothing," interrupted Ned, hiding his bashfulness under a +burst of boisterousness. "Why, Nellie, I'd like you to be sending to me +regular. It might just as well come to you as go any other way. If you +ever do want a few pounds again, Nellie,"--he added, seriously, "I can +generally manage it. I've got plenty just now--far more than I'll ever +need." This with wild exaggeration. "You might as well have it as not. +I've got nobody." + +"Thanks, just the same, Ned! When I do want it I'll ask you. I'm afraid +I'll never have any money to lend you if you need it, but if I ever do +you know where to come." + +"It's a bargain, Nellie," said Ned. Then, eager to change the subject, +feeling awkward at discussing money matters because he would have been so +willing to have given his last penny to anybody he felt friends with, +much less to the girl by his side: + +"But where are we going?" + +"To see Sydney!" said Nellie. + +They had turned several times since they started but the neighborhood +remained much the same. The streets, some wider, some narrower, all told +of sordid struggling. The shops were greasy, fusty, grimy. The groceries +exposed in their windows damaged specimens of bankrupt stocks, discolored +tinned goods, grey sugars, mouldy dried fruits; at their doors, flitches +of fat bacon, cut and dusty. The meat with which the butchers' shops +overflowed was not from show-beasts, as Ned could see, but the cheaper +flesh of over-travelled cattle, ancient oxen, ewes too aged for bearing; +all these lean scraggy flabby-fleshed carcasses surrounded and blackened +by buzzing swarms of flies that invaded the foot-path outside in clouds. +The draperies had tickets, proclaiming unparalleled bargains, on every +piece; the whole stock seemed displayed outside and in the doorway. The +fruiterers seemed not to be succeeding in their rivalry with each other +and with the Chinese hawkers. The Chinese shops were dotted everywhere, +dingier than any other, surviving and succeeding, evidently, by sheer +force of cheapness. The roadways everywhere were hard and bare, +reflecting the rays of the ascending sun until the streets seemed to be +Turkish baths, conducted on a new and gigantic method. There was no green +anywhere, only unlovely rows of houses, now gasping with open doors and +windows for air. + +Air! That was what everything clamoured for, the very stones, the dogs, +the shops, the dwellings, the people. If it was like this soon after ten, +what would it be at noon? + +Already the smaller children were beginning to weary of play. In narrow +courts they lolled along on the flags, exhausted. In wider streets, they +sat quietly on door-steps or the kerb, or announced their discomfort in +peevish wailings. The elder children quarrelled still and swore from +their playground, the gutter, but they avoided now the sun and +instinctively sought the shade and it is pretty hot when a child minds +the sun. At shop doors, shopmen, sometimes shopwomen, came to wipe their +warm faces and examine the sky with anxious eyes. The day grow hotter and +hotter. Ned could feel the rising heat, as though he were in an oven with +a fire on underneath. Only the Chinese looked cool. + +Nellie led the way, sauntering along, without hurrying. Several times she +turned down passages that Ned would hardly have noticed, and brought him +out in courts closed in on all sides, from which every breath of air +seemed purposely excluded. Through open doors and windows he could see +the inside of wretched homes, could catch glimpses of stifling bedrooms +and close, crowded little kitchens. Often one of the denizens came to +door or window to stare at Nellie and him; sometimes they were accosted +with impudent chaff, once or twice with pitiful obscenity. + +The first thing that impressed him was the abandonment that thrust itself +upon him in the more crowded of these courts and alley-ways and +back-streets, the despairing abandonment there of the decencies of +living. The thin dwarfed children kicked and tumbled with naked limbs on +the ground; many women leaned half-dressed and much unbuttoned from +ground floor windows, or came out into the passage-ways slatternly. In +one court two unkempt vile-tongued women of the town wrangled and abused +each other to the amusement of the neighborhood, where the working poor +were huddled together with those who live by shame. The children played +close by as heedlessly as if such quarrels were common events, cursing +themselves at each other with nimble filthy tongues. + +"There's a friend of mine lives here," said Nellie, turning into one of +these narrow alleys that led, as they could see, into a busier and +bustling street. "If you don't mind we'll go up and I can help her a bit, +and you can see how one sort of sweating is done. I worked at it for a +spell once, when dressmaking was slack. In the same house, too." + +She stopped at the doorway of one of a row of three-storied houses. On +the doorstep were a group of little children, all barefooted and more or +less ragged in spite of evident attempts to keep some of them patched +into neatness. They looked familiarly at Nellie and curiously at Ned. + +"How's mother, Johnny?" asked Nellie of one of them, a small pinched +little fellow of six or seven, who nursed a baby of a year or so old, an +ill-nourished baby that seemed wilting in the heat. + +"She's working," answered the little fellow, looking anxiously at Nellie +as she felt in her pocket. + +"There's a penny for you," said Nellie, "and here's a penny for Dicky," +patting a little five-year-old on the head, "and here's one to buy some +milk for the baby." + +Johnny rose with glad eagerness, the baby in his arms and the pennies in +his hand. + +"I shall buy 'specks' with mine," he cried joyfully. + +"What's 'specks?'" asked Ned, puzzled, as the children went off, the +elder staggering under his burden. + +"'Specks!' Damaged fruit, half rotten. The garbage of the rich sold as a +feast to these poor little ones?" cried Nellie, a hot anger in her face +and voice that made Ned dumb. + +She entered the doorway. Ned followed her through a room where a man and +a couple of boys were hammering away at some boots, reaching thereby a +narrow, creaking stairway, hot as a chimney, almost pitch dark, being +lighted only by an occasional half-opened door, up which he stumbled +clumsily. Through one of these open doors he caught a glimpse of a couple +of girls sewing; through another of a woman with a baby in arms +tidying-up a bare floored room, which seemed to be bedroom, kitchen and +dining room in one; from behind a closed door came the sound of voices, +one shrilly laughing. Unused to stairways his knees ached before they +reached the top. He was glad enough when Nellie knocked loudly at a door +through which came the whirring of a sewing machine. The noise stopped +for a moment while a sharp voice called them to "come in," then started +again. Nellie opened the door. + +At the open window of a small room, barely furnished with a broken iron +bedstead, some case boards knocked together for a table and fixed against +the wall, a couple of shaky chairs and a box, a sharp featured woman sat +working a machine, as if for dear life. The heat of the room was made +hotter by the little grate in which a fire had recently been burning and +on which still stood the teapot. Some cups and a plate or two, with a cut +loaf of bread and a jam tin of sugar, littered the table. The scanty bed +was unmade. The woman wore a limp cotton dress of uncertain colour, +rolled up at the sleeves and opened at the neck for greater coolness. She +was thin and sharp; she was so busy you understood that she had no time +to be clean and tidy. She seemed pleased to see Nellie and totally +indifferent at seeing Ned, but kept on working after nodding to them. + +Nellie motioned Ned to sit down, which he did on the edge of the bed, not +caring to trust the shaky chairs. She went to the side of the +sharp-featured woman, and sitting down on the foot of the bed by the +machine watched her working without a word. Ned could see on the ground, +in a paper parcel, a heap of cloth of various colours, and on the bed +some new coats folded and piled up. On the machine was another coat, +being sewn. + +It was ten minutes before the machine stopped, ten minutes for Ned to +look about and think in. He knew without being told that this miserable +room was the home of the three children to whom Nellie had given the +pennies, and that here their mother worked to feed them. Their feeding he +could see on the table. Their home he could see. The work that gave it to +them he could see. For the first time in his life he felt ashamed of +being an Australian. + +Finally the machine stopped. The sharp-faced woman took the coat up, bit +a thread with her teeth, and laying it on her knee began to unpick the +tackings. + +"Let me!" said Nellie, pulling off her gloves and taking off her hat. "We +came to see you, Ned and I," she went on with honest truthfulness, +"because he's just down from the bush, and I wanted him to see what +Sydney was like. Ned, this is Mrs. Somerville." + +Mrs. Somerville nodded at Ned. "You're right to come here," she remarked, +grimly, getting up while Nellie took her place as if she often did it. +"You know just what it is, Nellie, and I do, too, worse luck. Perhaps +it's good for us. When we're better off we don't care for those who're +down. We've got to get down ourselves to get properly disgusted with it." + +She spoke with the accent of an educated woman, moving to the make-shift +table and beginning to "tidy-up." As she passed between him and the light +Ned could see that the cotton dress was her only covering. + +"How are the children?" asked Nellie. + +"How can you expect them to be?" retorted the other. + +"You ought to wean the baby," insisted Nellie, as though it was one of +their habitual topics. + +"Wean the baby! That's all very well for those who can buy plenty of +milk. It's a pity it's ever got to be weaned." + +"Plenty of work this week?" asked Nellie, changing the subject. + +"Yes; plenty of work this week. You know what that means. No work at all +when they get a stock ahead, so as to prevent us feeling too independent +I suppose." She paused, then added: "That girl downstairs says she isn't +going to work any more. I talked to her a little but she says one might +just as well die one way as another, and that she'll have some pleasure +first. I couldn't blame her much. She's got a good heart. She's been very +kind to the children." + +Nellie did not answer; she did not even look up. + +"They're going to reduce prices at the shop," went on Mrs. Somerville. +"They told me last time I went that after this lot they shouldn't pay as +much because they could easily get the things done for less. I asked what +they'd pay, and they said they didn't know but they'd give me as good a +show for work as ever if I cared to take the new prices, because they +felt sorry for the children. I suppose I ought to feel thankful to them." + +Nellie looked up now--her face flushed. "Reduce, prices again!" she +cried. "How can they?" + +"I don't know how they can, but they can," answered Mrs. Somerville. "I +suppose we can be thankful so long as they don't want to be paid for +letting us work for them. Old Church's daughter got married to some +officer of the fleet last week, I'm told, and I suppose we've got to help +give her a send-off." + +"It's shameful," exclaimed Nellie. "What they paid two years ago hardly +kept one alive, and they've reduced twice since then. Oh! They'll all pay +for it some day." + +"Let's hope so," said Mrs. Somerville. "Only we'll have to pay them for +it pretty soon, Nellie, or there won't be enough strength left in us to +pay them with. I've got beyond minding anything much, but I would like to +get even with old Church." + +They had talked away, the two women, ignoring Ned. He listened. He +understood that from the misery of this woman was drawn the pomp and +pride, the silks and gold and glitter of the society belle, and he +thought with a cruel satisfaction of what might happen to that society +belle if this half-starved woman got hold of her. Measure for measure, +pang for pang, what torture, what insults, what degradation, could atone +for the life that was suffered in this miserable room? And for the life +of "that girl downstairs" who had given up in despair? + +"How about a union now?" asked Nellie, turning with the first pieces of +another coat to the machine. + +"Work's too dull," was the answer. "Wait for a few months till the busy +season comes and then I wouldn't wonder if you could get one. The women +were all feeling hurt about the reduction, and one girl did start talking +strike, but what's the use now? I couldn't say anything, you know, but +I'll find out where the others live and you can go round and talk to them +after a while. If there was a paper that would show old Church up it +might do good, but there isn't." + +Then the rattle of the machine began again, Nellie working with an +adeptness that showed her to be an old hand. Ned could see now that the +coats were of cheap coarse stuff and that the sewing in them was not fine +tailoring. The cut material in Nellie's hands fairly flew into shape as +she rapidly moved it to and fro under the hurrying needle with her slim +fingers. Her foot moved unceasingly on the treadle. Ned watching her, saw +the great beads of perspiration slowly gather on her forehead and then +trickle down her nose and cheeks to fall upon the work before her. + +"My word! But it's hot!" exclaimed Nellie at last, as the noise stopped +for a moment while she changed the position of her work. "Why don't you +open the door?" + +"I don't care to before the place is tidy," answered Mrs. Somerville, who +had washed her cups and plates in a pan and had just put Ned on one of +the shaky chairs while she shook and arranged the meagre coverings of the +bed. + +"Is he still carrying on?" enquired Nellie, nodding her head at the +partition and evidently alluding to someone on the other side. + +"Of course, drink, drink, drink, whenever he gets a chance, and that +seems pretty well always. She helps him sometimes, and sometimes she +keeps sober and abuses him. He kicked her down stairs the other night, +and the children all screaming, and her shrieking, and him swearing. It +was a nice time." + +Once more the machining interrupted the conversation, which thus was +renewed from time to time in the pauses of the noise. The room being +"tidied," Mrs. Somerville sat down on the bed and taking up some pieces +of cloth began to tack them together with needle and thread, ready for +the machine. It never seemed to occur to her to rest even for a moment. + +"Nellie's a quick one," she remarked to Ned. "At the shop they always +tell those who grumble what she earned one week. Twenty-four and six, +wasn't it, Nellie? But they don't say she worked eighteen hours a day for +it." + +Nellie flushed uneasily and Ned felt uncomfortable. Both thought of the +repayment of the latter's friendly loan. The girl made her machine rattle +still more hurriedly to prevent any further remarks trending in that +direction. At last Mrs. Somerville, her tacking finished, got up and took +the work from Nellie's hands. + +"I'm not going to take your whole morning," she said. "You don't get many +friends from the bush to see you, so just go away and I'll get on. I'm +much obliged to you as it is, Nellie." + +Nellie did not object. After wiping her hands, face and neck with her +handkerchief she put on her gloves and hat. The sharp-faced woman was +already at the machine and amid the din, which drowned their good-byes, +they departed as they came. Ned felt more at ease when his feet felt the +first step of the narrow creaking stairway. It is hardly a pleasant +sensation for a man to be in the room of a stranger who, without any +unfriendliness, does not seem particularly aware that he is there. They +left the door open. Far down the stifling stairs Ned could hear the +ceaseless whirring of the machine driven by the woman who slaved +ceaselessly for her children's bread in this Sydney sink. He looked +around for the children when they got to the alley again but could not +see them among the urchins who lolled about half-suffocated now. The sun +was almost overhead for they had been upstairs for an hour. The heat in +this mere canyon path between cliffs of houses was terrible. Ned himself +began to feel queerly. + +"Let's get out of this, Nellie," he said. + +"How would you like never to be able to get out of it?" she answered, as +they turned towards the bustling street, opposite to the way they had +previously come. + +"Who's that Mrs. Somerville?" he asked, not answering. + +"I got to know her when I lived there," replied Nellie. "Her husband used +to be well off, I fancy, but had bad luck and got down pretty low. There +was a strike on at some building and he went on as a laborer, +blacklegging. The pickets followed him to the house, abusing him, and +made him stubborn, but I got her alone that night and talked to her and +explained things a bit and she talked to him and next day he joined the +union. Then he got working about as a labourer, and one day some rotten +scaffolding broke, and he came down with it. The union got a few pounds +for her, but the boss was a regular swindler who was always beating men +out of their wages and doing anything to get contracts and running +everything cheap, so there was nothing to be got out of him." + +"Did her husband die?" + +"Yes, next day. She had three children and another came seven months +after. One died last summer just before the baby was born. She's had a +pretty hard time of it, but she works all the time and she generally has +work." + +"It seems quite a favour to get work here," observed Ned. + +"If you were a girl you'd soon find out what a favour it is sometimes," +answered Nellie quietly, as they came out into the street. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +SHORN LIKE SHEEP. + +"How many hours do you work?" asked Nellie of the waitress. + +"About thirteen," answered the girl, glancing round to see if the manager +was watching her talking. "But it's not the hours so much. It's the +standing." + +"You're not doing any good standing now," put in Ned. "Why don't you sit +down and have a rest?" + +"They don't let us," answered the waitress, cautiously. + +"What do they pay?" asked Nellie, sipping her tea and joining in the +waitress' look-out for the manager. + +"Fifteen! But they're taking girls on at twelve. Of course there's meals. +But you've got to room yourself, and then there's washing, clean aprons +and caps and cuffs and collars. You've got to dress, too. There's nothing +left. We ought to get a pound." + +"What----" + +"S-s-s!" warned the waitress, straightening herself up as the manager +appeared. + +* * * * * + +They were in a fashionable Sydney restaurant, on George-street, a large, +painted, gilded, veneered, electro-plated place, full of mirrors and +gas-fittings and white-clothed tables. It was not busy, the hour being +somewhat late and the day Saturday, and so against the walls, on either +side the long halls, were ranged sentinel rows of white-aproned, +white-capped, black-dressed waitresses. + +They were dawdling over their tea--Ned and Nellie were, not the +waitresses--having dined exceedingly well on soup and fish and flesh +and pudding. For Ned, crushed by more sight-seeing and revived by a +stroll to the Domain and a rest by a fountain under shady trees, further +revived by a thunderstorm that suddenly rolled up and burst upon them +almost before they could reach the shelter of an awning, had insisted on +treating Nellie to "a good dinner," telling her that afterwards she could +take him anywhere she liked but that meanwhile they would have something +to cheer them up. And Nellie agreed, nothing loth, for she too longed for +the momentary jollity of a mild dissipation, not to mention that this +would be a favorable opportunity to see if the restaurant girls could not +be organised. So they had "a good dinner." + +"This reminds me," said Nellie, as she ate her fish, "of a friend of +mine, a young fellow who is always getting hard up and always raising a +cheque, as he calls it. He was very hard up a while ago, and met a friend +whom he told about it. Then he invited his friend to go and have some +lunch. They came here and he ordered chicken and that, and a bottle of +good wine. It took his last half-sovereign. When he got the ticket the +other man looked at him. 'Well,' he said, 'if you live like this when +you're hard up, how on earth do you live when you've got money?'" + +"What did he say?" asked Ned, laughing, wondering at the same time how +Nellie came to know people who drank wine and spent half-sovereigns on +chicken lunches. + +"Oh! He didn't say anything much, he told me. He couldn't manage to +explain, he thought, that when he was at work and easy in his mind he +didn't care what he had to eat but that when he didn't know what he'd do +by the end of the week he felt like having a good meal if he never had +another. He thought that made the half-sovereign go furthest. He's funny +in some things." + +"I should think he was, a little. How did you know him?" + +"I met him where we're going tonight. He's working on some newspaper in +Melbourne now. I haven't seen him or heard of for months." + +She chatted on, rather feverishly. + +"Did you ever read 'David Copperfield?'" + +Ned nodded, his mouth being full. + +"Do you recollect how he used to stand outside the cookshops? It's quite +natural. I used to. It's pretty bad to be hungry and it's just about as +bad not to have enough. I know a woman who has a couple of children, a +boy and a girl. They were starving once. She said she'd sooner starve +than beg or ask anybody to help them, and the little girl said she would +too. But the boy said he wasn't going to starve for anybody, and he +wasn't going to beg either; he'd steal. And sure enough he slipped out +and came back with two loaves that he'd taken from a shop. They lived on +that for nearly a week." Nellie laughed forcedly. + +"What did they do then?" asked Ned seriously. + +"Oh! She had been doing work but couldn't get paid. She got paid." + +"Where was her husband?" + +"Don't husbands die like other people?" she answered, pointedly. "Not +that all husbands are much good when they can't get work or will always +work when they can get it," she added. + +"Are many people as hard up as that in Sydney, Nellie?" enquired Ned, +putting down his knife and fork. + +"Some," she answered. "You don't suppose a lot of the people we saw this +morning get over well fed, do you? Oh, you can go on eating, Ned! it's +not being sentimental that will help them. They want fair play and a +chance to work, and your going hungry won't get that for them. There's +lots for them and for us if they only knew enough to stop people like +that getting too much." + +By lifting her eyebrows she drew his attention to a stout coarse loudly +jewelled man, wearing a tall silk hat and white waistcoat, who had +stopped near them on his way to the door. He was speaking in a loud +dictatorial wheezy voice. His hands were thrust into his trouser pockets, +wherein he jingled coins by taking them up and letting them fall again. +The chink of sovereigns seemed sweet music to him. He stared +contemptuously at Ned's clothes as that young man looked round; then +stared with insolent admiration at Nellie. Ned became crimson with +suppressed rage, but said nothing until the man had passed them. + +"Who is that brute?" he asked then. + +"That brute! Why, he's a famous man. He owns hundreds of houses, and has +been mayor and goodness knows what. He'll be knighted and made a duke or +something. He owns the block where Mrs. Somerville lives. You ought to +speak respectfully of your betters, Ned. He's been my landlord, though he +doesn't know it, I suppose. He gets four shillings a week from Mrs. +Somerville. The place isn't worth a shilling, only it's handy for her +taking her work in, and she's got to pay him for it being handy. That's +her money he's got in his pocket, only if you knocked him down and took +it out for her you'd be a thief. At least, they'd say you were and send +you to prison." + +"Who's the other, I wonder?" said Ned. "He looks more like a man." + +The other was a shrewd-looking, keen-faced, sparely-built man, with +somewhat aquiline nose and straight narrow forehead, not at all +bad-looking or evil-looking and with an air of strong determination; in +short, what one calls a masterful man. He was dressed well but quietly. A +gold-bound hair watch guard that crossed his high-buttoned waistcoat was +his only adornment; his slender hands, unlike the fat man's podgy +fingers, were bare of rings. He was sitting alone, and after the fat man +left him returned again to the reading of an afternoon paper while he +lunched. + +"His name's Strong," said. Nellie, turning to Ned with a peculiar smile. +"That fat man has robbed me and this lean man has robbed you, I suppose. +As he looks more like a man it won't be as bad though, will it?" + +"What are you getting at, Nellie?" asked Ned, not understanding but +looking at the shrewd man intently, nevertheless. + +"Don't you know the name? Of course you don't though. Well, he's managing +director of the Great Southern Mortgage Agency, a big concern that owns +hundreds and hundreds of stations. At least, the squatters own the +stations and the Agency owns the squatters, and he as good as owns the +Agency. You're pretty sure to have worked for him many a time without +knowing it, Ned." + +Ned's eyes flashed. Nellie had to kick his foot under the table for fear +he would say or do something that would attract the attention of the +unsuspecting lean man. + +"Don't be foolish, Ned," urged Nellie, in a whisper. "What's the good of +spluttering?" + +"Why, it was one of their stations on the Wilkes Downs that started +cutting wages two years ago. Whenever a manager is particularly mean he +always puts it down to the Agency. The Victorian fellows say it was this +same concern that first cut wages down their way. And the New Zealanders +too. I'd just like to perform on him for about five minutes." + +Ned uttered his wish so seriously that Nellie laughed out loud, at which +Ned laughed too. + +"So he's the man who does all the mischief, is he?" remarked Ned, again +glaring at his industrial enemy. "Who'd think it to look at him? He +doesn't look a bad sort, does he?" + +"He looks a determined man, I think," said Nellie. "Mr. Stratton says +he's the shrewdest capitalist in Australia and that he'll give the unions +a big fight for it one of these days. He says he has a terrible hatred of +unionism and thinks that there's no half-way between smashing them up and +letting them smash the employers up. His company pays 25 per cent. +regularly every year on its shares and will pay 50 before he gets through +with it." + +"How?" + +"How! Out of fellows like you, Ned, who think themselves so mighty +independent and can't see that they're being shorn like sheep, in the +same way, though not as much yet, as Mrs. Somerville is by old Church and +the fat brute, as you call him. But then you rather like it I should +think. Anyway, you told me you didn't want to do anything 'wild,' only to +keep up wages. You'll have to do something 'wild' to keep up wages before +he finishes." + +"That's all right to talk, Nellie, but what can we do?" asked Ned, +pulling his moustache. . + +"Hire him instead of letting him hire you," answered Nellie, oracularly. +"Those fat men are only good to put in museums, but these lean men are +all right so long as you keep them in their place. They are our worst +enemies when they're against us but our best friends when they're for us. +They say Mr. Strong isn't like most of the swell set. He is straight to +his wife and good to his children and generous to his friends and when he +says a thing he sticks to it. Only he sees everything from the other side +and doesn't understand that all men have got the same coloured blood." + +"How can we hire him?" said Ned, after a pause. "They own everything." + +Nellie shrugged her shoulders. + +"You think we might take it," said Ned. + +Nellie shrugged her shoulders again. + +"I don't see how it can be done," he concluded. + +"That's just it. You can't see how it can be done, and so nothing's done. +Some men get drunk, and some men get religious, and others get +enthusiastic for a pound a hundred. You haven't got votes up in +Queensland, and if you had you'd probably give them to a lot of ignorant +politicians. Men don't know, and they don't seem to want to know much, +and they've got to be squeezed by men like him"--she nodded at +Strong--"before they take any interest in themselves or in those who belong +to them. For those who have an ounce of heart, though, I should think +there'd been squeezing enough already." + +She looked at Ned angrily. The scenes of the morning rose before him and +tied his tongue. + +"How do you know all these jokers, Nellie?" he asked. He had been going +to put the question a dozen times before but it had slipped him in the +interest of conversation. + +"I only know them by sight. Mrs. Stratton takes me to the theatre with +her sometimes and tells me who people are and all about them." + +"Who's Mrs. Stratton? You were talking of Mr. Stratton, too, just now, +weren't you?" + +"Yes. The Strattons are very nice people, They're interested in the +Labour movement, and I said I'd bring you round when I go to-night. I +generally go on Saturday nights. They're not early birds, and we don't +want to get there till half-past ten or so." + +"Half-past ten! That's queer time." + +"Yes, isn't it? Only----" + +At that moment a waitress who had been arranging the next table came and +took her place against the wall close behind Nellie. Such an opportunity +to talk unionism was not to be lost, so Nellie unceremoniously dropped +her conversation with Ned and enquired, as before stated, into the +becapped girl's hours. The waitress was tall and well-featured, but +sallow of skin and growing haggard, though barely 20, if that. Below her +eyes were bluish hollows. She suffered plainly from the disorders caused +by constant standing and carrying, and at this end of her long week was +in evident pain. + +* * * * * + +"You're not allowed to talk either?" she asked the waitress, when the +manager had disappeared. + +"No. They're very strict. You get fined if you're seen chatting to +customers and if you're caught resting. And you get fined if you break +anything, too. One girl was fined six shillings last week." + +"Why do you stand it? If you were up in our part of the world we'd soon +bring 'em down a notch or two." This from Ned. + +"Out in the bush it may be different," said the girl, identifying his +part of the world by his dress and sunburnt face. "But in towns you've +got to stand it." + +"Couldn't you girls form a union?" asked Nellie. + +"What's the use, there's plenty to take our places." + +"But if you were all in a union there wouldn't be enough." + +"Oh, we can't trust a lot of girls. Those who live at home and just work +to dress themselves are the worst of the lot. They'd work for ten +shillings or five." + +"But they'd be ashamed to blackleg if once they were got into the union," +persisted Nellie. "It's worth trying, to get a rise in wages and to stop +fining and have shorter hours and seats while you're waiting." + +"Yes, it's worth trying if there was any chance. But there are so many +girls. You're lucky if you get work at all now and just have to put up +with anything. If we all struck they could get others to-morrow." + +"But not waitresses. How'd they look here, trying to serve dinner with a +lot of green hands?" argued Nellie. "Besides, if you had a union, you +could get a lot without striking at all. They know now you can't strike, +so they do just exactly as they like." + +"They'd do what they----" began the waitress. Then she broke off with +another "s-s-s" as the manager crossed the room again. + +"They'd do what they like, anyway," she began once more. "One of our +girls was in the union the Melbourne waitresses started. They had a +strike at one of the big restaurants over the manager insulting one of +the girls. They complained to the boss and wanted the manager to +apologise, but the boss wouldn't listen and said they were getting very +nice. So at dinner time, when the bell rang, they all marched off and put +on their hats. The customers were all waiting for dinner and the girls +were all on strike and the boss nearly went mad. He was going to have +them all arrested, but when the gentlemen heard what it was about they +said the girls were right and if the manager didn't apologise they'd go +to some other restaurant always. So the manager went to the girl and +apologised." + +"By gum!" interjected Ned. "Those girls were hummers." + +"I suppose the boss victimised afterwards?" asked Nellie, wiser in such +matters. + +"That's just it," said the girl, in a disheartened tone. "In two or three +weeks every girl who'd had anything to do with stirring the others up was +bounced for something or other. The manager did what he liked +afterwards." + +"Just talk to the other girls about a union, will you?" asked Nellie. +"It's no use giving right in, you know." + +"I'll see what some of them say, but there's a lot I wouldn't open my +mouth to," answered the waitress. + +"What time do you get away on Thursdays?" + +"Next Thursday I'm on till half-past ten." + +"Well, I'll meet you then, outside, to see what they say," said Nellie. +"My name's Nellie Lawton and some of us are trying to start a women's +union. You'll be sure to be there?" + +"All right," answered the waitress, a little dubiously. Then she added +more cordially, as she wrote out the pay ticket: + +"My name's Susan Finch. I'll see what I can do." + +So Ned and Nellie got up and, the former having paid at the counter, +walked out into the street together. It was nearly three. The rain had +stopped, though the sky was still cloudy and threatening. The damp +afternoon was chilly after the sultry broiling morning. Neither of them +felt in the mood for walking so at Nellie's suggestion they put in the +afternoon in riding, on trams and 'busses, hither and thither through the +mazy wilderness of the streets that make up Sydney. + +Intuitively, both avoided talking of the topics that before had engaged +them and that still engrossed their thoughts. For a while they chatted on +indifferent matters, but gradually relapsed into silence, rarely broken. +The impression of the morning walk, of Mrs. Somerville's poor room, of +Nellie's stuffy street, came with full force to Ned's mind. What he saw +only stamped it deeper and deeper. + +When, in a bus, they rode through the suburbs of the wealthy, past +shrubberied mansions and showy villas, along roads where liveried +carriages, drawn by high-stepping horses, dashed by them, he felt himself +in the presence of the fat man who jingled sovereigns, of the lean man +whose slender fingers reached north to the Peak Downs and south to the +Murray, filching everywhere from the worker's hard-earned wage. When in +the tram they were carried with clanging and jangling through endless +rows of houses great and small, along main thoroughfares on either side +of which crowded side-streets extended like fish-bones, over less crowded +districts where the cottages were generally detached or semi-detached and +where pleasant homely houses were thickly sprinkled, oven here he +wondered how near those who lived in happier state were to the life of +the slum, wondered what struggling and pinching and scraping was going on +behind the half-drawn blinds that made homes look so cosy. + +What started him on this idea particularly was that, in one train, a +grey-bearded propertied-looking man who sat beside him was grumbling to a +spruce little man opposite about the increasing number of empty houses. + +"You can't wonder at it," answered the spruce little man. "When the +working classes aren't prospering everybody feels it but the exporters. +Wages are going down and people are living two families in a house where +they used to live one in a house, or living in smaller houses." + +"Oh! Wages are just as high. There's been too much building. You building +society men have overdone the thing." + +"My dear sir!" declared the spruce little man. "I'm talking from facts. +My society and every other building society is finding it out. When men +can't get as regular work it's the same thing to them as if wages were +coming down. The number of surrenders we have now is something appalling. +Working men have built expecting to be able to pay from 6s. to 10s. and +12s. a week to the building societies, and every year more and more are +finding out they can't do it. As many as can are renting rooms, letting +part of their house and so struggling along. As many more are giving up +and renting these rooms or smaller houses. And apparently well-to-do +people are often in as bad a fix. It's against my interest to have things +this way, but it's so, and there's no getting over it. If it keeps on, +pretty well every workingman's house about Sydney will be a rented house +soon. The building societies can't stop that unless men have regular work +and fair wages." + +"It's the unions that upset trade," asserted the propertied-looking man. + +"It's the land law that's wrong," contended the spruce man. "If all taxes +were put on unimproved land values it would be cheaper to live and there +would be more work because it wouldn't pay to keep land out of use. With +cheap living and plenty of work the workingman would have money and +business would be brisk all round." + +"Nonsense!" exclaimed the propertied man, brusquely. + +"It's so," answered the spruce little man, getting down as the tram +stopped, "There's no getting away from facts and that's fact." + +So even out here, Ned thought, looking at the rows of cottages with +little gardens in front which they were passing, the squeeze was coming. +Then, watching the passengers, he thought how worried they all seemed, +how rarely a pleasant face was to be met with in the dress of the people. +And then, suddenly a shining, swaying, coachman-driven brougham whirled +by. Ned, with his keen bushman's eyes, saw in it a stout heavy-jawed +dame, large of arm and huge of bust, decked out in all the fashion, and +insolent of face as one replete with that which others craved. And by her +side, reclining at ease, was a later edition of the same volume, a girl +of 17 or so, already fleshed and heavy-jawed, in her mimic pride looking +for all the world like a well-fed human animal, careless and soulless. + +Opposite Nellie a thin-faced woman, of whose front teeth had gone, +patiently dandled a peevish baby, while by her side another child +clutched her dingy dust-cloak. This woman's nose was peaked and her chin +receded. In her bonnet some gaudy imitation flowers nodded a vigorous +accompaniment. She did not seem ever to have had pleasure or to have been +young, and yet in the child by her side her patient joyless sordid life +had produced its kind. + +They had some tea and buttered scones in a cheaper cafe, where Nellie +tried to "organise" another waitress. They lingered over the meal, both +moody. They hardly spoke till Ned asked Nellie: + +"I don't see what men can get to do but can't single women always get +servants' places?" + +"Some might who don't, though all women who want work couldn't be +domestic servants, that's plain," answered Nellie. "But by the number of +girls that are always looking for places and the way the registry offices +are able to bleed them, I should imagine there were any amount of servant +girls already. The thing is there are so many girls that mistresses can +afford to be particular. They want a girl with all the virtues to be a +sort of house-slave, and they're always grumbling because they can't get +it. So they're always changing, and the girls are always changing, and +that makes the girls appear independent." + +"But they have good board and lodging, as well as wages, don't they?" + +"In swell houses, where they keep two or three or wore girls, they +usually have good board and decent rooms, I think, but they don't in most +places. Any hole or corner is considered good, enough for a servant girl +to sleep in, and any scraps are often considered good enough for a +servant girl to eat. You look as though you don't believe it, Ned. I'm +talking about what I know. The average domestic servant is treated like a +trained dog." + +"Did you ever try it?" + +"I went to work in a hotel as chamber maid, once. I worked from about six +in the morning till after ten at night. Then four of us girls slept in +two beds in a kind of box under the verandah stairs in the back yard. We +had to leave the window open to get air, and in the middle of the first +night a light woke me up and a man was staring through the window at us +with a match in his hand. I wanted the twelve shillings so I stood it for +a week and, then got another place." + +"What sort was that?" + +"Oh! A respectable place, you know. Kept up appearances and locked up the +butter. The woman said to me, when I'd brought my box, 'I'm going to call +you Mary, I always call my girls Mary.' I slept in a dark close den off +the kitchen, full of cockroaches that frightened the wits out of me. I +was afraid to eat as much as I wanted because she looked at me so. I +couldn't rest a minute but she was hunting me up to see what I was doing. +I hadn't anybody to talk with or eat with and my one night out I had to +be in by ten. I was so miserable that I went back to slop-work. That's +what Mrs. Somerville is doing." + +"It isn't all honey, then. I thought town servant girls had a fair time +of it." + +"An occasional one does, though they all earn their money, but most have +a hard time of it. I don't mean all places are like mine were, but +there's no liberty. A working girl's liberty is scanty enough, goodness +knows"--she spoke scornfully--"but at least she mixes with her own +kind and is on an equality with most she meets. When her work is over, +however long it is, she can do just exactly as she likes until it starts +again. A servant girl hasn't society or that liberty. For my part I'd +rather live on bread again than be at the orders of any woman who +despised me and not be able to call a single minute of time my own. +They're so ignorant, most of these women who have servants, they don't +know how to treat a girl any more than most of their husbands know how to +treat a horse." + +The naive bush simile pleased Ned a little and he laughed, but soon +relapsed again into silence. Then Nellie spoke of "Paddy's Market," one +of the sights of Sydney, which she would like him to see. Accordingly +they strolled to his hotel, where he put on a clean shirt and a collar +and a waistcoat, while she waited, looking into the shops near by; then +they strolled slowly Haymarketwards, amid the thronging Saturday night +crowds that overflowed the George-street pavement into the roadway. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +SATURDAY NIGHT IN PADDY'S MARKET. + +Paddy's Market was in its glory, the weekly glory of a Sydney Saturday +night, of the one day in the week when the poor man's wife has a few +shillings and when the poor caterer for the poor man's wants gleans in +the profit field after the stray ears of corn that escape the +machine-reaping of retail capitalism. It was filled by a crushing, +hustling, pushing mass of humans, some buying, more bartering, most swept +aimlessly along in the living currents that moved ceaselessly to and fro. +In one of these currents Ned found himself caught, with Nellie. He +struggled for a short time, with elbows and shoulders, to make for +himself and her a path through the press; experience soon taught him to +forego attempting the impossible and simply to drift, as everybody else +did, on the stream setting the way they would go. + +He found himself, looking around as he drifted, in a long low arcade, +brilliant with great flaring lights. Above was the sparkle of glass +roofing, on either hand a walling of rough stalls, back and forward a +vista of roofing and stalls stretching through distant arches, which were +gateways, into outer darkness, which was the streets. On the stalls, as +he could see, were thousands of things, all cheap and most nasty. + +What were there? What were not there? Boots and bootlaces, fish and china +ornaments, fruit, old clothes and new clothes, flowers and plants and +lollies, meat and tripe and cheese and butter and bacon! Cheap +music-sheets and cheap jewellery! Stockings and pie-dishes and bottles of +ink! Everything that the common people buy! Anything by which a penny +could be turned by those of small capital and little credit in barter +with those who had less. + +One old man's face transfixed him for a moment, clung to his memory +afterwards, the face of an old man, wan and white, greybearded and +hollow-eyed, that was thrust through some hosiery hanging on a rod at the +back of a stall. Nobody was buying there, nobody even looked to buy as +Ned watched for a minute; the stream swept past and the grizzled face +stared on. It had no body, no hands even, it was as if hung there, a +trunkless head. It was the face of a generation grown old, useless and +unloved, which lived by the crumbs that fall from Demos' table and waited +wearily to be gone. It expressed nothing, that was the pain in it. It was +haggard and grizzled and worn out, that was all. It know itself no good +to anybody, know that labouring was a pain and thinking a weariness, and +hope the delusion of fools, and life a vain mockery. It asked none to +buy. It did not move. It only hung there amid the dark draping of its +poor stock and waited. + +Would he himself ever be like that, Ned wondered. And yet! And yet! + +All around were like this. All! All! All! Everyone in this swarming +multitude of working Sydney. On the faces of all was misery written. +Buyers and sellers and passers-by alike were hateful of life. And if by +chance he saw now and then a fat dame at a stall or a lusty huckster +pushing his wares or a young couple, curious and loving, laughing and +joking as they hustled along arm in arm, he seemed to see on their faces +the dawning lines that in the future would stamp them also with the brand +of despair. + +The women, the poor women, they were most wretched of all; the poor +housewives in their pathetic shabbiness, their faces drawn with +child-bearing, their features shrunken with the struggling toil that +never ceases nor stays; the young girls in their sallow youth that was +not youth, with their hollow mirth and their empty faces, and their sharp +angles or their unnatural busts; the wizened children that served at the +stalls, precocious in infancy, with the wisdom of the Jew and the +impudence of the witless babe; the old crones that crawled along--the +mothers of a nation haggling for pennies as if they had haggled all their +lives long. They bore baskets, most of the girls and housewives and +crones; with some were husbands, who sometimes carried the basket but not +always; some even carried children in their arms, unable even for an hour +to escape the poor housewife's old-man-of-the-seas. + +The men were absorbed, hidden away, in the flood of wearied women. There +were men, of course, in the crowd, among the stallkeepers--hundreds. +And when one noticed them they were wearied also, or sharp like ferrets; +oppressed, overborne, or cunning, with the cunning of those who must be +cunning to live; imbruted often with the brutishness of apathy, +consciousless of the dignity of manhood, only dully patient or viciously +keen as the ox is or the hawk. Many sottish-looking, or if not sottish +with the beery texture of those whose only recreation is to be bestially +merry at the drink-shop. This was the impression in which the few who +strode with the free air of the ideal Australian workman were lost, as +the few comfortable--seeming women were lost in the general weariness +of their weary sex. + +Jollity there was none to speak of. There was an eager huckling for +bargains, or a stolid calculation of values, or a loud commendation of +wares, or an oppressive indifference. Where was the "fair" to which of +old the people swarmed, glad-hearted? Where was even the relaxed caution +of the shopping-day? Where was the gay chaffering, the boisterous +bandying of wit? Gone, all gone, and nothing left but care and sadness +and a careful counting of hard-grudged silver and pence. + +Ned turned his head once or twice to steal a glance at Nellie. He could +not tell what she thought. Her face gave no sign of her feeling. Only it +came home to him that there were none like her there, at least none like +her to him. She was sad with a stern sadness, as she had been all day, +and in that stern sadness of hers was a dignity, a majesty, that he had +not appreciated until now, when she jostled without rudeness in this +jostling crowd. This dark background of submissive yielding, of hopeless +patience, threw into full light the unbending resolution carved in every +line of her passionate face and lithesome figure. Yet he noticed now on +her forehead two faint wrinkles showing, and in the corners of her mouth +an overhanging fold; and this he saw as if reflected in a thousand +ill-made mirrors around, distorted and exaggerated and grotesqued indeed +but nevertheless the self-same marks of constant pain and struggle. + +They reached the end of the first alley and passed out to the pavement, +slippery with trodden mud. There was a little knot gathered there, a +human eddy in the centre of the pressing throng. Looking over the heads +of the loiterers, he could see in the centre of the eddy, on the kerb, by +the light that came from the gateway, a girl whose eyes were closed. She +was of an uncertain age--she might be twelve or seventeen. Beside her +was a younger child. Just then she began to sing. He and Nellie waited. +He knew without being told that the singer was blind. + +It was a hymn she sang, an old-fashioned hymn that has in its music the +glad rhythm of the "revival," the melodious echoing of the Methodist day. +He recollected hearing it long years before, when he went to the +occasional services held in the old bush schoolhouse by some itinerant +preacher. He recalled at once the gathering of the saints at the river; +mechanically he softly hummed the tune. It was hardly the tune the blind +girl sang though. She had little knowledge of tune, apparently. Her +cracked discordant voice was unspeakably saddening. + +This blind girl was the natural sequence to the sphinx-like head that he +had seen amid the black stockings. Her face was large and flat, +youthless, ageless, crowned with an ugly black hat, poorly ribboned; her +hands were clasped clumsily on the skirt of her poor cotton dress, +ill-fitting. There was no expression in her singing, no effort to +express, no instinctive conception of the idea. The people only listened +because she was blind and they were poor, and so they pitied her. The +beautiful river of her hymn meant nothing, to her or to them. It might +be; it might not be; it was not in question. She cried to them that she +was blind and that the blind poor must eat if they would live and that +they desire to live despite the city by-laws. She begged, this blind +girl, standing with rent shoes in the sloppy mud. In Sydney, in 1889, in +the workingman's paradise, she stood on the kerb, this blind girl, and +begged--begged from her own people. And in their poverty, their +weariness, their brutishness, they pitied her. None mocked, and many +paused, and some gave. + +They never thought of her being an impostor. They did not pass her on to +the hateful charity that paid parasites dole out for the rich. They did +not think that she made a fortune out of her pitifulness and hunt her +with canting harshness as a nuisance and a cheat. Her harsh voice did not +jar on them. Her discords did not shock their supersensitive ears. They +only knew that they, blinded in her stead, must beg for bread and shelter +while good Christians glut themselves and while fat law-makers whitewash +the unpleasant from the sight of the well-to-do. In her helplessness they +saw, unknowing it, their own helplessness, saw in her Humanity wronged +and suffering and in need. Those who gave gave to themselves, gave as an +impulsive offering to the divine impulse which drives the weak together +and aids them to survive. + +Ned wanted to give the blind girl something but he felt ashamed to give +before Nellie. He fingered a half-crown in his pocket, with a bushman's +careless generosity. By skilful manoeuvring and convenient yielding to +the pressure of the crowd he managed to get near the blind girl as she +finished her hymn. Nellie turned round, looking away--he thought +afterwards: was it intentionally?--and he slipped his offering into the +singer' fingers like a culprit. Then he walked off hastily with his +companion, as red and confused as though he had committed some dastardly +act. Just as they reached the second arcade they heard another discordant +hymn rise amid the shuffling din. + +There were no street-walkers in Paddy's Market, Ned could see. He had +caught his foot clumsily on the dress of one above the town-hall, a +dashing demi-mondaine with rouged cheeks and unnaturally bright eyes and +a huge velvet-covered hat of the Gainsborough shape and had been covered +with confusion when she turned sharply round on him with a "Now, clumsy, +I'm not a door-mat." Then he had noticed that the sad sisterhood were out +in force where the bright gas-jets of the better-class shops illuminated +the pavement, swaggering it mostly where the kerbs were lined with young +fellows, fairly-well dressed as a rule, who talked of cricket and race +horses and boating and made audible remarks concerning the women, grave +and gay, who passed by in the throng. Nearing the poorer end of +George-street, they seemed to disappear, both sisterhood and kerb +loungers, until near the Haymarket itself they found the larrikin element +gathered strongly under the flaring lights of hotel-bars and music hall +entrances. But in Paddy's Market itself there were not even larrikins. +Ned did not even notice anybody drunk. + +He had seen drinking and drunkenness enough that day. Wherever there was +poverty he had seen viciousness flourishing. Wherever there was despair +there was a drowning of sorrow in drink. They had passed scores of public +houses, that afternoon, through the doors of which workmen were +thronging. Coming along George street, they had heard from more than one +bar-room the howling of a drunken chorus. Men had staggered by them, and +women too, frowsy and besotted. But there was none of this in Paddy's +Market. It was a serious place, these long dingy arcades, to which people +came to buy cheaply and carefully, people to whom every penny was of +value and who had none to throw away, just then at least, either on a +brain-turning carouse or on a painted courtesan. The people here were sad +and sober and sorrowful. It seemed to Ned that here was collected, as in +the centre of a great vortex, all the pained and tired and ill-fed and +wretched faces that he had been seeing all day. The accumulation of +misery pressed on him till it sickened him at the heart. It felt as +though something clutched at his throat, as though by some mechanical +means his skull was being tightened on his brain. His thoughts were +interrupted by an exclamation from Nellie. + +"There's a friend of mine," she explained, making her way through the +crowd to a brown-bearded man who was seated on the edge of an empty +stall, apparently guarding a large empty basket in which were some white +cloths. The man's features were fine and his forehead massive, his face +indicating a frail constitution and strong intellectuality. He wore an +apron rolled up round his waist. He seemed very poor. + +"How d'ye do, Miss Lawton?" said he getting off the stall and shaking +hands warmly. "It's quite an age since I saw you. You're looking as well +as ever." Ned saw that his thin face beamed as he spoke and that his dark +brown eyes, though somewhat hectic, wore singularly beautiful. + +"I'm well, thanks," said Nellie, beaming in return. "And how are you? You +seem browner than you did. What have you been doing to yourself?" + +"Me! I've been up the country a piece trying my hand at farming. Jones is +taking up a selection, you know, and I've been helping him a little now +times aren't very brisk. I'm keeping fairly well, very fairly, I'm glad +to say." + +"This is Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Sim," introduced Nellie; the men shook hands. + +"Come inside out of the rush," invited Sim, making room for them in the +entrance-way of the stall. "We haven't got any armchairs, but it's not so +bad up on the table here if you're tired." + +"I'm not tired," said Nellie, leaning against the doorway. Ned sat up on +the stall by her side; his feet were sore, unused to the hard paved city +streets. + +"I suppose Mr. Hawkins is one of us," said Sim, perching himself up +again. + +"I don't know what you call 'one of us,'" answered Nellie, with a smile. +"He's a beginner. Some day he may get as far as you and Jones and the +rest of the dynamiters." + +Sim laughed genially. "Do you know, I really believe that Jones would use +dynamite if he got an opportunity," he commented. "I'm not joking. I'm +positively convinced of it." + +"Has he got it as bad as that?" asked Nellie. Ned began to feel +interested. He also noticed that Sim used book-words. + +"Has he got it as bad as that! 'Bad' isn't any name for it. He's the +stubbornest man I over met, and he's full of the most furious hatred +against the capitalists. He has it as a personal feeling. Then the life +he's got is sufficient to drive a man mad." + +"Selecting is pretty hard," agreed Nellie, sadly. + +"Nellie and I know a little about that, Mr. Sim," said Ned. + +"Well, Jones' selection is a hard one," went on Sim, goodhumouredly. "I +prefer to sell trotters, when I sell out like this, to attempting it. The +soil is all stones, and there is not a drop of water when the least +drought comes on. Poor Jones toils like a team of horses and hardly gets +sufficient to keep him alive. I never saw a man work as he does. For a +man who thinks and has ideas to be buried like that in the bush is +terrible. He has no one to converse with. He goes mooning about sometimes +and muttering to himself enough to frighten one into a fit." + +"Does he still do any printing?" asked Nellie, archly. + +"Oh, the printing," answered Sim, laughing again. "He initiated me into +the art of wood-engraving. You see, Mr. Hawkins"--turning to Ned-- +"Jones hasn't got any type, and of course he can't afford to buy it, but +he's got hold of a little second-hand toy printing press. To print from +he takes a piece, of wood, cut across the grain and rubbed smooth with +sand, and cuts out of it the most revolutionary and blood-curdling +leaflets, letter by letter. If you only have patience it's quite easy +after a few weeks' practice." + +"Does he print them?" asked Ned + +"Print them! I should say he did. Every old scrap of paper he can collect +or got sent him he prints his leaflets on and gets them distributed all +over the country. Many a night I've sat up assisting with the pottering +little press. Talk about Nihilism! Jones vows that there is only one way +to cure things and that is to destroy the rule of Force." + +"He's along while starting," remarked Nellie with a slight sneer. "Those +people who talk so much never do anything." + +"Oh, Jones isn't like that," answered Sim, with cheerful confidence. +"He'll do anything that he thinks is worth while. But I suppose I'm +horrifying you, Mr. Hawkins? Miss Lawton here knows what we are and is +accustomed to our talk." + +"It'll take considerable to horrify me," replied Ned, standing down as +Nellie straightened herself out for a move-on. "You can blow the whole +world to pieces for all I care. There's not much worth watching in it as +far as I can see." + +"You're pretty well an anarchist," said the brown-bearded trotter-seller, +his kindly intellectual face lighted up. "It'll come some day, that's one +satisfaction. Do you think that many here will regret it?" He waved his +hand to include the crowd that moved to and fro before them, its voices +covered with the din of its dragging feet. + +"That'll do, Sim!" said Nellie. "Don't stuff Ned's head with those absurd +anarchisticall night-mares of yours. We're going; we've got somewhere to +go. Good-bye! Tell Jones you saw me when you write, and remember me to +him, will you? I like him--he's so good-hearted, though he does rave." + +"He's as good-hearted a man as there is in New South Wales," corroborated +Sim, shaking hands. "I'm expecting to meet a friend--here or I'd stroll +along. Good-bye! Glad to have met you, Mr. Hawkins." + +He re-mounted the stall again as they moved off. In another minute he was +lost to their sight as they were swallowed up once more in the living +tide that ebbed and flowed through Paddy's Market. + +After that Ned did not notice much, so absorbed was he. He vaguely knew +that they drifted along another arcade and then crossed a street to an +open cobble-paved space where there were shooting-tunnels and +merry-go-rounds and try-your-weights and see-how-much-you-lifts. He +looked dazedly at wizen-faced lads who gathered round ice-cream stalls, +and at hungry folks who ate stewed peas. Everything seemed grimy and +frayed and sordid; the flaring torches smelt of oil; those who shot, or +ate, or rode, by spending a penny, were the envied of standers-by. Amid +all this drumming and hawking and flaring of lights were swarms of boys +and growing girls, precocious and vicious and foul-tongued. + +Ten o'clock struck. "For God's sake, let us get out of this, Nellie!" +cried Ned, as the ringing bell-notes roused him. + +"Have you had enough of Sydney?" she asked, leading the way out. + +"I've had enough of every place," he answered hotly. She did not say any +more. + +As they stood in George-street, waiting for their 'bus, a high-heeled, +tightly-corsetted, gaily-hatted larrikiness flounced out of the side door +of a hotel near by. A couple of larrikin acquaintances were standing +there, shrivelled young men in high-heeled pointed-toed shoes, belled +trousers, gaudy neckties and round soft hats tipped over the left ear. + +"Hello, you blokes!" cried the larrikiness, slapping one on the shoulder. +"Isn't this a blank of a time you're having?" + +It was her ideal of pleasure, hers and theirs, to parade the street or +stand in it, to gape or be gaped at. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +WERE THEY CONSPIRATORS? + +Neither Ned nor Nellie spoke as they journeyed down George street in the +rumbling 'bus. "I've got tickets," was all she said as they entered the +ferry shed at the Circular Quay. They climbed to the upper deck of the +ferry boat in silence. He got up when she did and went ashore by her side +without a word. He did not notice the glittering lights that encircled +the murky night. He did not even know if it were wet or fine, or whether +the moon shone or not. He was in a daze. The horrors of living stunned +him. The miseries of poor Humanity choked him. The foul air of these +noisome streets sickened him. The wretched faces he had seen haunted him. +The oaths of the gutter children and the wailing of the blind beggar-girl +seemed to mingle in a shriek that shook his very soul. + +If he could have persuaded himself that the bush had none of this, it +would have been different. But he could not. The stench of the stifling +shearing-sheds and of the crowded sleeping huts where men are packed in +rows like trucked sheep came to him with the sickening smell of the +slums. On the faces of men in the bush he had seen again and again that +hopeless look as of goaded oxen straining through a mud-hole, that utter +degradation, that humble plea for charity. He had known them in Western +Queensland often in spite of all that was said of the free, brave bush. +It was not new to him, this dark side of life; that was the worst of it. +It had been all along and he had known that it had been, but never before +had he understood the significance of it, never before had he realised +how utterly civilisation has failed. And this was what crushed him--the +hopelessness of it all, the black despair that seemed to fill the +universe, the brutal weariness of living, the ceaseless round of sorrow +and sin and shame and unspeakable misery. + +Often in the bush it had come to him, lying sleepless at night under the +star-lit sky, all alone excepting for the tinkling of his horse-bell: +"What is to be the end for me? What is there to look forward to?" And his +heart had sunk within him at the prospect. For what was in front? What +could be? Shearing and waiting for shearing--that was his life. Working +over the sweating sheep under the hot iron shed in the sweltering summer +time; growing sick and losing weight and bickering with the squatter till +the few working months wore over; then an occasional job, but mostly +enforced idling till the season came round again; looking for work from +shed to shed; struggling against conditions; agitating; organising; and +in the future years, aged too soon, wifeless and childless, racked with +rheumatism, shaken with fevers, to lie down to die on the open plain +perchance or crawl, feebled and humbled, to the State-charity of Dunwich. +He used to shut his eyes to force such thoughts from him, fearing lest he +go mad, as were those travelling swagmen he met sometimes, who muttered +always to themselves and made frantic gestures as they journeyed, +solitary, through the monotonous wilderness. He had flung himself into +unionism because there was nothing else that promised help or hope and +because he hated the squatters, who took, as he looked at it, +contemptible advantage of the bushmen. And he had felt that with unionism +men grew better and heartier, gambling less and debating more, drinking +less and planning what the union would do when it grew strong enough. He +had worked for the union before it came, had been one of those who +preached it from shed to shed and argued for it by smouldering camp fires +before turning in. And he had seen the union feeling spread until the +whole Western country throbbed with it and until the union itself started +into life at the last attempt of the squatter to force down wages and was +extending itself now as fast as even he could wish to see it. "We only +want what is fair," he had told Nellie; "we're not going in for anything +wild. So long as we get a pound a hundred and rations at a fair figure +we're satisfied." And Nellie had shown him things which had struck him +dumb and broken through the veneer of satisfaction that of late had +covered over his old doubts and fears. + +"What is to be the end for me?" he used to think, then force himself not +to think in terror. Now, he himself seemed so insignificant, the union he +loved so seemed so insignificant, he was only conscious for the time +being of the agony of the world at large, which dulled him with the +reflex of its pain. Oh, these puny foul-tongued children! Oh, these +haggard weary women! Oh, these hopeless imbruted men! Oh, these young +girls steeped in viciousness, these awful streets, this hateful life, +this hell of Sydney. And beyond it--hell, still hell. Ah, he knew it +now, unconsciously, as in a swoon one hears voices. The sorrow of it all! +The hatefulness of it all! The weariness of it all! Why do we live? +Wherefore? For what end, what aim? The selector, the digger, the bushman, +as the townman, what has life for them? It is in Australia as all over +the world. Wrong triumphs. Life is a mockery. God is not. At least, so it +came gradually to Ned as he walked silently by Nellie's side. + +They had turned down a tree-screened side road, descending again towards +the harbour. Nellie stopped short at an iron gate, set in a hedge of some +kind. A tree spanned the gateway with its branches, making the gloomy +night still darker. The click of the latch roused her companion. + +"Do you think it's any good living?" he asked her. + +She did not answer for a moment or two, pausing in the gateway. A break +in the western sky showed a grey cloud faintly tinged with silver. She +looked fixedly up at it and Ned, his eyes becoming accustomed to the +gloom, thought he saw her face working convulsively. But before he could +speak again, she turned round sharply and answered, without a tremor in +her voice: + +"I suppose that's a question everybody must answer for themselves." + +"Well, do you?" + +"For myself, yes." + +"For others, too?" + +"For most others, no." The intense bitterness of her tone stamped her +words into his brain. + +"Then why for you any more than anybody else?" + +"I'll tell you after. We must go in. Be careful! You'd better give me +your hand!" + +She led the way along a short paved path, down three or four stone steps, +then turned sharply along a small narrow verandah. At the end of the +verandah was a door. Nellie felt in the darkness for the bell-button and +gave two sharp rings. + +"Where are you taking me, Nellie?" he asked. "This is too swell a place +for me. It looks as though everybody was gone to bed." + +In truth he was beginning to think of secret societies and mysterious +midnight meetings. Only Nellie had not mentioned anything of the kind and +he felt ashamed of acknowledging his suspicions by enquiring, in case it +should turn out to be otherwise. Besides, what did it matter? There was +no secret society which he was not ready to join if Nellie was in it, for +Nellie knew more about such things than he did. It was exactly the place +for meetings, he thought, looking round. Nobody would have dreamt that it +was only half an hour ago that they two had left Paddy's Market. Here was +the scent of damp earth and green trees and heavily perfumed flowers; the +rustling of leaves; the fresh breath of the salt ocean. In the darkness, +he could see only a semi-circling mass of foliage under the sombre sky, +no other houses nor sign of such. He could not even hear the rumbling of +the Sydney streets nor the hoarse whispering of the crowded city; not +even a single footfall on the road they had come down. For the faint +lap-lap-lapping of water filled the pauses, when the puffy breeze failed +to play on its leafy pipes. Here a Mazzini might hide himself and here +the malcontents of Sydney might gather in safety to plot and plan for the +overthrow of a hateful and hated "law and order." So he thought. + +"Oh, they're not gone to bed," replied Nellie, confidently. "They live at +the back. It overlooks the harbour that side. And you'll soon see they're +not as swell as they look. They're splendid people. Don't be afraid to +say just what you think." + +"I'm not afraid of that, if you're not." + +"Ah, there's someone." + +An inside door opened and closed again, then they heard a heavy footstep +coming, which paused for a moment, whereat a flood of colour streamed +through a stained glass fanlight over the door. + +"That's Mr. Stratton," announced Nellie. + +Next moment the door at which they stood was opened by a bearded man, +wearing loose grey coat and slippers. + +"Hello, Nellie!" exclaimed this possible conspirator, opening the door +wide. "Connie said it was your ring. Come straight in, both of you. Good +evening, sir. Nellie's friends are our friends and we've heard so much of +Ned Hawkins that we seem to have known you a long while." He held out his +hand and shook Ned's warmly, giving a strong, clinging, friendly grip, +not waiting for any introduction. "Of course, this is Mr. Hawkins, +Nellie?" he enquired, seriously, turning to that young woman, whose hands +he took in both of his while looking quizzingly from Ned to her and back +to Ned again. + +"Yes, of course," she answered, laughing. Ned laughed. The possible +conspirator laughed as he answered, dropping her hands and turning to +shut the door. + +"Well, it mightn't have been. By the way, Nellie, you must have sent an +astral warning that you were coming along. We were just talking about +you." + +* * * * * + +They had been discussing Nellie in the Stratton circle, as our best +friends will when we are so fortunate as to interest them. + +In the pretty sitting-room that overlooked the rippling water, Mrs. +Stratton perched on the music stool, was giving, amid many interjections, +an animated account of the opera: a dark-haired, grey-eyed, full-lipped +woman of 30 or so, with decidedly large nose and broad rounded forehead, +somewhat under the medium height apparently but pleasingly plump as her +evening dress disclosed. She talked rapidly, in a sweet expressive voice +that had a strange charm. Her audience consisted of an ugly little man, +with greyish hair, who stood at a bookcase in the corner and made his +remarks over his shoulder; a gloomy young man, who sat in a reclining +chair, with his arm hanging listlessly by his side; and a tall +dark-moustached handsome man, broadly built, who sat on the edge of a +table smoking a wooden pipe, and who, from his observations, had +evidently accompanied her home from the theatre after the second act. +There was also her husband, who leant over her, his back turned to the +others, unhooking her fur-edged opera cloak, a tall fair brown bearded +man, evidently the elder by some years, whose blue eyes were half hidden +beneath a strongly projected forehead. He fumbled with the hooks of the +cloak, passing his hands beneath it, smiling slyly at her the while. She, +flushing like a girl at the touch, talked away while pressing her knee +responsively against his. It was a little love scene being enacted of +which the others were all unconscious unless for a general impression +that this long-married couple were as foolishly in love as ever and +indulged still in all the mild raptures of lovers. + +"Ever so much obliged," she said, pausing in her talk and looking at him +at last, as he drew the cloak from her shoulders. + +"You should be," he responded, straightening himself out. "It's quite a +labour unhooking one of you fine ladies." + +"Don't call me names, Harry, or I'll get somebody else to take it off +next time. I'm afraid it's love's labour lost. It's quite chilly, and I +think I'll wrap it round me." + +"Well, if you will go about half undressed," he commented, putting the +cloak round her again. + +"Half undressed! You are silly. The worst of this room is there's no fire +in it. I think one needs a fire even in summer time, when it's damp, to +take the chill off. Besides, as Nellie says, a blazing fire is the most +beautiful picture you can put in a room." + +"Isn't Nellie coming to-night?" asked the man who smoked the wooden pipe. + +"Why, of course, Ford. Haven't I told you she said on Thursday that she +would come and bring the wild untamed bushman with her? Nellie always +keeps her word." + +"She's a wonderful girl," remarked Ford. + +"Wonderful? Why wonderful is no name for it," declared Stratton, lighting +a cigar at one of the piano candles. "She is extraordinary." + +"I tell Nellie, sometimes, that I shall get jealous of her, Harry gets +quite excited over her virtues, and thinks she has no faults, while poor +I am continually offending the consistencies." + +"Who is Nellie?" enquired the ugly little man, turning round suddenly +from the book case which he had been industriously ransacking. + +"I like Geisner," observed Mrs. Stratton, pointing at the little man. "He +sees everything, he hears everything, he makes himself at home, and when +he wants to know anything he asks a straightforward question. I think +you've met her, though, Geisner." + +"Perhaps. What is her other name?" + +"Lawton--Nellie Lawton. She came here once or twice when you were here +before, I think, and for the last year or so she's been our--our-- +what do you call it, Harry? You know--the thing that South Sea +Islanders think is the soul of a chief." + +"You're ahead of me, Connie. But it doesn't matter; go on." + +"There's nothing to go on about. You ought to recollect her, Geisner. I'm +sure you met her here." + +"I think I do. Wasn't she a tall, between-colours girl, quite young, with +a sad face and queer stern mouth--a trifle cruel, the mouth, if I +recollect. She used to sit across there by the piano, in a plain black +dress, and no colour at all except one of your roses." + +"Good gracious! What a memory! Have you got us all ticketed away like +that?" + +"It's habit," pleaded Geisner. "She didn't say anything, and only that +she had a strong face, I shouldn't have noticed her. Has she developed?" + +"Something extraordinary," struck in Stratton, puffing great clouds of +smoke. "She speaks French, she reads music, she writes uncommonly good +English, and in some incomprehensible way she has formed her own ideas of +Art. Not bad for a dress-making girl who lives in a Sydney back street +and sometimes works sixteen hours a day, is it?" + +"Well, no. Only you must recollect, Stratton, that if she's been in your +place pretty often, most of the people she meets here must have given her +a wrinkle or two." + +"You're always in opposition, Geisner," declared Mrs. Stratton. "I never +heard you agree with anybody else's statement yet. Nellie is wonderful. +You can't shake our faith in that. There is but one Womanity and Nellie +is its prophet." + +"It's all right about her getting wrinkles here, Geisner," contributed +Ford, "for of course she has. It was what made her, Mrs. Stratton getting +hold of her. But at the same time she is extraordinary. When she's been +stirred up I've beard her tackle the best of the men who come here and +down them. On their own ground too. I don't see how on earth she has +managed to do it in the time. She's only twenty now." + +"I'll tell you, if you'll light the little gas stove for me, Ford, and +put the kettle on," said Mrs. Stratton, drawing her cloak more tightly +round her shoulders. "I know some of you men don't believe it, but it is +the truth nevertheless that Feeling is higher than Reason. Isn't it +chilly? You see, after all, you can only reason as to why you feel. Well, +Nellie feels. She is an artist. She has got a soul." + +"What do you call an artist?" queried Geisner, partly for the sake of the +argument, partly to see the little woman flare up. + +"An artist is one who feels--that's all. Some people can fashion an +image in wood or stone, or clay, or paint, or ink, and then they imagine +that they are the only artists, when in reality three-quarters of them +aren't artists at all but the most miserable mimics and imitators-- +highly trained monkeys, you know. Nellie is an artist. She can understand +dumb animals and hear music in the wind and the waves, and all sorts of +things. And to her the world is one living thing, and she can enjoy its +joys and worry over its sorrows, and she understands more than most why +people act as they do because she feels enough to put herself in their +place. She is such an artist that she not only feels herself but impels +those she meets to feel. Besides, she has a freshness that is rare +nowadays. I'm very fond of Nellie." + +"Evidently," said Geisner; "I've got quite interested. Is she dressmaking +still?" + +"Yes; I wanted her to come and live with us but she wouldn't. Then Harry +got her a better situation in one of the government departments. You know +how those things are fixed. But she wouldn't have it. You see she is +trying to get the girls into unions." + +"Then she is in the movement?" asked Geisner, looking up quickly. + +Mrs. Stratton lifted her eye-brows. "In the movement! Why, haven't you +understood? My dear Geisner, here we've been talking for fifteen minutes +and--there's Nellie's ring. Harry, go and open the door while I pour +the coffee." + +The opera cloak dropped from her bare shoulders as she rose from the +stool. She had fine shoulders, and altogether was of fashionable +appearance, excepting that there was about her the impalpable, but none +the less pronounced, air of the woman who associates with men as a +comrade. As she crossed the room to the verandah she stopped beside the +gloomy young man, who had said nothing. He looked up at her +affectionately. + +"You are wrong to worry," she said, softly. "Besides, it makes you bad +company. You haven't spoken to a soul since we came in. For a punishment +come and cut the lemon." + +They went out on to the verandah together, her hand resting on his arm. +There, on a broad shelf, a kettle of water was already boiling over a gas +stove. + +"What are you thinking of," she chattered. "We shall have some more of +your ferocious poetry, I suppose. I notice that about you, Arty. Whenever +you get into your blue fits you always pour out blood and thunder verses. +The bluer you are the more volcanic you get. When you have it really bad +you simply breathe dynamite, barricades, brimstone, everything that is +emphatic. What is it this time?" + +He laughed. "Why won't you let a man stay blue when he feels like it?" + +She did not seem to think an answer necessary, either to his question or +her own. "Have you a match?" she went on. "Ah! There is one thing in +which a man is superior to woman. He can generally get a light without +running all over the house. That is so useful of him. It's his one good +point. I can't imagine how any woman can tolerate a man who doesn't +smoke. I suppose one gets used to it, though." + +He laughed again, turning up the gas-jet he had lighted, which flickered +in the puffs of wind that came off the water below. "I could tell you a +good story about that." + +"That is what I like, a good story. Gas is a nuisance. I wish we had +electric lights. Sydney only wants two things to be perfect, never to +rain and moonlight all the time. Why I declare! If there aren't Hero and +Leander! Well, of all the spooniest, unsociable, selfish people, you two +are the worst. You haven't even had the kindness to let us know you were +in all the time, and you actually see Arty and me toiling away at the +coffee without offering to help. I've given you up long ago, Josie, but I +did expect better things of you, George." + +While she had been speaking, pouring the boiling water into the +coffee-pot meanwhile, Arty cutting lemons into slices, the two lovers +discovered by the flickering gaslight got out of a hammock slung across +the end of the verandah and came forward. + +"You seemed to be getting along so well we didn't like to disturb you, +Mrs. Stratton," explained George, shaking hands. He was bronzed and +bright-eyed, not handsome but strong and kindly-looking; he had a kindly +voice, too; he wore a white flannel boating costume under a dark cloth +coat. Josie, also wore a sailor dress of dark blue with loose white +collar and vest; a scarlet wrap covered her short curly hair; her skin +was milkwhite and her features small and irregular. Josie and Connie +could never be mistaken for anything but sisters, in spite of the eleven +years between them. Only Josie was pretty and plastic and passionless, +and Connie was not pretty nor plastic nor passionless. They were the +contrast one sees so often in children kin-born of the summer and autumn +of life. + +"Don't tell me!" said Mrs. Stratton. "I know all about that." + +"Connie knows," said Josie, putting her arms over her sister's shoulders +--the younger was the taller--and drawing her face back. "Do you know, +Arty, I daren't go into a room in a house I know without knocking. The +lady has been married twelve years and when her husband is away he writes +to her every day, and though they have quite big children they send them +to bed and sit for hours in the same chair, billing and cooing. I've +known them--" + +"I wonder who they can be," interrupted Mrs. Stratton, twisting herself +free, her face as red as Josie's shawl. "There's Nellie's voice. They'll +be wondering what we're doing here. Do come along!" And seizing a tray of +cups and saucers, on which she had placed the coffeepot and the saucer of +sliced lemon, she beat a dignified retreat amid uproarious laughter. + +* * * * * + +Ned found himself in a narrow hall that ran along the side of the house +at right angles to the verandah and the road. The floor was covered with +oil-cloth; the walls were hung with curios, South Sea spears and masks, +Japanese armour, boomerangs, nullahs, a multitude of quaint workings in +wood and grass and beads. Against the wall facing the door was an +umbrella stand and hat rack of polished wood, with a mirror in the +centre. There were two pannelled doors to the left; a doorless stairway, +leading downwards, and a large window to the right; at the end of the +passage a glazed door, with coloured panes. A gas jet burned in a frosted +globe and seeing him look at this Stratton explained the contrivance for +turning the light down to a mere dot which gave no gleam but could be +turned up again in a second. + +"My wife is enthusiastic about household invention," he concluded, +smiling. "She thinks it assists in righting women's wrongs. Eh, Nellie? +The freed and victorious female will put her foot on abject man some day? +Eh?" + +Nellie laughed again. She held the handle of the nearest door in one +hand. Mr. Stratton had turned to take Ned's hat, apologising for +neglecting to think of that before. Ned saw the girl's other hand move +quickly up to where the gas bracket met the wall and then the light went +out altogether. "That's for poking fun," he heard her say. The door +slammed, a key turned in it and he heard her laughing on the other side. + +"Larrikin!" shouted Stratton, boisterously. "Come out here and see what +we'll do to you. She's always up to her tricks," he added, striking a +match and turning the gas on again. "She is a fine girl. We are as fond +of her as though she were one of the family. She is one of the family, +for that matter." + +Ned hardly believed his ears or his eyes, either. He had not seen Nellie +like this before. She had been grave and rather stern. Only at the gate +he had thought he detected in her voice a bitterness which answered well +to his own bitter heartache; he had thought he saw on her face the +convulsive suppression of intense emotion. Certainly this very day she +had shown him the horrors of Sydney and taught him, as if by magic, the +misery of living. Now, she laughed lightly and played a trick with the +quickness of a thoughtless school girl. Besides, how did it happen that +she was so at home in this house of well-to-do people, and so familiar +with this man of a cultured class? Ned did not express his thoughts in +such phrases of course, but that was the effect of them. He had laughed, +but he was still sad and sick at heart and somehow these pleasantries +jarred on him. It looked as if there were some secret understanding +certainly, some bond that he could not distinguish, between the girl of +the people and this courteous gentleman. Nellie had told him simply that +the Strattons were "interested in the Labour movement" and were very +nice, but Stratton spoke of her as "one of the family" and she turned out +his gas and locked one of his own doors in his face. If it was a secret +society, well and good, no matter how desperate its plan. But why did +they laugh and joke and play tricks? He was not in the humour. For the +time his soul abhorred what seemed to him frippery. He sought intuitively +to find relief in action and he began impatiently to look for it here. + +"Hurry, Nellie!" cried Stratton. "Coffee's nearly ready." + +"You won't touch me?" answered her merry voice. + +"No, we'll forgive you this once, but look out for the next time." + +She opened the door forthwith and stepped out quickly. Ned caught a +glimpse of a large bedroom through the doorway. She had taken off her hat +and gloves and smoothed the hair that lay on her neck in a heavy plait. +At the collar of the plain black dress that fell to her feet over the +curving lines of her supple figure she had placed a red rose, half blown. +She was tall and straight and graceful, more than beautiful in her strong +fresh womanhood, as much at home in such a house as this as in the +wretched room where he had watched her sewing slop-clothes that morning. +His aching heart went out towards her in a burst of unspoken feeling +which he did not know at the time to be Love. + +"Mrs. Stratton always puts a flower for me. She loves roses." So she said +to Ned, seeing him looking astonishedly at her. Then she slipped one hand +inside the arm that Stratton bent towards her, and took hold of Ned's arm +with the other. Stratton turned down the gas. Linked thus together the +three went cautiously down the dim passage hall-way, towards the glass +door through one side of which coloured light came. + +"Anybody particular here?" asked Nellie. + +"That's a nice question," retorted Stratton. "Geisner is here, if you +call him 'anybody particular.'" + +"Geisner! Is he back again?" exclaimed the girl. Ned felt her hand clutch +him nervously. A sudden repulsion to this Geisner shot through him. He +pulled his arm from her grasp. + +They had reached the end of the passage, however, and she did not notice. +Stratton turned the handle and opened the door, held back the half-drawn +curtain that hung on the further side and they passed in. "Here we are," +he cried. "Geisner says he recollects you, Nellie." + +Ned could have described the room to the details if he had been struck +blind that minute. It was a double room, long and low and not very broad, +running the whole width of the house, for there were windows on two sides +and French lights on another. The glazed door opened in the corner of the +windowless side. Opposite were the French lights, the further one swung +ajar and showing a lighted verandah beyond from which came a flutter of +voices. Beyond still were dim points of light that he took at first for +stars. Folding doors, now swung right back, divided the long +linoleum-floored room into two apartments, a studio and a sitting-room. +The studio in which they stood was littered with things strange to him; +an easel, bearing a half-finished drawing; a black-polished cabinet; a +table-desk against the window, on it slips of paper thrown carelessly +about, the ink-well open, a file full of letters, a handful of +cigarettes, a tray of tobacco ash, a bespattered palette, pens, coloured +crayons, a medley of things; a revolving office chair with a worn crimson +footrug before it; a many-shelved glass case against the blank wall, +crammed to overflowing with shells and coral and strange grasses, with +specimens of ore, with Chinese carvings, with curious lacquer-work; a +large brass-bound portfolio stand; on the painted walls plaster-casts of +hands and arms and feet, boxing gloves, fencing foils, a glaring tiger's +head, a group of photographs; in the corner, a suit of antique armour +stood sentinel over a heap of dumb-bells and Indian clubs. + +In the sitting room beyond the folded doors, a soft coloured rug carpet +lay loosely on the floor. There were easy chairs there and a red lounge +that promised softness; a square cloth-covered table; a whatnot in the +corner; fancy shelves; a pretty walnut-wood piano, gilt lined, the cover +thrown back, laden with music; on the music-stool a woman's cloak was +lying, on the piano a woman's cap. A great book-case reached from ceiling +to floor, filled with books, its shelves fringed with some scalloped red +stuff. Everywhere were nick-nacks in china, in glass, in terra-cotta, in +carved woods, in ivory; photo frames; medallions. On the walls, bright +with striped hangings, were some dainty pictures. Half concealed by the +hangings was another door. Lying about on the table, here and there on +low shelves, were more books. The ground-glass globes of the gaslights +were covered with crimson shades. There was a subdued blaze of vivid +colouring, of rich toned hues, of beautiful things loved and cherished, +over all. Sitting on the edge of the table was the moustached man who +smoked the wooden pipe. And turning round from the book-case, an open +book in his hand, was the ugly little man. Ned felt that this was +Geisner. + +The ugly little man put down his book, and came forward holding out his +hand. He smiled as he came. Ned was angered to see that when he smiled +his face became wonderfully pleasant. + +"Yes; I think we know one another, Miss Lawton," he said, meeting them on +the uncarpeted floor. + +"I am so glad you are here to-night," she replied, greeting him warmly, +almost effusively. "I recollect you so well. And Ned will know you, too +--Mr. Geisner, Mr. Hawkins." Ned felt his reluctantly extended hand +enclosed in a strong friendly clasp. + +"Hawkins is the Queenslander we were expecting," said Stratton +cheerfully. "You will excuse my familiarity, won't you?" he added, laying +his hand on Ned's shoulder. "We don't 'Mister' our friends much here. I +think it sounds cold and distant; don't you?" + +"We don't 'Mister' much where I come from," answered Ned. He felt at home +already. The atmosphere of kindness in this place stole over him and +prevented him thinking that it was too "swell" for him. + +"I don't know Queensland much----," Geisner was beginning, when the +farther verandah door was swung wide and the dark-haired little woman +swept in, tray in hand, the train of her dress trailing behind her. + +"I heard you, Nellie dear," she cried. "That unfeeling Josie was saying +the cruellest things to me. I feel as red as red." Putting the tray down +on the table she hurried to them, threw her plump bare arms round +Nellie's neck and kissed her warmly on both cheeks. Then she drew back +quickly and raised her finger threateningly. "Worrying again, Nellie, I +can tell. My word! What with you and what with Arty I'm made thoroughly +wretched. You mayn't think so to look at me, Mr. Hawkins," she rattled +on, holding out her hand to Ned; "but it is so. You see I know you. I +heard Nellie introducing you. That husband of mine must leave all +conventionalism to his guests, it seems. You're incorrigible, Harry." + +There was a welcome in her every word and look. She put him on a friendly +footing at once. + +"You have enough conventionalism to-night for us both, my fine lady," +twitted Stratton, pinching her arm. + +"Stop that! Stop, this minute! Nellie, hit him for me. Mr. Hawkins, this +is Bohemia. You do as you like. You say what you like. You are welcome +to-night for Nellie's sake. You will be welcome always because I like +your looks. I do, Harry, so there. And I'm going to call you Ned because +Nellie always does. Oh! I forgot--Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Ford. Mr. Ford +thinks he can cartoon. I don't know what you think you can do. And now, +everybody, come to coffee." + +The others came in from the verandah, still laughing, whereat Mrs. +Stratton flushed red again and denounced Josie and George for hiding +away, then introduced them and Arty to Ned. There was a babel of +conversation for awhile, Josie and George talking of their boating, +Connie and Ford of the opera, Stratton and Arty of a picture they had +seen that evening. Geisner sat by Ned and Nellie, the three chatting of +the beauty of Sydney harbour, the little man waxing indignant at the +vandalism which the naval authorities were perpetrating on Garden Island. +Mrs. Stratton, all the time, attended energetically to her coffee-pot: +Finally she served them all, in small green-patterned china cups, with +strong black coffee guiltless of milk, in each cup a slice of lemon +floating, in each saucer a biscuit. + +"I hope you like your coffee, Ned," she exclaimed, a moment after. "I +forgot to ask you. I'm always forgetting to ask newcomers. You see all +the 'regulars' like it this way." + +"I've never tasted it this way before," answered Ned. "I suppose liking +it's a habit, like smoking. I think I'll try it." + +She nodded, being engaged in slowly sipping her own. Geisner looked at +Ned keenly. There was silence for a little while, broken only by the +clatter of cups and an occasional observation. From outside came the +ceaseless lap-lap-lapping of the waves, as if rain water was gurgling +down from the roof. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +"WE HAVE SEEN THE DRY BONES BECOME MEN." + +Ned's thoughts were in tumult, as he sat balancing his spoon on his cup +after forcing himself to swallow the, to him, unpleasant drink that the +others seemed to relish so. There were no conspirators here, that was +certain. Nellie he could understand being one, even with the red rose at +her neck, but not this friendly chattering woman whose bare arms and +shoulders shimmered in the tinted light and from whose silk dress a +subtle perfume stole all over the room; and most certainly not this +pretty, mild-looking girl in sailor-costume who appeared from the +previous conversation to have passed the evening swinging in a hammock +with her sweetheart. And the men! Why, they got excited over music and +enraptured over the "tone" of somebody's painting, while Geisner had +actually gone back to the book-case, coffee cup in hand, and stood there +nibbling a biscuit and earnestly studying the titles of books. It was +pleasant, of course, too pleasant. It seemed a sin to enjoy life like +this on the very edge of the horrible pit in which the poor wore +festering like worms in an iron pot. Was it for this that Nellie had +brought him here? To idle away an evening among well-meaning people who +were "interested in the Labour movement" and in some strange way, some +whim probably, had taken to this working girl who in her plain black +dress queened them all. He looked round the room and hated it. To his +sickened soul its beauty blasphemed the lot of the toilers, insulted the +wretchedness, the foulness, the hideousness, that he had seen this very +day, that he had known and struggled against, all unconsciously, +throughout his wayward life. And Geisner, Geisner at whom Nellie was +looking fondly, Geisner who he supposed had written a book or a bit of +poetry or could play the flute, and who raved about the spoiling of a bit +of an island when the happiness of millions upon millions was being +spoiled--well, he would just like to tell Geisner what he thought of +him in emphatic bush lingo. Nellie, herself, seemed peacefully happy. Yet +Mrs. Stratton had accused her of "worrying." When Ned thought of this he +felt as he did when fording a strange creek, running a banker. He did not +know what was underneath. + +"Try a cigar, Hawkins?" asked Stratton, pushing a box towards him. + +"Thank you, but I don't smoke." + +"Don't you really! Do you know I thought all bushmen were great smokers." + +"Some are and some aren't," said Ned. "We're not all built to one pattern +any more than folks in town." + +"That's right, Ned," put in Connie, suddenly recollecting that she was +chilly. "Will you hand me my cloak, please? You see," she went on as he +brought it, "Harry imagines every bushman as just six feet high, +proportionally broad, with bristling black beard streaked with grey, +longish hair, bushy eyebrows, bloodshot eyes, moleskins, jean shirt, +leathern belt, a black pipe, a swag--you call it 'swag,' don't you?-- +over his shoulders, and a whisky bottle in his hand whenever he is +'blowing in his cheque,' which is what Nellie says you call 'going on the +spree.' Complimentary, isn't it?" + +"Connie's libelling both me and my typical bushman," said Stratton, +lighting his cigar, having passed the box around. Ned was laughing +against his will. Connie had mimicked her husband's imaginary bushman in +a kindly humorous way that was very droll. + +The musical debate had started up again behind them. Ford and George +argued for the traditional rendering of music. Nellie and Arty battled +for the musical zeit-geist, the national sense that sees through mere +notation to the spirit that breathes behind. They waxed warm and threw +authorities and quotations about, hardly waiting for each other to finish +what they wished to say. Connie turned round to the disputants and threw +herself impetuously into the quarrel, strengthening with her wit and +trained criticism the cause of the zeit-geist. Stratton, to Ned's +surprise, putting his arms over her shoulders, opposed her arguments and +controverted her assertions with unsparing keenness. Josie leaned back on +the lounge and smiled across at Ned. The smile said plainly: "It really +doesn't matter, does it?" Ned, fuming inwardly, thought it certainly did +not. What a waste of words when the world outside needed deeds! This +verbiage was as empty as the tobacco smoke which began to hang about the +room in bluish clouds. + +Suddenly Mrs. Stratton stood up. "Geisner!" she cried. "I'm ashamed of +you. You hear us getting overwhelmed by these English heresies, and you +don't come to the rescue. We have talked ourselves dry and you haven't +said a word. Who says wine?" + +Geisner slowly put down his book and went to the piano. "This is the only +argument worth the name," he said. He ran his fingers over the keys, +struck two or three chords apparently at hap-hazard, then sat down to +play. A volume of sound rose, of clashing notes in fierce, swinging +movement, a thrilling clamour of soul-stirring melody, at once short and +sharp and long-drawn, at once soft as a mother's lullaby and savage as a +hungry tiger's roar. It was the song of the world, the Marseillaise, the +song that rises in every land when the oppressed rise against the +oppressor, the song that breathes of wrongs to be revenged and of liberty +to be won, of flying foes in front and a free people marching, and of +blood shed like water for the idea that makes all nations kin. The hand +of a master struck the keys and brought the notes out, clear and +rhythmic, full strong notes that made the blood boil and the senses swim. + +As the glorious melody rose and fell, sinking to a murmur, swelling out +in heroic strains that rang like trumpet pealings, a great lump rose in +Ned's throat and a mist of unquenchable tears filled his eyes. Roget de +Lisle, dead and dust for generations, rose from the silent grave and +spoke to him, spoke as heart speaks to heart, spoke and called and lived +and breathed and was there, spoke of tortured lives and enslaved millions +and of the fetid streets of great towns and of the slower anguish of the +plundered country side, spoke of an Old Order based on the robbery of +those who labour and on their weakness and on their ignorant sloth, spoke +of virtue trampled down and little children weeping and Humanity bleeding +at every pore and womanhood shamed and motherhood made a curse, spoke of +all he hated and all he loved, pilloried the Wrong in front of him and +bade him--to arms, to arms. "To arms!" with the patriot army whose +trampling was the background of the music. "To arms!" with those whose +desperate hands feared nothing and at whose coming thrones melted and +kingdoms vanished and tyranny fled. To arms! To certain victory! To crash +forward like a flood and sweep before the armed people all those who had +worked it wrong! + +Down Ned's cheeks the great tears rolled. He did not heed them. Why did +not some one beat this mighty music through the Sydney slums, through +those hateful back streets, through those long endless rows of mortgaged +cottages and crowded apartment-houses? Why was it not carried out to the +great West, hymned from shed to shed, told of in the huts and by the +waterholes, given to the diggers in the great claims, to the drovers +travelling stock, borne wherever a man was to be found who had a wrong to +right and a long account to square? Ah! How they would all leap to it! +How they would swell its victorious chanting and gather in their +thousands and their hundred thousands to march on, march on, tramping +time to its majestic notes! If he could only take it to them! If he could +only make them feel as he felt! If he could only give to them in their +poverty and misery all this wondrous music sounding here in this +luxurious room! He could not; he could not. This Geisner could and would +not, and he who would could not. The tears rained down his cheeks because +of his utter impotence. + +The music stopped. With a start he came to himself, ashamed of his +weakness, and hastily blew his nose, fussing pretentiously with his +handkerchief. But only one had noticed him--Geisner, who seemed to see +and hear everything. Connie was sobbing quietly with her arms round +Harry's neck, holding his head closely to her as he bent over her chair; +all the while her foot beat time. Arty had suddenly grown moody again and +sat with bent head, his cigar gone out in his listless hand. Ford had got +up and was perched again on a corner of the table, smoking critically, +apparently wholly engaged in watching the smoke wreaths he blew. George +and Josie had taken each other's hands and sat breathlessly side by side +on the lounge. Nellie lay back in her chair, her face flushed, a twisted +handkerchief stretched over her eyes by both hands. + +"I think that's the official version," observed Geisner, running his +fingers softly over the keys again. + +"It's above disputation, whatever it is," remarked Ford. + +"Why should it be, if all true music isn't? And why should not this be +the best rendering?" + +He struck the grand melody again and it sounded softened, spiritualised, +purified. Its fierce clamour, its triumphant crashing, were gone. It told +of defeat and overthrow, of martyrs walking painfully to death, of prison +cells and dungeons that never see the sun, of life-work unrewarded, of +those who give their lives to Liberty and die before its shackled limbs +are struck free. But it told, too, of an ideal held more sacred than +life, rising ever from defeat, filling men's hearts and brains and +driving them still to raise again the flag of Freedom against hopeless +odds. It was a death march rolling out, the death march of sad-souled +patriots going sorrowfully to seal their faith with all their earthly +hopes and human loves and to meet, calm and pale, all that Fate has in +store. They said to Liberty: "In death we salute thee." Without seeing +her or knowing her, while the world around still slept in ignorance of +her, they gave all up for her and in darkness died. Only they knew that +there was no other way, that unless each man of himself dared to raise +the chant and march forward alone, if need be, Liberty could never be. + +"Well," said Geisner, coming unconcernedly into the circle where they sat +in dead silence. "Don't you think the last rendering is the best, and +isn't it the best simply because it expresses the composer's idea in the +particular phase that we feel most at this present time?" + +"Gracious! Don't start the argument again!" entreated Connie, vivacious +again, though her eyes were red. "You'll never convert Ford or George or +Harry here. They'll always have some explanation. Puritanism crushed the +artistic sense out of the English, and they are only getting it back +slowly by a judicious crossing with other peoples who weren't Puritanised +into Philistinism. England has no national music. She has no national +painting. She has no national sculpture. She has to borrow and adapt +everything from the Continent. I nearly said she has no art at all." + +"Here, I say," protested Ford. "Aren't you coming it a little too strong? +You've got the floor, Geisner. I've heard you stand up for English Art. +Stand up now, won't you?" + +"Does it need standing up for?" asked Geisner. "Why, Connie doesn't +forget that Puritanism with all its faults was in its day a religious +movement, that is an emotional fervour, a veritable poem. That the +Puritan cut love-locks off, wore drab, smashed painted windows and +suppressed instrumental music in churches, is no proof of their being +utterly inartistic. Their art-sense would simply find vent and expression +in other directions if it existed strongly enough. And what do we find? +This, that the Puritan period produced two of the masterpieces of English +Art--Milton's 'Paradise Lost' and Bunyan's 'Pilgrim's Progress.' As an +absolute master of English, of sentences rolling magnificently in great +waves of melodious sound, trenchant in every syllable, not to be equalled +even by Shakespeare himself, Milton stands out like a giant. As for +Bunyan, the Englishman who has never read 'Pilgrim's Progress' does not +know his mother tongue." + +"Oh! Of course, we all admit English letters," interjected Connie. + +"Do we?" answered Geisner, warming with his theme. "I'm not so sure of +that; else, why should English people themselves put forward claims to +excellencies which their nation has not got, and why should others dub +them inartistic because of certain things lacking in the national arts? +As far as music goes what has France got if you take away the +Marseillaise? It is Germany, the kin of the English, which has the modern +music. France has painting, England has literature and poetry--in that +she leads the whole world." + +"Still, to-day! How about Russia? How about France even--Flaubert, +Zola, Daudet, Ohnet, a dozen more?" + +"Still! Ay, still and ever! Will these men live as the English writers +live, think you? Look back a thousand years and see English growing, see +how it comes to be the king of languages, destined, if civilisation +lasts, to be the one language of the civilised world. There, in the +Viking age, the English sweep the seas, great burly brutes, as Taine +shows them to us, gorging on half-raw meat, swilling huge draughts of +ale, lounging naked by the sedgy brooks under the mist-softened sun that +cannot brown their fair pink bodies, until hunger drives them forth to +foray; drinking and fighting and feasting and shouting and loving as Odin +loved Frega. And the most honoured of all was the singer who sang in +heroic verse of their battling and their love-making and their hunting. +English was conceived then, and it was worthy conceiving." + +"Other nations have literature," maintained Connie. + +"What other living nations?" demanded Geisner. "Look at English! An +endless list, such as surely before the world never saw. You cannot even +name them all. Spencer and Chaucer living still. Shakespeare, whoever he +was, immortal for all time, dimming like a noontide sun a galaxy of stars +that to other nations would be suns indeed! Take Marlow, Beaumont and +Fletcher, a dozen playwrights! The Bible, an imperishable monument of the +people's English! Milton, Bunyan and Baxter, Wycherly and his fellows! +Pope, Ben Johnson, Swift, Goldsmith, Junius, Burke, Sheridan! Scott and +Byron, De Quincey, Shelley, Lamb, Chatterton! Moors and Burns wrote in +English too! Look at Wordsworth, Dickens, George Eliott, Swinburne, +Tennyson, the Brontes! There are gems upon gems in the second class +writers, books that in other countries would make the writer immortal. +Over the sea, in America, Poe, Whittier, Bret Harte, Longfellow, Emerson, +Whitman. Here in Australia, the seed springing up! Even in South Africa, +that Olive Schreiner writing like one inspired. By heavens! There are +moments when I feel it must be a proud thing to be an Englishman." + +"Bravo, Geisner! You actually make me for the minute," cried Ford. + +"You should be! Has any other people anything to compare? There is not +one other whose great writers could not almost be counted on the fingers +of one hand. Spain has Cervantes and he is always being thrown at us. +Germany has Goethe, Heine, Schiller. France so seldom sees literary +genius that a man like Victor Hugo sends her into hysterics of +self-admiration. But I'm afraid I'm lecturing." + +"It's all right, Geisner," remarked Connie. "It's not only what you say +but how you say it. But what are you driving at?" + +"Just this! Nations seldom do all things with equal vigour and fervour +and opportunity, so one excels another and is itself excelled. England +excels in the simplest and strongest form of expression, literature. She +is defective in other forms and borrows from us. But so we others borrow +from her. Puritanism did not crush English art. English art, in the +national way of expressing the national feeling, kept steadily on." + +"Thanks! I think I'll sit down," he added, as Stratton handed him a +tumbler half-filled with wine and a water-bottle. He filled the tumbler +from the bottle, put them on the table, took cigarettes in a case from +his pocket and lighted one at a gas jet behind him. + +"Do you take water with your wine?" asked Stratton of Ned. + +"I don't take wine at all, thank you," said Ned. + +"What!" exclaimed Connie, sitting up. "You don't smoke and you don't +drink wine. Why, you are a regular Arab. But you must have something. +Arty! Rouse up and light the little stove again! You'll have some tea, +Ned. Oh! It's no trouble. Arty will make it for me and it will do him +good. What do you think of this oration of Geisner's?" + +"I suppose it's all right," said Ned. "But I can't see what good it does +myself." + +"How's that?" + +"Well, it's no use saying one thing and meaning another. This talk of +'art' seems to me selfish while the world to most people is a hell that +it's pain to live in. I am sorry if I say what you don't like." + +"Never mind that," said Connie, as cheerfully as ever. "You've been +worrying, too. Have it out, so that we can all jump on you at once! I +warn you, you won't have an ally." + +"I suppose not," answered Ned, hotly. "You are all very kind and mean +well, but do you know how people live, how they exist, what life outside +is?" + +Geisner had sat down in a low chair near by, his cigarette between his +lips, his glass of wine and water on a shelf at his elbow. The others +looked on in amazement at the sudden turn of the conversation. Connie +smiled and nodded. Ned stared fiercely round at Geisner, who nodded also. + +"Then listen to me," said Ned, bitterly. "Is it by playing music in fine +parlours that good is to be done? Is it by drinking wine, by smoking, by +laughing, by talking of pictures and books and music, by going to +theatres, by living in clover while the world starves? Why do you not +play that music in the back streets or to our fellows?" he asked, turning +to Geisner again. "Are you afraid? Ah, if I could only play it!" + +"Ned!" cried Nellie, sharply. But he went on, talking at Geisner: + +"What do you do for the people outside? For the miserable, the wretched, +those, weary of life? I suppose you are all 'interested in the Labour +movement.' Well, what does all this do for it? What do you do for it? +Would you give up anything, one puff of smoke, one drink of wine----" + +"Stop, Ned! For shame's sake! How dare you speak to him like that?" +Nellie interrupted, jumping up and coming between the two men. Ned leaned +eagerly forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes flaming, his face +quivering, his teeth showing. Geisner leaned back quietly, alternately +sipping his wine and water and taking a whiff from his cigarette. + +"Never mind," said Geisner. "Sit down, Nellie. It doesn't matter." Nellie +sat down but she looked to Mrs. Stratton anxiously. The two women +exchanged glances. Mrs. Stratton came quickly across to Geisner. + +"It does matter," she said to him, laying her hands on his head and +shoulder and facing Ned thus. "Not to you, of course, but to Ned there. +He does not understand, and I don't think you understand everything +either. It takes a woman to understand it all, Ned," and she laughed at +the angry man. "Why do you say such things to Geisner? He does not +deserve them." + +Ned did not answer. + +"I'm not defending the rest of us, only Geisner. If you only knew all he +has done you would think of him as we do." + +"Connie!" exclaimed Geisner, flushing. "Don't." + +"Oh! I shall. If men will keep their lights under bushel baskets they +must expect to get the covers knocked off sometimes. Ned! This man is a +martyr. He has suffered so for the people, and he has borne it so +bravely." + +There was a hush in the room. Ned could see Connie's full underlip pouted +tremulously and her eyes swimming, her hands moved caressingly to and +fro. His face relaxed its passion. The tears came again into his eyes, +also. Geisner smoked his cigarette, the most unmoved of any. + +"If you had only known him years ago," went on Connie, her voice +trembling. "He used to take me on his knee when I was a little girl, and +keep me there for hours while great men talked great things and he was +greatest of them all. He was young then and rich and handsome and fiery, +and with a brain--oh, such a brain!--that put within his reach what +other men care for most. And he gave it all up, everything--even Love," +she added, softly. "When he played the Marseillaise just now, I thought +of it. One day he came to our house and played it so, and outside the +people in the streets were marching by singing it, and--and--" she +set her teeth on a great sob. "My father never came back nor my brother, +and Harry there came one night and took Josie and me away. We had no +mother. And when we saw this man again he was what he is now. It was +worse than death, ten thousand times worse. Oh! Geisner, Geisner!" The +head her hand rested on had sunk down. What were the little man's +thoughts? What were they? + +"But his heart is still the same, Ned," she cried, triumphantly, her +sweet voice ringing clear again. "Ah, yes! His heart is still the same, +as brave and true and pure and strong. Oh, purer, better! If it came +again, Ned, he would do it. Sometimes, I think, he doubts himself but I +know. He would do it all again and suffer it all--that worse than death +he suffered. For, you see, he only lives to serve the Cause, in a +different way to the old way but still to serve it. And I serve the Cause +also as best I can, even if I wear--" she shrugged her shoulders. "And +Harry serves it still as loyally as when, a beardless lad, he risked his +life to care for a slaughtered comrade's orphan children. And Ford, too, +and Nellie here, and Arty and Josie and George. But Geisner serves it +best of all if it be best to give most. He has given most all his life +and he gives most still. And we love him for it. And that love, perhaps, +is sweeter to him than all he might have been." + +She knelt by his side as she ceased speaking, and put her arms round his +neck as he crouched there. "Geisner!" Nellie who was nearest heard her +whisper in her childhood's tongue. "Geisner! We have seen the dry bones +become men. We have poured our blood and our brain into them and if only +for a moment they have lived, they have lived. Ah, comrade, do you +recollect how you breathed soul into them when they shrank back that day? +They moved, Geisner. They moved. We felt them move. They will move again, +some day, dear heart. They will move again." Then, choking with sobs, she +laid her head on his knees. He put his arms tenderly round her and they +saw that this immovable little man was weeping like a child. One by one +the others went softly out to the verandah. Only Ned remained. He had +buried his face in his hands and sat, overwhelmed with shame, wishing +that the floor would open and swallow him. From outside came the +ceaseless lap-lap-lapping of water, imperceptibly eating away the granite +rock, caring not for time, blindly working, destroying the old and +building up the new. + +The touch of a hand roused Ned. He looked up. Mrs. Stratton had gone +through the door concealed by the hangings. Geisner stood before him, +calmly lighting another cigarette with a match. There was no trace of +emotion on his face. He turned to drop the match into an ash tray, then +held out both hands, on his face the kindly smile that transfigured him. +Ned grasped them eagerly, wringing them in a grip that would have made +most men wince. They stood thus silently for a minute or two, looking at +one another, the young, hot-tempered bushman, the grey-haired, +cool-tempered leader of men; between them sprang up, as they stood, the +bond of that friendship which death itself only strengthens. The +magnetism of the elder, his marvellous personality, the strength and +majesty of the mighty soul that dwelt in his insignificant body, stole +into Ned's heart and conquered it. And the spirit of the younger, his +fierce indignation, his angry sorrow, his disregard for self, his truth, +his strong manhood, appealed to the weary man as an echoing of his own +passionate youth. Then they loosened hands and without a word Geisner +commenced to walk slowly backwards and forwards, his hands behind him, +his head bent down. + +Ned watched him, studying him feature by feature. Yes, he had been +handsome. He was ugly only because of great wrinkles that scored his +cheeks and disfigured the fleshless face and discoloured skin. His +eyebrows and eyelashes were very thin, too. His hair looked dried up and +was strongly greyed; it had once been almost black. His lips were thin, +his mouth shapeless, only because he had closed them in his fight against +pain and anguish and despair and they had set thus by the habit of long +years. His nose was still fine and straight, the nostrils swelling wide. +His forehead was rugged and broad under its wrinkles. His chin was +square. His frame still gave one the impression of tireless powers of +endurance. His blue eyes still gleamed unsubdued in their dark, +overhanging caverns. Yes! He had lived, this man. He had lived and +suffered and kept his manhood still. To be like him! To follow him into +the Valley of the Shadow! To live only for the Cause and by his side to +save the world alive! Ned thought thus, as Connie came back, her face +bathed and beaming again, her theatre dress replaced by a soft red +dressing gown, belted loosely at the waist and trimmed with an abundance +of coffee coloured lace. Her first words were a conundrum to Ned: + +"Geisner! Haven't you dropped that unpleasant trick of yours after all +these years? Two long steps and a short step! Turn! Two long steps and a +short stop! Turn! Now, just to please me, do three long steps." + +He smiled. "Connie, you are becoming quite a termagant." + +She looked at Ned questioningly: "Well?" + +"Oh, Ned and I are beginning to understand one another," said Geisner. + +"Of course," she replied. "All good men and women are friends if they get +to the bottom of each other. Let us go on the verandah with the rest. Do +you know I feel quite warm now. I do believe it was only that ridiculous +dress which made me feel so cold. Give me your arm, Ned. Bring me along a +chair, Geisner." + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +A MEDLEY OF CONVERSATION. + +Ned dreaded that rejoining the others on the verandah, but he need not +have. They had forced the conversation at first, but gradually it became +natural. It had turned on the proper sphere of woman, and went on without +being interrupted by the new-comers. Nobody took any notice of them. The +girls were seated. Stratton lay smoking in the hammock. The other men +perched smoking on the railing. The gaslight had been turned down and in +the gloom the cigar ends gleamed with each respiration. In spite of the +damp it was very cosy. From the open door behind a ray of light fell upon +the darkness-covered water below. Beyond were circling the lights of +Sydney. Dotting the black night here and there were the signal lamps of +anchored ships. + +"We want perfect equality for woman with man," asserted Ford, in a +conclusive tone of voice. + +"We want woman in her proper sphere," maintained Stratton, from the +hammock. + +"What do you call 'her proper sphere?'" asked Nellie. + +"This: That she should fulfil the functions assigned to her by Nature. +That she should rule the home and rear children. That she should be a +wife and a mother. That she should be gentle as men are rough, and, to +pirate the Americanism, as she rocked the cradle should rock the world." + +"How about equality?" demanded Ford. + +"Equality! What do you mean by equality? Is it equality to scramble with +men in the search for knowledge, narrow hipped and flat-chested? Is it +equality to grow coarse and rough and unsexed in the struggle for +existence? Ah! Let our women once become brutalised, masculinised, and +there will be no hope for anything but a Chinese existence." + +"Who wants to brutalise them?" asked Ford. + +"What would your women be like?" asked Nellie. + +"Look out for Madame there, Stratton!" said George. + +"What would my women be like? Full-lipped and broad-hearted, fit to love +and be loved! Full-breasted and broad-hipped fit to have children! +Full-brained and broad-browed, fit to teach them! My women should be the +embodiment of the nation, and none of them should work except for those +they loved and of their own free will." + +"Sort of queen bees!" remarked Nellie. "Why have them work at all?" + +"Why? Is it 'work' for a mother to nurse her little one, to wash it, to +dress it, to feed it, to watch it at night, to nurse it when it sickens, +to teach it as it grows? And if she does that does she not do all that we +have a right to ask of her? Need we ask her to earn her own living and +bear children as well? Shall we make her a toy and a slave, or harden her +to battle with men? I wouldn't. My women should be such that their +children would hold them sacred and esteem all women for their sakes. I +don't want the shrieking sisterhood, hard-voiced and ugly and unlovable, +perpetuated. And they will not be perpetuated. They can't make us marry +them. Their breed must die out." + +"In other words," observed Nellie; "you would leave the present +relationship of woman to Society unchanged, except that you would serve +her out free rations." + +"No! She should be absolutely mistress of her own body, and sole legal +guardian of her own children." + +"Which means that you would institute free divorce, and make the family +matriarchal instead of patriarchal; replace one lopsided system by +another." + +"Give it him, Nellie," put in Connie. "I haven't heard those notions of +his for years. I thought he had recanted long ago." + +"Well, yes! But you needn't be so previous in calling it lopsided," said +Stratton. + +"It is lop-sided, to my mind!" replied Nellie. "What women really want is +to be left to find their own sphere, for whenever a man starts to find it +for them he always manages to find something else. No man understands +woman thoroughly. How can he when she doesn't even understand herself? +Yet you propose to crush us all down to a certain pattern, without +consulting us. That's not democratic. Why not consult us first I should +like to know?" + +"Probably because they wouldn't agree to it if you led the opposition, +Nellie. We are all only democratic when we think Demos is going our way." +This from Ford. + +Arty slipped quietly off the railing and went into the sitting-room. +Connie leaned back and watched him through the open door. "He's started +to write," she announced. "He's been terribly down lately so it'll be +pretty strong, poor fellow." She laughed good-naturedly; the others +laughed with her. "Go on, Nellie dear. It's very interesting, and I +didn't mean to interrupt." + +"Oh! He won't answer me," declared Nellie, in a disgusted tone. + +"I should think not," retorted Stratton. "I know your womanly habit of +tying the best case into a tangled knot with a few Socratic questions. I +leave the truth to prove itself." + +"Just so! But you won't leave the truth about woman to prove itself. You +want us to be good mothers, first and last. Why not let us be women, true +women, first, and whatever it is fitting for us to be afterwards?" + +"I want you to be true women." + +"What is a true woman? A true woman to me is just what a true man is-- +one who is free to obey the instincts of her nature. Only give us +freedom, opportunity, and we shall be at last all that we should be." + +"Is it not freedom to be secure against want, to be free to----" + +"To be mothers." + +"Yes; to be mothers--the great function of women. To cradle the future. +To mould the nation that is to be." + +"That is so like a man. To be machines, you mean--well cared for, +certainly, but machines just the same. Don't you know that we have been +machines too long? Can't you see that it is because we have been degraded +into machines that Society is what it is?" + +"How?" questioned Stratton. + +"He knows it well, Nellie," cried Connie, clapping her hands. + +"Because you can't raise free men from slave women. We want to be free, +only to be free, to be let alone a little, to be treated as human beings +with souls, just as men do. We have hands to work with, and brains to +think with, and hearts to feel with. Why not join hands with us in theory +as you do in fact? Do you tell us now that you won't have our help in the +movement? Will you refuse us the fruit of victory when the fight is won? +If I thought you would, I for one would cease to care whether the Cause +won or not." + +"I, too, Nellie. We'd all go on strike," cried Connie. + +"What is it to you whether women are good mothers or not? What objections +can you have to our rivalling men in the friendly rivalry that would be +under fair conditions? Are our virtues, our woman instincts, so weak and +frail that you can't trust us to go straight if the whole of life is +freely open to us? Why, when I think of what woman's life is now, what it +has been for so long, I wonder how it is that we have any virtues left." +She spoke with intense feeling. + +"What are we now," she went on, "in most cases? Slaves, bought and sold +for a home, for a position, for a ribbon, for a piece of bread. With all +their degradation men are not degraded as we are. To be womanly is to be +shamed and insulted every day. To love is to suffer. To be a mother is to +drink the dregs of human misery. To be heartless, to be cold, to be +vicious and a hypocrite, to smother all one's higher self, to be sold, to +sell one's self, to pander to evil passions, to be the slave of the +slave, that is the way to survive most easily for a woman. And see what +we are in spite of everything! Geisner said he would sometimes be proud +if he were an Englishman. Sometimes I'm foolish enough to be proud I'm a +woman. + +"Why should we be mothers, unless it pleases us to be mothers? Why should +we not feel that life is ours as men may feel it, that we help hold up +the world and owe nothing to others except that common debt of fraternity +which they owe also to us? Don't you think that Love would come then as +it could in no other way? Don't you think that women, who even now are +good mothers generally, would be good mothers to children whose coming +was unstained with tears? And would they be worse mothers if their brains +were keen and their bodies strong and their hearts brave with the healthy +work and intelligent life that everybody should have, men and women +alike?" + +"You seem to have an objection to mothers somehow, Nellie," observed +Geisner. + +"Oh, I have! It seems to me such a sin, such a shameful sin, to give life +for the world that we have. I can understand it being a woman's highest +joy to be a mother. I have seen poor miserable women looking down at +their puny nursing babies with such unutterable bliss on their faces that +I've nearly cried for pure joy and sympathy. But in my heart all the time +I felt that this was weakness and folly; that what was bliss to the +mother, stupefying her for a while to the hollowness and emptiness of her +existence, was the beginning of a probable life of misery to the child +that could end only with death. And I have vowed to myself that never +should child of mine have cause to reproach me for selfishness that takes +a guise which might well deceive those who have nothing but the animal +instincts to give them joy in living." + +"You will never have children?" asked Geisner. + +"I will never marry," she answered. "There is little you can teach a girl +who has worked in Sydney, and I know there are ideas growing all about +which to me seem shameful and unwomanly, excepting that they spare the +little ones. For me, I shall never marry. I will give my life to the +movement, but I will give no other lives the pain of living." + +"You will meet him some day, Nellie," said Connie. + +"Then I will be strong if it breaks my heart." Ned often thought of this +in after days. Just then he hardly realised how the girl's words affected +him. He was so breathlessly interested. Never had he heard people talk +like this before. He began to dimly understand how it touched the Labour +movement. + +"You will miss the best part of life, my dear," said Connie. "I say it +even after what you have seen of that husband of mine." + +"You are wrong, Nellie," said Geisner, slowly. "Above us all is a higher +Law, forcing us on. To give up what is most precious for the sake of the +world is good. To give up that which our instincts lead us to for fear of +the world cannot but be bad. For my part, I hold that no door should be +closed to woman, either by force of law or by force of conventionalism. +But if she claims entrance to the Future, it seems to me that she should +not close Life's gate against herself." + +"I would close Life's gate altogether if I could," cried Nellie, +passionately. "I would blot Life out. I would--oh, what would I not do? +The things I see around me day after day almost drive me mad." + +There was silence for a moment, broken then by Connie's soft laugh. +"Nellie, my dear child," she observed, "you seem quite in earnest. I hope +you won't start with us." + +"Don't mind her, Nellie," said Josie, softly, speaking for the first +time. "Connie laughs because if she didn't she would cry." + +"I know that," said Nellie. "I don't mind her. Is there one of us who +does not feel what a curse living is?" + +Geisner's firm voice answered: "And is there one of us who does not know +what a blessing living might be? Nellie, my girl, you are sad and +sorrowful, as we all are at times, and do not feel yet God in all working +itself out in unseen ways." + +"God!" she answered, scornfully. "There is no God. How can there be?" + +"I do not know. It is as one feels. I do not mean that petty god of +creeds and religions, the feeble image that coarse hands have made from +vague glimpses caught by those who were indeed inspired. I mean the total +force, the imperishable breath, of the universe. And of that breath, my +child, you and I and all things are part." + +Stratton took his cigar from his mouth and quoted: + +"'I am the breath of the lute, I am the mind of man, Gold's glitter, the +light of the diamond and the sea-pearl's lustre wan. I am both good and +evil, the deed and the deed's intent--Temptation, victim, sinner, +crime, pardon and punishment.'" + +"Yes," said Geisner; "that and more. Brahma and more than Brahma. What +Prince Buddha thought out too. What Jesus the Carpenter dimly recognised. +Not only Force, but Purpose, or what for lack of better terms we call +Purpose, in it all." + +"And that Purpose; what is it?" Ned was surprised to hear his own voice +uttering his thought. + +"Who shall say? There are moments, a few moments, when one seems to feel +what it is, moments when one stands face to face with the universal Life +and realises wordlessly what it means." Geisner spoke with grave +solemnity. The others, hardly breathing, understood how this man had +thought these things out. + +"When one is in anguish and sorrow unendurable. When one has seen one's +soul stripped naked and laid bare, with all its black abysses and +unnatural sins; the brutishness that is in each man's heart known and +understood--the cowardice, the treachery, the villainy, the lust. When +one knows oneself in others, and sinks into a mist of despair, hopeless +and heart-wrung, then come the temptations, as the prophets call them, +the miserable ambitions dressed as angels of light, the religions which +have become more drugged pain-lullers, the desire to suppress thought +altogether, to end life, to stupefy one's soul with bodily pain, with +mental activity. And if," he added slowly, "if one's pain is for others +more than for oneself, if in one's heart Humanity has lodged itself, then +it may be that one shall feel and know. And from that time you never +doubt God. You may doubt yourself but never that all things work together +for good." + +"I do not see it," cried Nellie. + +"Hush!" said Connie. "Go on, Geisner." + +"To me," the little man went on, as if talking rather to himself than to +the others. "To me the Purpose of Life is self-consciousness, the total +Purpose I mean. God seeking to know God. Eternal Force one immeasurable +Thought. Humanity the developing consciousness of the little fragment of +the universe within our ken. Art, the expression of that consciousness, +the outward manifestation of the effort to solve the problem of Life. +Genius, the power of expressing in some way or other what many thought +but could not articulate. I do not mean to be dogmatic. Words fail us to +define our meaning when we speak of these things. Any quibbler can twist +the meaning of words, while only those who think the thought can +understand. That is why one does not speak much of them. Perhaps we +should speak of them more." + +"It is a barren faith to me," said Nellie. + +"Then I do not express it well," said Geisner. "But is it more +barren-sounding than utter Negation? Besides, where do we differ really? +All of us who think at all agree more or less. We use different terms, +pursue different lines of thought, that is all. It is only the dullard, +who mistakes the symbol for the idea, the letter for the spirit, the +metaphor for the thought within, who is a bigot. The true thinker is an +artist, the true artist is a thinker, for Art is the expression of +thought in thing. The highest thought, as Connie rightly told us before +you came, is Emotion." + +"I recollect the Venus in the Louvre," interjected Harry. "When I saw it +first it seemed to me most beautiful, perfect, the loveliest thing that +ever sculptor put chisel to. But as I saw it more I forgot that it was +beautiful or perfect. It grew on me till it lived. I went day after day +to see it, and when I was glad it laughed at me, and when I was +downhearted it was sad with me, and when I was angry it scowled, and when +I dreamed of Love it had a kiss on its lips. Every mood of mine it +changed with; every thought of mine it knew. Was not that Art, Nellie?" + +"The artist in you," she answered. + +"No. More than that. The artist in the sculptor, breathing into the stone +a perfect sympathy with the heart of men. His genius grasped this, that +beauty, perfect beauty, is the typifying not of one passion, one phase of +human nature, but of the aggregation of all the moods which sway the +human mind. There is a great thought in that. It is 'the healthy mind in +the healthy body,' as the sculptor feels it. And 'the healthy mind in the +healthy body' is one of the great thoughts of the past. It is a thought +which is the priceless gift of Greek philosophy to the world. I hold it +higher than that of the Sphinx, which Ford admires so." + +"What does the Sphinx mean?" asked Ned. + +"Much the same, differently expressed," answered Ford. "That Life with us +is an intellectual head based on a brutish body, fecund and powerful; +that Human Nature crouches on the ground and reads the stars; that man +has a body and a mind, and that both must be cared for." + +"They had a strange way of caring for both, your Egyptians," remarked +Nellie. "The people were all slaves and the rulers were all priests." + +At this criticism, so naive and pithy and so like Nellie, there was a +general laugh. + +"At least the priests were wise and the slaves were cared for," retorted +Ford, nothing abashed. "I recollect when I was a little fellow in +England. My people were farm labourers, west of England labourers. We +lived in a little stone cottage that had little diamond-paned windows. +The kitchen floor was below the ground, and on wet days my mother used to +make a little dam of rags at the door to keep the trickling water back. +We lived on bread and potatoes and broad beans, and not too much of that. +We got a little pig for half-a-crown, and killed it when it was grown to +pay the rent. Don't think such things are only done in Ireland! We herded +together like pigs ourselves. The women of the place often worked in the +fields. The girls, too, sometimes. You know what that means where the +people are like beasts, the spirit worn out of them. The cottages were +built two together, and our neighbour's daughter, a girl of 18 or so, had +two children. It was not thought anything. The little things played at +home with our neighbour's own small children, and their grandmother +called them hard names when they bothered her. + +"My father was a bent-shouldered hopeless man, when I recollect him. He +got six shillings a week then, with a jug of cider every day. When he +stopped from the wet, and there was no work in the barns, his wages were +stopped. So he worked in the wet very often, for it generally rains in +England, you know. The wet came through our roof. Gives the natives such +pretty pink skins, eh, Geisner?" and he laughed shortly. "My father got +rheumatism, and used to keep us awake groaning at nights. He had been a +good-looking young fellow, my old granny used to say. I never saw him +good-looking. In the winter we always had poor relief. We should have +starved if we hadn't. My father got up at four and came home after dark. +My mother used to go weeding and gleaning. I went to scare crows when I +was five years old. All the same, we were a family of paupers. Proud to +be an Englishman, Geisner! Be an English pauper, and then try!" + +"You'll never get to the priests, Ford, if you start an argument," +interposed Mrs. Stratton. + +"I'll get to them all right. Our cottage was down a narrow, muddy lane. +On one side of the lane was a row of miserable stone hovels, just like +ours. On the other was a great stone wall that seemed to me, then, to be +about a hundred feet high. I suppose it was about twenty feet. You could +just see the tops of trees the other side. Some had branches lopped short +to prevent them coming over the wall. At the corner of the highway our +lane ran to was a great iron gate, all about it towering trees, directly +inside a mound of shrub-covered rockery that prevented anybody getting a +peep further. The carriage drive took a turn round this rockery and +disappeared. Once, when the gate was open and nobody about, I got a peep +by sneaking round this rockery like a little thief. There was a beautiful +lawn and clumps of flowers, and a summer house and a conservatory, and a +big grey-fronted mansion. I thought heaven must be something like that. +It made me radical." + +"How do you mean?" asked Mrs. Stratton. + +"Well, it knocked respect for constituted authority out of me. I didn't +know enough to understand the wrong of one lazy idler having this +splendid place while the people he lived on kennelled in hovels. But it +struck me as so villainously selfish to build that wall, to prevent us +outside from even looking at the beautiful lawn and flowers. I was only a +little chap but I recollect wondering if it would hurt the place to let +me look, and when I couldn't see that it would I began to hate the wall +like poison. There we were, poor, ragged, hungry wretches, without +anything beautiful in our lives, so miserable and hopeless that I didn't +even know it wasn't the right thing to be a pauper, and that animal ran +up a great wall in our faces so that we couldn't see the grass--curse +him!" Ford had gradually worked himself into a white rage. + +"He didn't know any better," said Geisner. "Was he the priest?" + +"Yes, the rector, getting L900 a-year and this great house, and paying a +skinny curate L60 for doing the work. A fat impostor, who drove about in +a carriage, and came to tell the girl next door as she lay a-bed that she +would go to hell for her sin and burn there for ever. I hated his wall +and him too. Out in the fields I used to draw him on bits of slate. In +the winter when there weren't any crows or any weeding I went to school. +You see, unless you sent your children to the church school a little, and +went to church regularly, you didn't get any beef or blanket at +Christmas. I tell you English charity is a sweet thing. Well, I used to +draw the parson at school, a fat, pompous, double chinned, pot-bellied +animal, with thin side-whiskers, and a tall silk hat, and a big handful +of a nose. I drew nothing else. I studied the question as it were and I +got so that I could draw the brute in a hundred different ways. You can +imagine they weren't complimentary, and one day the parson came to the +school, and we stood up in class with slates to do sums, and on the back +of my slate was one of the very strongest of my first attempts at +cartooning. It was a hot one." And at the remembrance Ford laughed so +contagiously that they all joined. "The parson happened to see it. By +gum! It was worth everything to see him." + +"What did he do?" + +"What didn't he do? He delivered a lecture, how I was a worthy relative +of an uncle of mine who'd been shipped out this way years before for +snaring a rabbit, and so on. I got nearly skinned alive, and the +Christmas beef and blanket wore stopped from our folks. And there another +joke comes in. An older brother of mine, 14 years old, I was about 12, +took to going to the Ranters' meetings instead of to church. My mother +and father used to tie him up on Saturday nights and march him to church +on Sunday like a young criminal going to gaol. They were afraid of losing +the beef and blanket, you see. He sometimes ran out of church when they +nodded or weren't looking, and the curate was always worrying them about +him. It was the deadliest of all sins, you know, to go to the Ranters. +Well, when the beef and blanket were stopped, without any chance of +forgiveness, we all went to the Ranters." + +"I've often wondered where you got your power from, Ford," remarked +Connie. "I see now." + +"Yes, that great wall made me hate the great wall that bars the people +from all beautiful things; that fat hypocrite made me hate all frauds. I +can never forget the way we all swallowed those things as sacred. When I +get going with a pencil I feel towards whatever it is just as I felt to +the parson, and I try to make everybody feel the same. Yet would you +believe it, I don't care much for cartooning. I want to paint." + +"Why don't you?" asked Nellie. + +"Well, there's money you know. Then it was sheer luck that made me a +cartoonist and I can't expect the same run of luck always." + +"Don't believe him, Nellie," said Connie. "He feels that he has a chance +now to give all frauds such a hammering that he hesitates to give it up. +You've paid the parson, Ford, full measure, pressed down and running +over!" + +"Not enough!" answered Ford. "Not enough! Not till the wall is down flat +all the world over! Do you think Egypt would have lasted 20,000 years if +her priests had been like my parson, and her slaves like my people?" + +"I'd forgotten all about Egypt," said Nellie. "But I suppose her rulers +had sense enough to give men enough to eat and enough to drink, high +wages and constant employment, as M'Ilwraith used to say. Yes; it was +wiser than the rulers of to-day are. You can rob for a long while if you +only rob moderately. But the end comes some time to all wrong. It's +coming faster with us, but it came in Egypt, too." + +"Here is Arty, finished!" interrupted Connie, who every little while had +looked through the door at the young man. She jumped up. "Come along in +and see what it is this time." + +They all went in, jostling and joking one another. Arty was standing up +in the middle of the room looking at some much blotted slips of paper. He +appeared to be very well satisfied, and broke into a broad smile as he +looked up at them all. Geisner and Ned found themselves side by side near +the piano, over the keys of which Geisner softly ran his fingers with +loving touch. "You are in luck to-night," he remarked to Ned. "You know +Arty's signature, of course. He writes as----," mentioning a well-known +name. + +"Of course I know. Is that him?" answered Ned, astonished. "Verses which +bore that signature were as familiar to thousands of western bushmen as +their own names. Who is Ford?" he added. + +"Ford! Oh, Ford signs himself----." Geisner mentioned another signature. + +"Is he the one who draws in the Scrutineer?" demanded Ned more astonished +than ever. + +"Yes; you know his work?" + +"Know his work! Had not every man in Australia laughed with his pitiless +cartoons at the dignified magnates of Society and the utter rottenness of +the powers that be?" + +"And what is Mr. Stratton?" + +"A designer for a livelihood. An artist for love of Art. His wife is +connected with the press. You wouldn't know her signature, but some of +her work is very fine. George there is a journalist." + +"But I thought the newspapers were against unions." + +"Naturally they are. They are simply business enterprises, conducted in +the ordinary commercial way for a profit, and therefore opposed to +everything which threatens to interfere with profit-making. But the men +and women who work on the press are very different. They are really +wage-workers to begin with. Besides, they are often intelligent enough to +sympathise thoroughly with the Labour movement in spite of the +surroundings which tend to separate them from it. Certainly, the most +popular exponents of Socialism are nearly all press writers." + +"We are only just beginning to hear about these things in the bush," said +Ned. "What is Socialism?" + +"That's a big question," answered Geisner. "Socialism is----" + +He was interrupted. "Silence, everybody!" cried Mrs. Stratton. "Listen to +Arty's latest!" + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +THE POET AND THE PRESSMAN. + +"Silence, everybody!" commanded Mrs. Stratton. "Listen to Arty's latest!" + +She had gone up to him as they all came in. "Is it good?" she asked, +looking over his arm. For answer he held the slips down to her and +changed them as she read rapidly, only pausing occasionally to ask him +what a more than usually obscured word was. There was hardly a line as +originally written. Some words had been altered three and four times. +Whole lines had been struck out and fresh lines inserted. In some verses +nothing was left of the original but the measure and the rhymes. + +"No wonder you were worrying if you had all this on your mind," she +remarked, as he finished, smiling at him. "Let me read it to them." + +He nodded. So when the buzz of conversation had stopped she read his +verses to the others, holding his arm in the middle of the room, her +sweet voice conveying their spirit as well as their words. And Arty stood +by her, jubilant, listening proudly and happily to the rhythm of his +new-born lines, for all the world like a young mother showing her +new-born babe. + +THE VISION OF LABOUR. + +There's a sound of lamentation 'mid the murmuring nocturne noises, +And an undertone of sadness, as from myriad human voices, +And the harmony of heaven and the music of the spheres, +And the ceaseless throb of Nature, and the flux and flow of years, +Are rudely punctuated with the drip of human tears +--As Time rolls on! + +Yet high above the beat of surf, and Ocean's deep resounding, +And high above the tempest roar of wind on wave rebounding, +There's a burst of choral chanting, as of victors in a fight, +And a battle hymn of triumph wakes the echoes of the night, +And the shouts of heroes mingle with the shriekings of affright +--As Time rolls on! + +There's a gleam amid the darkness, and there's sight amid the blindness, +And the glow of hope is kindled by the breath of human kindness, +And a phosphorescent glimmer gilds the spaces of the gloom, +Like the sea-lights in the midnight, or the ghost-lights of the tomb, +Or the livid lamps of madness in the charnel-house of doom +--As Time rolls on! + +And amidst the weary wand'rers on the mountain crags belated +There's a hush of expectation, and the sobbings are abated, +For a word of hope is spoken by a prophet versed in pain, +Who tells of rugged pathways down to fields of golden grain, +Where the sun is ever shining, and the skies their blessings rain +--As Time rolls on! + +Where the leafy chimes of gladness in the tree-tops aye are ringing, +Answering to the joyous chorus which the birds are ever singing; +Where the seas of yellow plenty toss with music in the wind; +Where the purple vines are laden, and the groves with fruit are lined; +Where all grief is but a mem'ry, and all pain is left behind +--As Time rolls on! + +But it lies beyond a desert 'cross which hosts of Death are marching, +And a hot sirocco wanders under skies all red and parching, +Lined with skeletons of armies through the centuries fierce and acre +Bones of heroes and of sages marking Time's lapse year by year, +Unmoistened by the night-dews 'mid the solitudes of fear +--As Time rolls on! + +* Kindly written by Mr. F. J. Broomfield for insertion here. + +"Well done, Arty"! cried Ford. "I'd like to do a few 'thumbnails' for +that." + +"Let me see it, please! Why don't you say 'rushes' for 'wanders' in the +last verse, Arty?" asked George, reaching out his hand for the slips. + +"Go away!" exclaimed Mrs. Stratton, holding them out of reach. "Can't you +wait two minutes before you begin your sub-editing tricks? Josie, keep +him in order!" + +"He's a disgrace," replied Josie. "Don't pay any heed to him, Arty! +They'll cut up your verses soon enough, and they're just lovely." + +The others laughed, all talking at once, commending, criticising, +comparing. Arty laughed and joked and quizzed, the liveliest of them all. +Ned stared at him in astonishment. He seemed like somebody else. He +discussed his own verses with a strange absence of egotism. Evidently he +was used to standing fire. + +"The metaphor in that third verse seems to me rather forced," said +Stratton finally. "And I think George is right. 'Rushes' does sound +better than 'wanders.' I like that 'rudely punctuated' line, but I think +I'd go right through it again if it was mine." + +"I think I will, too," answered Arty. "There are half-a-dozen alterations +I want to make now. I'll touch it up to-morrow. It'll keep till then." + +"That sort of stuff would keep for years if it wasn't for the +Scrutineer," said Stratton. "Very few papers care to publish it +nowadays." + +"The Scrutineer is getting just like all the rest of them," commented +George. "It's being run for money, only they make their pile as yet by +playing to the gallery while the other papers play to the stalls and +dress circle." + +"It has done splendid work for the movement, just the same," said Ford. +"Admit it's a business concern and that everybody growls at it, it's the +only paper that dares knock things." + +"It's a pity there isn't a good straight daily here," said Geisner. +"That's the want all over the world. It seems impossible to get them, +though." + +"Why is it?" demanded Nellie. "It's the working people who buy the +evening papers at least. Why shouldn't they buy straight papers sooner +than these sheets of lies that are published?" + +"I've seen it tried," answered Geisner, "but I never saw it done. The +London Star is going as crooked as the others I'm told." + +"I don't see why the unions shouldn't start dailies," insisted Nellie. "I +suppose it costs a great deal but they could find the money if they tried +hard." + +"They haven't been able to run weeklies yet," said George, +authoritatively. "And they never will until they get a system, much less +run dailies." + +"Why?" asked Ned. "You see," he continued, "our fellows are always +talking of getting a paper. They get so wild sometimes when they read +what the papers say about the unions and know what lies most of it is +that I've seen them tear the papers up and dance a war-dance on the +pieces." + +"It's along story to explain properly," said George. "Roughly it amounts +to this that papers live on advertisements as well as on circulation and +that advertisers are sharp business men who generally put the boycott on +papers that talk straight. Then the cable matter, the telegraph matter, +the news matter, is all procured by syndicates and companies and mutual +arrangement between papers which cover the big cities between them and +run on much the same lines, the solid capitalistic lines, you know. Then +newspaper stock, when it pays, is valuable enough to make the holder a +capitalist; when it doesn't pay he's still more under the thumb of the +advertisers. The whole complex organisation of the press is against the +movement and only those who're in it know how complex it is." + +"Then there'll never be a Labour press, you think?" + +"There will be a Labour press, I think," said George, turning Josie's +hair round his fingers. "When the unions get a sound system it'll come." + +"What do you mean by your sound system, George?" asked Geisner. + +"Just this! That the unions themselves will publish their own papers, own +their own plant, elect their own editors, paying for it all by levies or +subscriptions. Then they can snap their fingers at advertisers and as +every union man will get the union paper there'll be a circulation +established at once. They can begin with monthlies and come down to +weeklies. When they have learnt thoroughly the system, and when every +colony has its weekly or weeklies, then they'll have a chance for +dailies, not before." + +"How would you get your daily?" enquired Geisner. + +"Expand the weeklies into dailies simultaneously in every Australian +capital," said George, waxing enthusiastic. "That would be a syndicate at +once to co-operate on cablegrams and exchange intercolonial telegrams. +Start with good machinery, get a subsidy of 6d. a month for a year and +3d. a month afterwards, if necessary, from the unions for every member, +and then bring out a small-sized, neat, first-rate daily for a ha'penny, +three-pence a week, and knock the penny evenings off their feet." + +"A grand idea!" said Geisner, his eyes sparkling. "It sounds practical. +It would revolutionise politics." + +"Who'd own the papers, though, after the unions had subsidised them?" +asked Ned, a little suspiciously. + +"Why, the unions, of course," said George. "Who else? The unions would +find the machinery and subsidise the papers on to their feet, for you +couldn't very well get every man to take a daily. And the unions would +elect trustees to hold them and manage them and an editor to edit each +one and would be able to dismiss editors or trustees either if it wasn't +being run straight. There'd be no profits because every penny made would +go to make the papers better, there being no advertising income or very +little. And every day, all over the continent, there would be printing +hundreds of thousands of copies, each one advancing and defending the +Labour movement." + +"It's a grand idea," said Geisner again, "but who'd man the papers, +George. Could Labour papers afford to pay managers and editors what the +big dailies do?" + +"I don't know much about managers, but an editor who wouldn't give up a +lot to push the Cause can't think much of it. Why, we're nothing but +literary prostitutes," said George, energetically. "We just write now +what we're told, selling our brains as women on the streets do their +bodies, and some of us don't like it, some of the best too, as you know +well, Geisner. My idea would be to pay a living salary, the same all +round, to every man on the literary staff. That would be fair enough as +an all round wage if it was low pay for editing and leader writing and +fancy work. Many a good man would jump at it, to be free to write as he +felt, and as for the rest of the staff by paying such a wage we'd get the +tip-top pick of the ordinary men who do the pick-up work that generally +isn't considered important but in my opinion is one of the main points of +a newspaper." + +"Would you take what you call a 'living salary' on such a paper?" asked +Connie. + +"I'd take half if Josie--" He looked at her with tender confidence. The +love-light was in her answering eyes. She nodded, proud of him. + +"And they'd all publish my poetry?" asked Arty. + +"Would they? They'd jump at it." + +"Then when they come along, I'll write for a year for nothing." + +"How about me?" asked Ford, "Where do I come in?" + +"And me?" asked Connie. + +"You can all come in," laughed George. "Geisner shall do the political +and get his editor ten years for sedition. Stratton will supply the mild +fatherly sociological leaders. Mrs. Stratton shall prove that there can't +be any true Art so long as we don't put the police on to everything that +is ugly and repulsive. Nellie, here, shall blossom out as the Joan of Arc +of women's rights, with a pen for a sword. And Arty we'll keep chained +upon the premises and feed him with peppercorns when we want something +particularly hot. Ford can retire to painting and pour his whole supply +of bile out in one cartoon a week that we'll publish as a Saturday's +supplement. Hawkins shall be our own correspondent who'll give the gentle +squatter completely away in weekly instalments. And Josie and I'll slash +the stuffing out of your 'copy' if you go writing three columns when +there's only room for one. We'll boil down on our papers. Every line will +be essence of extract. Don't you see how it's done already?" + +"We see it," said Nellie, stifling a yawn. "The next thing is to get the +unions to see it." + +"That's so," retorted George, "so I'll give you my idea to do what you +can with." + +"We must go," said Nellie, getting up from her chair. "It must be after +one and I'm tired." + +"It's ten minutes to two," said Ford, having pulled out his watch. + +"Why don't you stay all night, Nellie," asked Connie. "We can put Ned up, +if he doesn't mind a shake-down. Then we can make a night of it. Geisner +is off again on Monday or Tuesday." + +"Tuesday," said Geisner, who had gone to the book-shelf again. + +"Then I'll come Monday evening," said Nellie, for his tone was an +invitation. "I feel like a walk, and I don't feel like talking much." + +"All right," said Connie, not pressing, with true tact. "Will you come on +Monday too, Ned?" she asked, moving to the door under the hangings with +Nellie. Josie slipped quickly out on to the verandah with George. + +"I must be off on Monday," replied Ned, regretfully. "There's a shed +starts the next week, and I said I'd be up there to see that it shore +union. I'm very sorry, but I really can't wait." + +"I'm so sorry, too. But it can't be helped. Some other time, Ned." And +nodding to him Connie went out with Nellie. + +"So we shan't see you again," said Stratton, lighting a cigar at the gas. +Ford had resumed his puffing at his black pipe and his seat on the table. + +"Not soon at any rate," answered Ned. "I shall be in Western Queensland +this time next week." + +"The men are organising fast up that way, aren't they?" asked Stratton. + +"They had to," said Ned. "What with the Chinese and the squatters doing +as they liked and hating the sight of a white man, we'd all have been +cleared out if we hadn't organised." + +"Coloured labour has been the curse of Queensland all through," remarked +Ford. + +"I think it has made Queensland as progressive as it is, too," remarked +Geisner. "It was a common danger for all the working classes, and from +what I hear has given them unity of feeling earlier than that has been +acquired in the south." + +"Some of the old-fashioned union ideas that they have in Sydney want +knocking badly," remarked Arty, smoking cheerfully. + +"They'll be knocked safely enough if they want knocking," said Geisner. +"There are failings in all organisation methods everywhere as well as in +Sydney. New Unionism is only the Old Unionism reformed up to date. It'll +need reforming itself as soon as it has done its work." + +"Is the New Unionism really making its way in England, Geisner?" asked +Stratton. + +"I think so. A very intelligent man is working with two or three others +to organise the London dock laborers on the new lines. He told me he was +confident of success but didn't seem to realise all it meant. If those +men can be organised and held together for a rise in wages it'll be the +greatest strike that the world has seen yet. It will make New Unionism." + +"Do you think it possible?" asked Ford. "I know a little about the London +dockers. They are the drift of the English labour world. When a man is +hopeless he goes to look for work at the docks." + +"There is a chance if the move is made big enough to attract attention +and if everything is prepared beforehand. If money can be found to keep a +hundred thousand penniless men out while public opinion is forming they +can win, I think. Even British public opinion can't yet defend fourpence +an hour for casual work." + +"Men will never think much until they are organised in some form or +other," said Stratton. "Such a big move in London would boom the +organisation of unskilled men everywhere." + +"More plots!" cried Connie, coming back, followed by Nellie, waterproofed +and hatted. + +"It's raining," she went on, to Ned, "so I'll give you Harry's umbrella +and let Ford take his waterproof. You'll have a damp row, Nellie. I +suppose you know you've got to go across in George's boat, Ned." + +Ned didn't know, but just then George's "Ahoy!" sounded from outside. + +"We mustn't keep him waiting in the wet," exclaimed Nellie. She shook +hands with them all, kissing Mrs. Stratton affectionately. Ned felt as he +shook hands all round that he was leaving old friends. + +"Come again," said Stratton, warmly. "We shall always be glad to see +you." + +"Indeed we shall," urged Connie. "Don't wait to come with Nellie. Come +and see us any time you're in Sydney. Day or night, come and see if we're +in and wait here if we're not." + +Geisner and Stratton put on their hats and went with them down the +verandah stops to the little stone quay below. Josie was standing there, +in the drizzle, wrapped in a cloak and holding a lantern. In a rowing +skiff, alongside, was George; another lantern was set on one of the +seats. + +"Are you busy to-morrow afternoon?" asked Geisner of Ned, as Nellie was +being handed in, after having kissed Josie. + +"Not particularly," answered Ned. + +"Then you might meet me in front of the picture gallery between one and +two, and we can have a quiet chat." + +"All aboard!" shouted George. + +"I'll be there," answered Ned, shaking hands again with Geisner and +Stratton and with Josie, noticing that that young lady had a very warm +clinging hand. + +"Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!" From the three on shore. + +"Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!" From the three in the boat as George +shoved off. + +"Good-bye!" cried Connie's clear voice from the verandah. "Put up the +umbrella, Ned!" + +Ned obediently put up the umbrella she had lent him, overcoming his +objections by pointing out that it would keep Nellie's hat from being +spoiled. Then George's oars began to dip into the water, and they turned +their backs to the pleasant home and faced out into the wind and wet. + +The last sound that came to them was a long melodious cry that Josie sent +across the water to George, a loving "Good-bye!" that plainly meant "Come +back!" + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +"THIS IS SOCIALISM!" + +The working of George's oars and the rippling of water on the bow were +all that broke the silence as the skiff moved across the harbour. +Suddenly Ned lost sight of the swinging lantern that Josie had held at +the little landing stairs and without it could not distinguish the house +they had left. Here and there behind them were lights of various kinds +and sizes, shining blurred through the faint drizzle. He saw similar +lights in front and on either hand. Yet the darkness was so deep now that +but for the lantern on the fore thwarts he could not have seen George at +all. + +There were no sounds but those of their rowing. + +Nellie sat erect, half hidden in the umbrella Ned held over her. George +pulled a long sweeping stroke, bringing it up with a jerk that made the +rowlocks sound sharply. When he bent back they could feel the light boat +lift under them. He looked round now and then, steering himself by some +means inscrutable to the others, who without him would have been lost on +this watery waste. + +All at once George stopped rowing. "Listen!" he exclaimed. + +There was a swishing sound as of some great body rushing swiftly through +the water near them. It ceased suddenly; then as suddenly sounded again. + +"Sharks about," remarked George, in a matter-of-fact tone, rowing again +with the same long sweeping stroke as before. + +Nellie did not stir. She was used to such incidents, evidently. But Ned +had never before been so close to the sea-tigers and felt a creepy +sensation. He would much rather, he thought, be thirty-five miles from +water with a lame horse than in the company of sharks on a dark wet night +in the middle of Sydney harbour. + +"Are they dangerous?" he asked, with an attempt at being indifferent. + +"I Suppose so," answered George, in a casual way. "If one of them +happened to strike the boat it might be unpleasant. But they're terrible +cowards." + +"Are there many?" + +"In the harbour? Oh, yes, it swarms with them. You see that light," and +George pointed to the left, where one of the lights had detached itself +from the rest and shone close at hand. "That's on a little island and in +the convict days hard cases were put on it--I think it was on that +island or one like it--and the sharks saw that none of them swam +ashore." + +"They seem to have used those convicts pretty rough," remarked Ned. + +"Rough's no name," said George after a few minutes. "It was as vile and +unholy a thing, that System, as anything they have in Russia. A friend of +mine has been working the thing up for years, and is going to start +writing it up soon. You must read it when it comes out. It'll make you +hate everything that has a brass button on. I tell you, this precious Law +of ours has something to answer for. It was awful, horrible, and it's not +all gone yet, as I know." + +He rowed on for a space in silence. + +"There's one story I think of, sometimes, rowing across here, and hearing +the sharks splash. At one place they used to feed the dead convicts to +the sharks so as to keep them swarming about, and once they flung one in +before he was dead." + +Nellie gave a stifled exclamation. Ned was too horror-struck to answer; +above the clicking of the oars in the rowlocks he fancied he could hear +the swish of the savage sharks rushing through the water at their living +prey. He was not sorry when George again rested on his oars to say: + +"Will you land at the point this time, Nellie?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Well, here you are! We've had a pretty fastish pull over, considering." + +Two or three more strokes brought them to a flight of low stone steps. By +the light of the lantern Ned and Nellie were disembarked. + +"I won't keep you talking in the rain, Nellie," said George. "I'm sorry +you are going away so soon, Hawkins. We could have given you some boating +if you had time. You might come out to-morrow afternoon--that's this +afternoon--if you haven't anything better to do." + +"I'm very much obliged, but I was going to meet Mr. Geisner." + +"That settles it then. Anybody would sooner have a yarn with Geisner. +We'll fix some boating when you're down again. You'll come again. Won't +he, Nellie? Good-bye and a pleasant trip! Good-bye, Nellie." And having +shaken hands by dint of much arm stretching, George pushed his boat away +from the steps and pulled away. + +Nellie stood for a minute watching the lantern till it turned the point, +heading eastward. Then straightening the waterproof over her dress she +took Ned's arm and they walked off. + +"He's a nice sort of chap," remarked Ned, referring to George. + +"Yes, he's a great oarsman. He rows over to see Josie. Mrs. Stratton +calls them Hero and Leander." + +"Why? Who were they?" + +"Oh! Leander was Hero's sweetheart and used to swim across the water to +her so that nobody should see him." + +"They're to be married, I suppose?" + +"Yes, next month." + +"Those Strattons are immense--what's that noise, Nellie?" he +interrupted himself. A strange groaning from close at hand had startled +him. + +"Somebody asleep, I suppose," she answered, more accustomed to the Sydney +parks. But she stopped while, under the umbrella, he struck a match with +a bushman's craft. + +By the light of the match they saw a great hollow in the rocks that +bordered on one side the gravelled footway. The rocks leaned out and took +in part of the path, which widened underneath. Sheltered thus from the +rain and wind a number of men were sleeping, outcast, some in blankets, +some lying on the bare ground. The sound they had beard was a medley of +deep breathing and snoring. It was but a glimpse they caught as the match +flared up for a minute. It went out and they could see nothing, only the +faint outline of path and rock. They could hear still the moaning sound +that had attracted them. + +They walked on without speaking for a time. + +"How did you know the Strattons?" resumed Ned. + +"At the picture gallery one Sunday. She was writing some article +defending their being opened on the 'Sawbath' and I had gone in. I like +pictures--some pictures, you know. We got talking and she showed me +things in the pictures I'd never dreamed of before. We stayed there till +closing time and she asked me to come to see her. + +"She's immense!" + +"I'm so glad you like her. Everybody does." + +"Has she any children?" + +"Four. Such pretty children. She and her husband are so fond of each +other. I can't imagine people being happier." + +"I suppose they're pretty well off, Nellie?" + +"No, I don't think they're what you'd call well off. They're comfortable, +you know. She has to put on a sort of style, she's told me, to take the +edge off her ideas. If you wear low-necked dress you can talk the wildest +things, she says, and I think it's so. That's business with her. She has +to mix with low-necked people a little. It's her work." + +"Does she have to work?" + +"No. I suppose not. But I think she prefers to. She never writes what she +doesn't think, which is pleasanter than most writers find it. Then I +should think she'd feel more independent, however much she cares for her +husband. And then she has a little girl who's wonderfully clever at +colours, so she's saving up to send her to Paris when she's old enough. +They think she'll become a great painter--the little girl, I mean." + +"What does that Josie do?" + +"She's a music-teacher." + +"They're all clever, aren't they?" + +"Yes. But, of course, they've all had a chance. Ford is the most +remarkable. He never got any education to speak of until he was over 20. +The Strattons have been born as they live now. They've had some hard +times, I think, from what they say now and then, but they've always been +what's called 'cultured.' Everybody ought to be as they are." + +"I think so, too, Nellie, but can everybody be as well off as they are?" + +"They're not well off, I told you, Ned. If they spend L5 a week it's as +much as they do. Of course that sounds a lot, but since if things were +divided fairly everybody who works ought to get far more, it's not +extravagant riches. Wine and water doesn't cost more than beer, and the +things they've got were picked up bit by bit. It's what they've got and +the way it's put that looks so nice. There's nothing but what's pretty, +and she is always adding something or other. She idolises Art and +worships everything that's beautiful." + +"Do you think it's really that sort of thing that makes people better?" +said Ned. + +"How can it help making them better if their hearts are good? When what +is ugly and miserable in life jars on one at every turn because one loves +so what is harmonious and beautiful, there seems to me to be only one of +two things to be done, either to shut your eyes to others and become a +selfish egotist or to try with all your strength to bring a beautiful +life to others. I'm speaking, of course, particularly of people like the +Strattons. But I think that hatred of what is repulsive is a big +influence with all of us." + +"You mean of dirty streets, stuffy houses and sloppy clothes?" + +"Oh! More than that. Of ugly lives, of ugly thoughts, of others, and +ourselves perhaps, just existing like working bullocks when we might be +so happy, of living being generally such a hateful thing when it might be +so sweet!" + +"I suppose the Strattons are happy?" + +"Not as happy as everybody might be if the world was right. They +understand music and pictures and colouring and books. He reads science a +lot and paints--funny mixture, isn't it?--and she teaches the +children a great deal. They go boating together. They both work at what +they like and are clever enough to be fairly sure of plenty to do. They +have friends who take an interest in the things that interest them and +their children are little angels. They aren't short of money for anything +they need because they really live simply and so have plenty to spend. +And, then, they are such kind people. She has a way with her that makes +you feel better no matter how miserable you've been. That's happiness, I +think, as far as it goes. But she feels much as I do about children. She +is so afraid that they will not be happy and blames herself for being +selfish because other people's children never have any happiness and +would do anything to alter things so that it would be different. Still, +of course, they have a happy life as far as the life itself goes. I +think, the way they live, they must both feel as if they were each better +and knew more and cared for each other more the older they get." + +"It must be very pleasant," said Ned, after a pause. They had reached the +higher ground and were passing under branches from which the rain-drops, +collected, fell in great splashes on the umbrella. + +"Yes," said Nellie, after another pause. + +"Do they go to church?" Ned began again. + +"I never heard them say they did." + +"They're not religious then?" + +"What do you call religious?" + +"They don't believe anything, do they?" + +"I think they believe a very great deal. Far more than most people who +pretend to believe and don't," answered Nellie. There was a longer pause. +Then: + +"What do they believe?" + +"In Socialism." + +"Socialism! Look here, Nellie! What is Socialism?" + +They had passed the fig-tree avenue, turning off it by a cross path, +where a stone fountain loomed up gigantic in the gloom and where they +could hear a rushing torrent splashing. They were in the region of +gas-lamps again. Nellie walked along with a swiftness that taxed Ned to +keep abreast of her. She seemed to him to take pleasure in the wet night. +In spite of their long walking of the day before and the lateness of the +hour she had still the same springy step and upright carriage. As they +passed under the lamps he saw her face, damp with the rain, but flushed +with exercise, her eyes gleaming, her mouth open a little. He would have +liked to have taken her hand as she steadied the umbrella, walking arm in +arm with him, but he did not dare. She was not that sort of girl. + +He had felt a proud sense of proprietorship in her at the Strattons'. It +had pleased him to see how they all liked her, but pleased him most of +all that she could talk as an equal with these people, to him so +brilliant and clever. The faint thought of her which had been +unconsciously with him for years began to take shape. How pleasant it +would be to be like the Strattons, to live with Nellie always, and have +friends to come and see them on a Saturday night! How a man would work +for a home like that, so full of music, so full of song, so full of +beauty, so full of the thoughts which make men like unto gods and of the +love which makes gods like unto men! Why should not this be for him as +well as for others when, as Nellie said, it really cost only what rich +people thought poverty, and far less than the workingman's share if +things were fairly divided? And why should it not be for his mates as +well as for himself? And why, most of all, why not for the wretched +dwellers in the slums of Sydney, the weary women, the puny children, the +imbruted men? For the first time in his life, he coveted such things with +a righteous covetousness, without hating those who had them, recognising +without words that to have and to appreciate such a life was to desire +ceaselessly to bring it within the reach of every human being. He could +not see how this was all to come about. He would have followed blindly +anybody who played the Marseillaise as Geisner did. He was ready to echo +any ringing thought that appealed to him as good and noble. But he did +not know. He could see that in the idea called by Mrs. Stratton "the +Cause" there was an understood meaning which fitted his aspirations and +his desires. He had gathered, his narrow bigotry washed from him, that +between each and all of those whom he had just left there was a bond of +union, a common thought, an accepted way. He had met them strangers, and +had left them warm friends. The cartoonist, white with rage at the memory +of the high rectory wall that shut the beautiful from the English poor; +the gloomy poet whose verses rang still in his ears and would live in his +heart for ever; the gray-eyed woman who idolised Art, as Nellie said, and +fanned still the fire in which her nearest kin had perished; the +pressman, with his dream of a free press that would not serve the money +power; the painter to whom the chiselled stone spoke; the pretty girl who +had been cradled amid barricades; the quiet musician for whom the +bitterness of death was past, born leader of men, commissioned by that +which stamped him what he was; the dressmaking girl, passionately +pleading the cause of Woman; even himself, drinking in this new life as +the ground sucks up the rain after a drought; between them all there was +a bond--"the Cause." What was this Cause? To break down all walls, to +overthrow all wrong, to destroy the ugliness of human life, to free +thought, to elevate Art, to purify Love, to lift mankind higher, to give +equality to women, to--to--he did not see exactly where he himself +came in--all this was the Cause. Yet he did not quite understand it, +just the same. Nor did he know how it was all to come about. But he +intended to find out. So he asked Nellie what the Strattons believed, +feeling instinctively that there must be belief in something. + +"What do they believe?" he had asked. + +"In Socialism," Nellie had answered. + +"Socialism! Look here, Nellie! What is Socialism?" he had exclaimed. + +They neared a lamp, shining mistily in the drizzle. Close at hand was a +seat, facing the grass. In the dim light was what looked like a bundle of +rags thrown over the seat and trailing to the ground. Nellie stopped. It +was a woman, sleeping. + +There, under a leafy tree, whose flat branches shielded her somewhat from +the rain, slept the outcast. She had dozed off into slumber, sitting +there alone. She was not lying, only sitting there, her arm flung over +the back of the seat, her head fallen on her shoulder, her face upturned +to the pitying night. It was the face of a street-walker, bloated and +purplish, the poor pretence of colour gone, the haggard lines showing, +all the awful life of her stamped upon it; yet in the lamplight, upturned +in its helplessness, sealed with the sleep that had come at last to her, +sore-footed, as softly as it might have come to a little baby falling +asleep amid its play, there enhaloed it the incarnation of triumphant +suffering. On the swollen cheeks of the homeless woman the night had shed +its tears of rain. There amid the wind and wet, in the darkness, alone +and weary, shame-worn and sin-sodden, scorned by the Pharisee, despised +by the vicious, the harlot slept and forgot. Calm as death itself was the +face of her. Softly and gently she breathed, as does the heavy-eyed bride +whose head the groom's arm pillows. Nature, our Mother Nature, had taken +her child for a moment to her breast and the outcast rested there awhile, +all sorrows forgotten, all desires stilled, all wrongs and sins and shame +obscured and blotted out. She envied none. Equal was she with all. Great +indeed is Sleep, which teaches us day by day that none is greater in +God's sight than another, that as we all came equal and naked from the +unknown so naked and equal we shall all pass on to the Unknown again, +that this life is but as a phantasy in which it is well to so play one's +part that nightly one falls asleep without fear and meets at last the +great sleep without regret! + +But, oh, the suffering that had earned for this forsaken sister the sweet +sleep she slept! Oh, the ceaseless offering of this sin-stained body, the +contumelious jeers she met, the vain search through streets and avenues +this wild night, for the blind lust that would give her shelter and food! +Oh, the efforts to beg, the saints who would not wait to listen to such a +one, the sinners who were as penniless! Oh, the shivering fits that walk, +walk, walk, when the midnight hours brought silence and solitude, the +stamps that racked her poor limbs when she laid down, exhausted, in +dripping garments, on the hard park seats, the aching feet that refused +at last the ceaseless tramping in their soaked and broken shoes! Oh, the +thoughts of her, the memories, the dreams of what had been and what might +be, as she heard the long hours toll themselves away! Oh, the bitter +tears she may have shed, and the bitter words she may have uttered, and +the bitter hate that may have overflowed in her against that vague +something we call Society! And, oh, the sweet sleep that fell upon her at +last, unexpected--as the end of our waiting shall come, when we weary +most--falling upon her as the dew falls, closing her weary eye-lids, +giving her peace and rest and strength to meet another to-day! + +Ned stopped when Nellie did, of course. Neither spoke. A sense of great +shame crept upon him, he hardly knew why. He could not look at Nellie. He +wished she would move on and leave him there. The silent pathos of that +sleeping face cried to him. Lowest of the low, filthy, diseased probably, +her face as though the womanliness had been stamped from her by a brutal +heel of iron, she yet was a woman. This outcast and Nellie were of one +sex; they all three were of one Humanity. + +A few hours before and he would have passed her by with a glance of +contemptuous pity. But now, he seemed to have another sense awakened in +him, the sense that feels, that sympathises in the heart with the hearts +of others. It was as though he himself slept there. It was as though he +understood this poor sister, whom the merciful called erring, and the +merciless wicked, but of whom the just could only say: she is what we in +her place must have become. She was an atom of the world of suffering by +which his heart was being wrung. She was one upon whom the Wrong fell +crushingly, and she was helpless to resist it. He was strong, and he had +given no thought to those who suffered as this poor outcast suffered. He +had lived his own narrow life, and shared the sin, and assisted Wrong by +withholding his full strength from the side of Right. And upon him was +the responsibility for this woman. He, individually, had kicked her into +the streets, and dragged her footsore through the parks, and cast her +there to bear testimony against him to every passer-by; he, because he +had not fought, whole-souled, with those who seek to shatter the +something which, without quite understanding, he knew had kicked and +dragged and outcasted this woman sleeping here. Ned always took his +lessons personally. It was perhaps, a touch in him of the morbidity that +seizes so often the wandering Arabs of the western plains. + +Suddenly Nellie let go the umbrella, leaving it in his hand. She bent +forward, stooped down. The strong young face, proud and sad, so pure in +its maiden strength, glowing with passionate emotion, was laid softly +against that bruised and battered figurehead of shipwrecked womanhood; +Nellie had kissed the sleeping harlot on the cheek. + +Then, standing erect, she turned to Ned, her lips parted, her face +quivering, her eyes flashing, her hand resting gently on the unconscious +woman. + +"You want to know what Socialism is," she said, in a low, trembling +voice. "This is Socialism." And bending down again she kissed the poor +outcast harlot a second time. The woman never stirred. Seizing Ned's arm +Nellie drew him away, breaking into a pace that made him respect her +prowess as a walker ever after. + +Until they reached home neither spoke. Nellie looked sterner than ever. +Ned was in a whirl of mental excitement. Perhaps if he had been less +natural himself the girl's passionate declaration of fellowship with all +who are wronged and oppressed--for so he interpreted it by the light of +his own thoughts--might have struck him as a little bit stagey. Being +natural, he took it for what it was, an outburst of genuine feeling. But +if Nellie had really designed it she could not have influenced him more +deeply. Their instincts, much akin, had reached the same idea by +different ways. Her spontaneous expression of feeling had fitted in her +mind to the Cause which possessed her as a religious idea, and had capped +in him the human yearnings which were leading him to the same goal. And +so, what with his overflowing sympathy for the sleeping outcast, and his +swelling love for Nellie, and the chaotic excitement roused in him by all +he had seen and heard during the preceding hours, that kiss burnt itself +into his imagination and became to him all his life through as a sacred +symbol. From that moment his life was forecast--a woman tempted him and +he ate. + +For that kiss Ned gave himself into the hands of a fanaticism, eating of +the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, striving to become as a god knowing +good from evil. For that kiss he became one of those who have the Desire +which they know can never be satiated in them. For that kiss he +surrendered himself wholly to the faith of her whose face was sad and +stern-mouthed, content ever after if with his whole life he could fill +one of the ruts that delay the coming of Liberty's triumphal car. To that +turning-point in his life, other events led up, certainly, events which +of themselves would likely have forced him to stretch out his hand and +pluck and eat. It is always that way with life changes. Nothing depends +altogether upon one isolated act. But looking back in after years, when +the lesser influences had cleared away in the magic glass of Time, Ned +could ever see, clear and distinct as though it were but a minute since, +the stern red lips of that pale, proud, passionate face pressed in +trembling sisterliness to the harlot's purple cheek. + +As she put the key in the door Nellie turned to Ned, speaking for the +first time: + +"You'd better ask Geisner about Socialism when you see him to-morrow--I +mean this afternoon." + +Ned nodded without speaking. Silently he let her get his candle, and +followed her up the stairs to the room concerning which the card was +displayed in the window below. She turned down the bedclothes, then held +out her hand. + +"Good-night or good-morning, whichever it is!" she said, smiling at him. +"You can sleep as long as you like Sunday morning, you know. If you want +anything knock the wall there." + +"Good-night, Nellie!" he answered, slowly, holding her fingers in his. +Then, before she could stop him, he lifted her hand to his lips. She did +not snatch it away but looked him straight in the eyes, without speaking; +then went out, shutting the door softly behind her. She understood him +partly; not altogether, then. + +Left alone in the scantily-furnished room, Ned undressed, blew out the +candle and went to bed. But until he fell asleep, and in his dreams +afterwards, he still saw Nellie bending down over a purpled, sin-stained +face, and heard her sweet voice whisper tremblingly: + +"This is Socialism!" + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +WHERE THE EVIL REALLY LIES. + +Geisner was betimes at his appointment in the Domain. It was still the +dinner hour, and though it was Sunday there were few to be seen on the +grass or along the paths. So Ned saw him afar off, pacing up and down +before the Art Gallery like a sentinel, an ordinary looking man to a +casual passer-by, one whom you might pass a hundred times on the street +and not notice particularly, even though he was ugly. Perhaps because of +it. + +Neither of them cared to stroll about, they found. Accordingly they +settled down at a shady patch on a grassy slope, the ground already dried +from the night's rain by the fierce summer sunshine of the morning. +Stretched out there, Geisner proceeded to roll a cigarette and Ned to +chew a blade of grass. + +Below them a family were picnicking quietly. Dinner was over; pieces of +paper littered the ground by an open basket. The father lay on his side +smoking, the mother was giving a nursing baby its dinner, one little +child lay asleep under a tree and two or three wore were playing near at +hand. + +"That reminds me of Paris," remarked Geisner, watching them. + +"I suppose you are French?" + +"No. I've been in France considerably." + +"It's a beautiful country, isn't it?" + +"All countries are beautiful in their way. Sydney Harbour is the most +beautiful spot I know. I hardly know where I was born. In Germany I +think." + +"Things are pretty bad in those old countries, aren't they?" + +"Things are pretty bad everywhere, aren't they?" + +"Yes," answered Ned, meditatively. "They seem to be. They're bad enough +here and this is called the workingman's paradise. But a good many seem +glad enough to get here from other countries. It must be pretty bad where +they come from." + +"So it is. It is what it is here, only more so. It is what things will be +in a very few years here if you let them go on. As a matter of fact the +old countries ought to be wore prosperous than the new ones, but our +social system has become so ill-balanced that in the countries where +there are most people at work those people are more wretched than where +there are comparatively few working." + +"How do you mean?" + +"Well, this way. The wealth production of thickly settled countries is +proportionately greater than that of thinly settled countries. Of course, +there would be a limit somewhere, but so far no country we know of has +reached it." + +"You don't mean that a man working in England or France earns more than a +man working in Australia?" demanded Ned, sitting up. "I thought it was +the other way." + +"I don't mean he gets more but I certainly mean that he produces more. +The appliances are so much better, and the sub-division of labour, that +is each man doing one thing until he becomes an expert at it, is carried +so much further by very virtue of the thicker population." + +"That's to say they have things fixed so that they crush more to the ton +of work." + +"About that. Taking the people all round, and throwing in kings and +queens and aristocrats and the parsons that Ford loves so, every average +Englishman produced yesterday more wealth--more boots, more tools, more +cloth, more anything of value--than every average Australian. And every +average Belgian produced yesterday, or any day, more wealth than every +average Englishman. These are facts you can see in any collection of +statistics. The conservative political economists don't deny them; they +only try to explain them away." + +"But how does it come? Men produce more there than we do here and earn +less. How's that?" + +"Simply because they're robbed more." + +"Look here, Mr. Geisner!" said Ned, gathering his knees into his arms. +"That's what I want to know. I know we're robbed. Any fool can see that +those who work the least or don't work at all get pretty much everything, +but I don't quite see how they get it. We're only just beginning to think +of these things in the bush, and we don't know much yet. We only know +there's something wrong, but we don't know what to do except to get a +union and keep up wages." + +"That's the first step, to get a union," said Geisner. "But unless +unionists understand what it's all about they'll only be able to keep up +wages for a little while. You see, Ned, this is the difficulty: a man +can't work when he likes." + +"A man can't work when he likes!" + +"No; not the average man and it's the average man who has to be +considered always. Let's take a case--yourself. You want to live. +Accordingly, you must work, that is you must produce what you need to +live upon from the earth by your labour or you must produce something +which other working men need and these other men will give you in +exchange for it something they have produced which you need. Now, let's +imagine you wanting to live and desiring to start to-morrow morning to +work for your living. What would you do?" + +"I suppose I'd ask somebody." + +"Ask what?" + +"Well, I'd have to ask somebody or other if there was any work." + +"What work?" + +"Well, if they had a job they wanted me to do, that I could do, you +know." + +"I don't 'You know' anything. I want you to explain. Now what would you +say?" + +"Oh! I'd kind of go down to the hut likely and see the boys if 'twas any +use staying about and then, perhaps, or it might be before I went to the +hut, that would be all according, I'd see the boss and sound him." + +"How sound him?" + +"Well, that would be all according, too. If I was pretty flush and didn't +care a stiver whether I got a job or not I'd waltz right up to him just +as I might to you to ask the time, and if he came any of his law-de-dah +squatter funny business on me I'd give him the straight wire, I promise +you. But it stands to reason--don't it?--that if I've been out of +graft for months and haven't got any money and my horses are played out +and there's no chance of another job, well, I'm going to humor him a bit +more than I'd like to, ain't I?" + +Geisner laughed "You see it all right, Ned. Suppose the first man you +sounded said no?" + +"I'd try another." + +"And if the other said no?" + +"Well, I'd have to keep on trying." + +"And you'd get more inclined to humour the boss every time you had to try +again." + +"Naturally. That's how they get at us. No man's a crawler who's sure of a +job." + +"Then you might take lower wages, and work longer hours, after you'd been +out of work till you'd got thoroughly disheartened than you would now." + +"I wouldn't. Not while there was--I might have to, though I say I'd +starve or steal first. There are lots who do, I suppose." + +"Lots who wouldn't dream of doing it if there was plenty of work to be +had?" + +"Of course. Who'd work for less than another man if he needn't, easily? +There isn't one man in a thousand who'd do another fellow out of a job +for pure meanness. The chaps who do the mischief are those who're so +afraid the boss'll sack them, and that another boss won't take them on, +that they'd almost lick his boots if they thought it would please him." + +"Now we're coming to it. It is work being hard to get that lowers wages +and increases hours, and makes a workman, or workwoman either, put up +with what nobody would dream of putting up with if they could help it?" + +"Of course that's it." + +"Now! Is the day's work done by a poorly-paid man less than that done by +a highly-paid one?" + +"No," answered Ned. "I've seen it more," he added. + +"How's that?" + +"Well, when a man's anxious to keep a job and afraid he won't get another +he'll often nearly break his back bullocking at it. When he feels +independent he'll do the fair thing, and sling the job up if the boss +tries to bullock him. It's the same thing all along the line, it seems to +me. When you can get work easily you get higher wages, shorter hours, +some civility, and only do the fair thing. When you can't, wages come +down, hours spin out, the boss puts on side, and you've got to work like +a nigger." + +"Then, roughly speaking, the amount of work you do hasn't got very much +to do with the pay you get for it?" + +"I suppose not. It's not likely a man ever gets more than his work is +worth. The boss would soon knock him off and let the work slide. I +suppose a man is only put on to a job when its worth more than the boss +has to pay for getting it done. And I reckon the less a man can be got to +do it for the better it is for the fellow who gets the job done." + +"That's it. Suppose you can't get work no matter how often you ask, what +do you do?" + +"Keep on looking. Live on rations that the squatters serve out to keep +men travelling the country so they can get them if they want them or on +mutton you manage to pick up or else your mates give you a bit of a lift. +You must live. It's beg or steal or else starve." + +"I think men and women are beginning to starve in Australia. Many are +quite starving in the old countries and have been starving longer. That's +why the workers are somewhat worse off there than here. The gold rushes +gave things a lift here and raised the condition of the workers +wonderfully. But the same causes that have been working in the old +countries have been working here and are fast beating things down again." + +"A gold rush!" exclaimed Ned. "That's the thing to make wages rise, +particularly if it's a poor man's digging." + +"What's that?" + +"Don't you know? An alluvial field is where you can dig out gold with a +pick and shovel and wash it out with a pannikin. You don't want any +machines, and everybody digs for himself, or mates with other fellows, +and if you want a man to do a job you've got to pay him as much as he +could dig for himself in the time." + +"I see. 'Poor man's digging,' you call it, eh? You don't think much of a +reefing field?" + +"Of course not," answered Ned, smiling at this apparent ignorance. +"Reefing fields employ men, and give a market, and a few strike it, but +the average man, as you call him, hasn't got a chance. It takes so much +capital for sinking and pumping and crushing, and things of that sort, +that companies have to be formed outside, and the miners mostly work just +for wages. And when a reefing field gets old it's as bad as a coal-field +or a factory town. You're just working for other people, and the bigger +the dividends the more anxious they seem to be to knock wages" + +"Then this is what it all amounts to. If you aren't working for yourself +you're working for somebody else who pays as little as he can for as much +as he can get, and rubs the dirt in, often, into the bargain." + +"A man may not earn wages working for himself," answered Ned. + +"You mean he may not produce for himself as much value as men around him +receive in wages for working for somebody else. Of course! You might +starve working on Mount Morgan or Broken Hill with a pick and pannikin, +though on an alluvial your pick and pannikin would be all you needed. +That's the kernel of the industrial question. Industry has passed out of +the alluvial stage into the reefing. We must have machinery to work with +or we may all starve in the midst of mountains of gold." + +"I don't quite see how you mean." + +"Just this. If every man could take his pick on his shoulders and work +for himself with reasonable prospect of what he regarded as a sufficient +return he wouldn't ask anybody else for work." + +"Not often, anyway." + +"But if he cannot so work for himself he must go round looking for the +man who has a shaft or a pump or a stamping mill and must bargain for the +owner of machinery to take the product of his labour for a certain price +which of course isn't it's full value at all but the price at which, +owing to his necessities, he is compelled to sell his labour. + +"Things are getting so in all branches of industry, in squatting, in +manufacturing, in trading, in ship-owning, in everything, that it takes +more and more capital for a man to start for himself. This is a necessary +result of increasing mechanical powers and of the economy of big +businesses as compared to small ones. For example, if there is a great +advantage in machine clipping, as a friend of mine who understands such +things tells me there is, all wool will some day be clipped that way. +Then, the market being full of superior machine-clipped wool, +hand-clipped would have little sale and only at lower price. The result +would be that all wool-growers must have machines as part of their +capital, an additional expense, making it still harder for a man with a +small capital to start wool-growing. + +"All this means," continued Geisner, "that more and more go round asking +for work as what we call civilisation progresses, that is as population +increases and the industrial life becomes more complicated. I don't mean +in Australia only. I'm speaking generally. They can only work when +another man thinks he can make a profit out of them, and there are so +many eager to be made a profit on that the owner of the machine has it +pretty well his own way. This system operates for the extension of its +own worst feature, the degradation of the working masses. You see, such a +vast amount of industrial work can be held over that employers, sometimes +unconsciously, sometimes deliberately, hold work over until times are +what they call 'more suitable,' that is when they can make bigger profits +by paying less in wages. This has a tendency to constantly keep wages +down, besides affording a stock argument against unionist agitations for +high wages. But, in any case, the fits of industrial briskness and +idleness which occur in all countries are enough to account for the +continual tendency of wages to a bare living amount for those working, as +many of those not working stand hungrily by to jump into their places if +they get rebellious or attempt to prevent wages going down." + +"That's just how it is," said Ned. "But we're going to get all men into +unions, and then we'll keep wages up." + +"Yes; there is no doubt that unions help to keep wages up. But, you see, +so long as industrial operations can be contracted, and men thrown out of +work, practically at the pleasure of those who employ, complete unionism +is almost impracticable if employers once begin to act in concert. +Besides, the unemployed are a menace to unionism always. Workmen can +never realise that too strongly." + +"What are we to do then if we can't get what we want by unionism?" + +"How can you get what you want by unionism? The evil is in having to ask +another man for work at all--in not being able to work for yourself. +Unionism, so far, only says that if this other man does employ you he +shall not take advantage of your necessity by paying you less than the +wage which you and your fellow workmen have agreed to hold out for. You +must destroy the system which makes it necessary for you to work for the +profit of another man, and keeps you idle when he can't get a profit out +of you. The whole wage system must be utterly done away with." And +Geisner rolled another cigarette as though it was the simplest idea in +the world. + +"How? What will you do instead?" + +"How! By having men understand what it is, and how there can be no true +happiness and no true manliness until they overthrow it! By preaching +socialistic ideas wherever men will listen, and forcing them upon them +where they do not want to listen! By appealing to all that is highest in +men and to all that is lowest--to their humanity and to their +selfishness! By the help of the education which is becoming general, by +the help of art and of science, and even of this vile press that is the +incarnation of all the villainies of the present system! By living for +the Cause, and by being ready to die for it! By having only one idea: to +destroy the Old Order and to bring in the New!" Geisner spoke quietly, +but in his voice was a ring that made Ned's blood tingle in his veins. + +"What do you call the Old Order?" asked Ned, lying back and looking up at +the sky through the leaves. + +"Everything that is inhuman, everything that is brutal, everything which +relies upon the taking advantage of a fellow-man, which leads to the +degradation of a woman or to the unhappiness of a child. Everything which +is opposed to the idea of human brotherhood. That which produces +scrofulous kings, and lying priests, and greasy millionaires, and +powdered prostitutes, and ferret-faced thieves. That which makes the +honest man a pauper and a beggar, and sets the clever swindler in +parliament. That which makes you what you are at 24, a man without a +home, with hardly a future. That which tries to condemn those who protest +to starvation, and will yet condemn them to prison here in Australia as +readily as ever it did in Europe or Russia. + +"You want to know what makes this," he went on. "Well, it is what we have +been talking of, that you should have to ask another man for work so that +you may live. It doesn't matter what part of the world you are in or +under what form of government, it is the same everywhere. So long as you +can't work without asking another man for permission you are exposed to +all the ills that attend poverty and all the tyranny that attends +inordinate power and luxury. When you grip that, you understand half the +industrial problem." + +"And the other half, what's that?" asked Ned. + +"This, that we've got over the alluvial days, if they ever did exist +industrially, and are in the thick of reefing fields and syndicates. So +much machinery is necessary now that no ordinary single man can own the +machinery he needs to work with as he could in the old pick and pannikin +days. This makes him the slave of those who do own it for he has to work +to live. Men must all join together to own the machinery they must have +to work with, so that they may use it to produce what they need as they +need it and will not have to starve unless some private owner of +machinery can make a profit out of their labour. They must pull together +as mates and work for what is best for all, not each man be trying only +for himself and caring little whether others live or die. We must own all +machinery co-operatively and work it co-operatively." + +"How about the land? Oughtn't that to be owned by the people too?" + +"Why, of course. The land is a part of the machinery of production. Henry +George separates it but in reality it is simply one of the means by which +we live, nowadays, for no man but an absolute savage can support himself +on the bare land. In the free land days which Henry George quotes, the +free old German days when we were all barbarians and didn't know what a +thief was, not only was the land held in common but the cattle also. +Without its cattle a German tribe would have starved on the richest +pastureland in Europe, and without our machinery we would starve were the +land nationalised to-morrow. At least I think so. George's is a scheme by +which it is proposed to make employers compete so fiercely among one +another that the workman will have it all his own way. It works this way. +You tax the landowner until it doesn't pay him to have unused land. He +must either throw it up or get it used somehow and the demand for labour +thus created is to lift wages and put the actual workers in what George +evidently considers a satisfactory position. That's George's Single Tax +scheme." + +"You don't agree with it?" asked Ned. + +"I am a Socialist. Between all Socialists and all who favour competition +in industry, as the Single Tax scheme does, there is a great gulf fixed. +Economically, I consider it fallacious, for the very simple reason that +capitalism continues competition, not to selling at cost price but to +monopoly, and I have never met an intelligent Single Taxer, and I have +met many, who could logically deny the possibility of the Single Tax +breaking down in an extension of this very monopoly power. Roughly, +machinery is necessary to work land most profitably, profitably enough +even to get a living off it. Suppose machine holders, that is +capitalists, extend their organisation a little and 'pool' their +interests as land users, that is refuse to compete against one another +for the use of land! Nellie was telling me that at one land sale on the +Darling Downs in Queensland the selectors about arranged matters among +themselves beforehand. The land sold, owing to its situation, was only +valuable to those having other land near and so was all knocked down at +the upset price though worth four times as much. It seems to me that in +just the same way the capitalists, who alone can really use land +remember, for the farmer, the squatter, the shopkeeper, the manufacturer, +the merchant, are nowadays really only managers for banks and mortgage +companies, will soon arrange a way of fixing the values of land to suit +themselves. But apart from that, I object to the Single Tax idea from the +social point of view. It is competitive. It means that we are still to go +on buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest. It is tinged +with that hideous Free Trade spirit of England, by which cotton kings +became millionaires while cotton spinners were treated far worse than any +chattel slaves. There are other things to be considered besides +cheapness, though unfortunately, with things as they are we seem +compelled to consider cheapness first." + +They lay for some time without speaking. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +"IT ONLY NEEDS ENOUGH FAITH." + +"You think land and stock and machinery should be nationalised, then?" +asked Ned, turning things over in his mind. + +"I think land and machinery, the entire means and processes of the +production and exchange of wealth, including stock, should be held in +common by those who need them and worked cooperatively for the benefit of +all. That is the socialistic idea of industry. The State Socialists seek +to make the State the co-operative medium, the State to be the company +and all citizens to be equal shareholders as it were. State Socialism is +necessarily compulsory on all. The other great socialistic idea, that of +Anarchical Communism, bases itself upon voluntaryism and opposes all +organised Force, whether of governments or otherwise." + +"Then Anarchists aren't wicked men?" + +"The Anarchist ideal is the highest and noblest of all human ideals. I +cannot conceive of a good man who does not recognise that when he once +understands it. The Anarchical Communists simply seek that men should +live in peace and concord, of their own better nature, without being +forced, doing harm to none, and being harmed by none. Of course the blind +revolt against oppressive and unjust laws and tyrannical governments has +become associated with Anarchy, but those who abuse it simply don't know +what they do. Anarchical Communism, that is men working as mates and +sharing with one another of their own free will, is the highest +conceivable form of Socialism in industry." + +"Are you an Anarchist?" + +"No. I recognise their ideal, understand that it is the only natural +condition for a community of general intelligence and fair moral health, +and look to the time when it will be instituted. I freely admit it is the +only form of Socialism possible among true Socialists. But the world is +full of mentally and morally and socially diseased people who, I believe, +must go through the school of State Socialism before, as a great mass, +they are true Socialists and fit for voluntary Socialism. Unionism is the +drill for Socialism and Socialism is the drill for Anarchy and Anarchy is +that free ground whereon true Socialists and true Individualists meet as +friends and mates, all enmity between them absorbed by the development of +an all-dominant Humanity." + +"Mates! Do you know that's a word I like?" said Ned. "It makes you feel +good, just the sound of it. I know a fellow, a shearer, who was witness +for a man in a law case once, and the lawyer asked him if he wasn't mates +with the chap he was giving evidence for. + +"'No,' says Bill, 'we ain't mates.' + +"'But you've worked together?' says the lawyer. 'Oh, yes!' says Bill. + +"'And travelled together?' + +"'Oh, yes!' + +"'And camped together?' + +"'Oh, yes!' + +"'Then if you're not mates what is mates?' says the lawyer in a bit of a +tear. + +"'Well, mister,' says Bill, 'mates is them wot's got one pus. If I go to +a shed with Jack an' we're mates an' I earn forty quid and Jack gets sick +an' only earns ten or five or mebbe nothin' at all we puts the whole lot +in one pus, or if it's t'other way about an' Jack earns the forty it +don't matter. There's one pus no matter how much each of us earns an' it +b'longs just the same to both of us alike. If Jack's got the pus and I +want half-a-crown, I says to Jack, says I, "Jack, gimme the pus." An' if +Jack wants ten quid or twenty or the whole lot he just says to me, +"Bill," says he "gimme the pus." I don't ask wot he's goin' to take and I +don't care. He can take it all if he wants it, 'cos it stands to reason, +don't it, mister?' says Bill to the lawyer, 'that a man wouldn't be so +dirt mean as to play a low-down trick on his own mate. So you see, +mister, him an' me warn't mates 'cos we had two pusses an' mates is them +wot's got one pus.'" + +Geisner laughed with Ned over the bush definition of "mates." + +"Bill was about right," he said, "and Socialism would make men mates to +the extent of all sharing up with one another. Each man might have a +purse but he'd put no more into it than his mate who was sick and weak." + +"We'd all work together and share together, I take it," said Ned. "But +suppose a man wouldn't work fairly and didn't want to share?" + +"I'd let him and all like him go out into the bush to see how they could +get on alone. They'd soon get tired. Men must co-operate to live +civilised." + +"Then Socialism is co-operation?" remarked Ned. + +"Co-operation as against competition is the main industrial idea of +Socialism. But there are two Socialisms. There is a socialism with a +little 's' which is simply an attempt to stave off the true Socialism. +This small, narrow socialism means only the state regulation of the +distribution of wealth. It has as its advocates politicians who seek to +modify the robbery of the workers, to ameliorate the horrors of the +competitive system, only in order to prevent the upheaval which such men +recognise to be inevitable if things keep on unchanged." + +"But true Socialism? I asked Nellie last night what Socialism was, but +she didn't say just what." + +"What did she say?" + +"Well! We were coming through the Domain last night, this morning I mean. +It was this morning, too. And on a seat in the rain, near a lamp, was a +poor devil of a woman, a regular hardtimer, you know, sleeping with her +head hung over the back of the seat like a fowl's. I'd just been asking +Nellie what Socialism was when we came to the poor wretch and she stopped +there. I felt a bit mean, you know, somehow, but all at once Nellie bent +her head and kissed this street-walking woman on the cheek, softly, so +she didn't wake her. 'That's Socialism,' says Nellie, and we didn't speak +any more till we got to her place, and then she told me to ask you what +Socialism was." Ned had shifted his position again and was sitting now on +his heels. He had pulled out his knife and was digging a little hole +among the grass roots. + +Geisner, who hardly moved except to roll cigarettes and light them, lay +watching him. "I think she's made you a Socialist," he answered, smiling. + +"I suppose so," answered Ned, gravely. "If Socialism means that no matter +what you are or what you've been we're all mates, and that Nellie's going +to join hands with the street-walker, and that you're going to join hands +with me, and that all of us are going to be kind to one another and have +a good time like we did at Mrs. Stratton's last night, well, I'm a +Socialist and there's heaps up in the bush will be Socialists too." + +"You know what being a Socialist means, Ned?" asked Geisner, looking into +the young man's eyes. + +"I've got a notion," said Ned, looking straight back. + +"There are socialists and Socialists, just as there is socialism and +Socialism. The ones babble of what they do not feel because it's becoming +the thing to babble. The others have a religion and that religion is +Socialism." + +"How does one know a religion?" + +"When one is ready to sacrifice everything for it. When one only desires +that the Cause may triumph. When one has no care for self and does not +fear anything that man can do and has a faith which nothing can shake, +not even one's own weakness!" + +There was a pause. "I'll try to be a Socialist of the right sort," said +Ned. + +"You are young and hopeful and will think again and again that the day of +redemption is dawning, and will see the night roll up again. You will see +great movements set in and struggle to the front and go down when most +was expected of them. You will see in the morning the crowd repent of its +enthusiasm of the night before. You will find cowards where you expected +heroes and see the best condemned to the suffering and penury that weaken +the bravest. Your heart will ache and your stomach will hunger and your +body will be bent and your head gray and then you may think that the +world is not moving and that you have wasted your life and that none are +grateful for it." + +"I will try not," said Ned. + +"You will see unionism grow, the New Unionism, which is simply the +socialistic form of unionism. You will see, as I said before, penal laws +invoked against unionism here in Australia, under the old pretence of +'law and order.' You will see the labour movement diverted into political +action and strikes fought and lost and won at the polling booths." + +"Will it not come then?" + +"How can it come then? Socialism is not a thing which can be glued like a +piece of veneering over this rotten social system of ours. It can only +come by the utter sweeping away of competition, and that can only come by +the development of the socialistic idea in men's hearts." + +"Do you mean that unions and political action and agitations don't do any +good?" + +"Of course they do good. A union may make an employer rob his men of a +few shillings weekly less. An act of Parliament may prevent wage-slaves +from being worked sixteen hours a day. An act of Parliament, granted that +Parliament represented the dominant thought of the people, could even +enforce a change of the entire social system. But before action must come +the dominant thought. Unions and Parliaments are really valuable as +spreading the socialistic idea. Every unionist is somewhat socialist so +far as he has agreed not to compete any longer against his fellows. Every +act of Parliament is additional proof that the system is wrong and must +go before permanent good can come. And year after year the number of men +and women who hold Socialism as a religion is growing. And when they are +enough you will see this Old Order melt away like a dream and the New +Order replace it. That which appears so impregnable will pass away in a +moment. So!" He blew a cloud of smoke and watched it disappear circling +upwards. + +"Listen!" he went on. "It only needs enough Faith. This accursed +Competitivism of ours has no friends but those who fear personal loss by +a change of system. Not one. It has hirelings, Pretorian guards, +Varangians, but not a devoted people. Its crimes are so great that he is +a self-condemned villain who knowing them dreams of justifying them. +There is not one man who would mourn it for itself if it fell to-morrow. +A dozen times this century it has been on the verge of destruction, and +what has saved it every time is simply that those who assailed it had not +a supreme ideal common among them as to how they should re-build. It is +exactly the same with political action as with revolutionary movements. +It will fail till men have faith." + +"How can they get it?" asked Ned, for Geisner had ceased speaking and +mused with a far-off expression on his face. + +"If we ourselves have it, sooner or later we shall give it to others. +Hearts that this world has wounded are longing for the ideal we bring; +artist-souls that suffering has purified and edged are working for the +Cause in every land; weak though we are we have a love for the Beautiful +in us, a sense that revolts against the unloveliness of life as we have +it, a conception of what might be if things were only right. In every +class the ground is being turned by the ploughshare of Discontent; +everywhere we can sow the seed broadcast with both hands. And if only one +seed in a thousand springs up and boars, it is worth it." + +"But how can one do it best?" + +"By doing always the work that comes to one's hand. Just now, you can go +back to your union and knowing what the real end is, can work for +organisation as you never did before. You can help throw men together, +tie the bushmen to the coastmen, break down narrow distinctions of +calling and make them all understand that all who work are brothers +whether they work by hand or brain. That is the New Unionism and it is a +step forward. It is drill, organisation, drill, and we, need it. Men must +learn to move together, to discuss and to decide together. You can teach +them what political action will do when they know enough. And all the +time you can drive and hammer into them the socialistic ideas. Tell them +always, without mincing matters, that they are robbed as they would +probably rob others if they had a chance, and that there never can be +happiness until men live like mates and pay nothing to any man for leave +to work. Tell them what life might be if men would only love one another +and teach them to hate the system and not individual men in it. Some day +you will find other work opening out. Always do that which comes to your +hand." + +"You think things will last a long time?" asked Ned, reverting to one of +Geisner's previous remarks. + +"Who can tell? While Belshazzar feasted the Medes were inside the gate. +Civilisation is destroying itself. The socialistic idea is the only thing +that can save it. I look upon the future as a mere race between the +spread of Socialism as a religion and the spread of that unconditional +Discontent which will take revenge for all its wrongs by destroying +civilisation utterly, and with it much, probably most, that we have won +so slowly and painfully, of Art and Science." + +"That would be a pity," said Ned. He would have spoken differently had he +not gone with Nellie last night, he thought while saying it. + +"I think so. It means the whole work to be done over again. If Art and +Science were based on the degradation of men I would say 'away with +them.' But they are not. They elevate and ennoble men by bringing to them +the fruition of elevated and noble minds. They are expressions of high +thought and deep feeling; thought and feeling which can only do good, if +it is good to become more human. The artist is simply one who has a +little finer soul than others. Mrs. Stratton was saying last night before +you came that Nellie is an artist because she has a soul. But it's only +comparative. We've all got souls." + +"Mrs. Stratton is a splendid woman," began Ned, after another pause. + +"Very. Her father was a splendid man, too. He was a doctor, quite famed +in his profession. The misery and degradation he saw among the poor made +him a passionate Communist. Stratton's father was a Chartist, one of +those who maintained that it was a bread-and-butter movement." + +For some few minutes neither spoke. + +"One of the most splendid men I ever knew," remarked Geisner, suddenly, +"was a workman who organised a sort of co-operative housekeeping club +among a number of single fellows. They took a good-sized 'fiat' and +gradually extended it till they had the whole of the large house. Then +this good fellow organised others until there were, I think, some thirty +of them scattered about the city. They had cards which admitted any +member of one house into any other of an evening, so that wherever a man +was at night he could find friends and conversation and various games. I +used to talk to him a great deal, helping him keep the books of an +evening when he came home from his work. He had some great plans. Those +places were hotbeds of Socialism," he added. + +"What became of him?" + +Geisner shrugged his shoulders without answering. + +"Isn't it a pity that we can't co-operate right through in the same way?" +said Ned. + +"It's the easiest way to bring Socialism about," answered Geisner. "Many +have thought of it. Some have tried. But the great difficulty seems to be +to get the right conditions. Absolute isolation while the new conditions +are being established; colonists who are rough and ready and accustomed +to such work and at the same time are thoroughly saturated with +Socialism; men accustomed to discuss and argue and at the same time +drilled to abide, when necessary, by a majority decision; these are very +hard to get. Besides, the attempts have been on small scales, and though +some have been fairly successful as far as they went, have not pointed +the great lesson. One great success would give men more Faith than a +whole century of talking and preaching. And it will come when men are +ready for it, when the times are ripe." + +They were silent again. + +"We would be free under Socialism?" asked Ned. + +"What could stop us, even under State Socialism. The basis of all slavery +and all slavish thought is necessarily the monopoly of the means of +working, that is of living. If the State monopolises them, not the State +ruled by the propertied classes but the State ruled by the whole people, +to work would become every man's right. Nineteen laws out of twenty could +then be dropped, for they would become useless. We should be free as men +have never been before, because the ideal of the State would be +toleration and kindness." + +"Let's go and hear the speaking," he added, jumping up. "I've talked +quite enough for once." + +"You couldn't talk too much for me," answered Ned. "You ought to come up +to a shed and have a pitch with the chaps. They'd sit up all night +listening. I've to meet Nellie between five and six at the top of the +steps in the garden," he added, a little bashfully. "Have we time?" + +"Plenty of time," said Geisner, smiling. "You won't miss her." + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +LOVE AND LUST. + +The picnic party had moved on while they talked, but a multitude of +sitters and walkers were now everywhere, particularly as they climbed the +slope to the level. There the Sunday afternoon meetings were in full +swing. + +On platforms of varying construction, mostly humble, the champions of +multitudinous creeds and opinions were holding forth to audiences which +did not always greet their utterances approvingly. They stood for a while +near a vigorous iconoclast, who from the top of a kitchen chair laid down +the Law of the Universe as revealed by one Clifford, overwhelming with +contumely a Solitary opponent in the crowd who was foolish enough to +attempt to raise an argument on the subject of "atoms." Near at hand, a +wild-eyed religionary was trying to persuade a limited and drifting +audience that a special dispensation had enabled him to foretell exactly +the date of the Second Coming of Christ. Then came the Single Tax +platform, a camp-stool with a board on it, wherefrom a slender lad, +dark-eyed and good-looking, held forth, with a flow of language and a +power of expression that was remarkable, upon the effectiveness of a land +tax as a remedy for all social ills. + +Ned had never seen such a mass of men with such variegated shades of +thought assembled together before. There was a well-dressed bald-headed +individual laying down the axioms of that very Socialism of which Geisner +and he had been talking. There was an ascetic looking man just delivering +a popular hymn, which he sang with the assistance of a few gathered +round, as the conclusion of open-air church. There was the Anarchist he +had seen at Paddy's Market, fervidly declaring that all government is +wrong and that men are slaves and curs for enduring it and tyrants for +taking part in it. There was the inevitable temperance orator, the rival +touters for free trade and protection, and half-a-dozen others with an +opinion to air. They harangued and shouted there amid the trees, on the +grass, in the brilliant afternoon sunshine that already threw long +shadows over the swaying, moving thousands. + +It was a great crowd, a good many thousands altogether, men and women and +children and lads. It was dressed in its Sunday best, in attire which +fluctuated from bright tints of glaring newness to the dullness of +well-brushed and obtrusive shabbiness. There were every-looking men you +could think of and women and girls, young and old, pretty and plain and +repulsive. But it was a working-people crowd. There was no room among it +for the idlers. Probably it was not fashionable for them to be there. + +And there was this about the crowd, which impressed Ned, everybody seemed +dissatisfied, everybody was seeking for a new idea, for something fresh. +There was no confidence in the Old, no content with what existed, no +common faith in what was to come. There was on many a face the same +misery that he had seen in Paddy's Market. There was no happiness, no +face free from care, excepting where lovers passed arm-in-arm. There was +the clash of ideas, the struggling of opinions, the blind leading the +blind. He saw the socialistic orator contending with a dozen others. Who +were the nostrum vendors? Which was the truth? + +He turned round, agitated in thought, and his glance fell on Geisner, who +was standing with bent head, his hands behind him, ugly, impassive. +Geisner looked up quickly: "So you are doubting already," he remarked. + +"I am not doubting," answered Ned. "I'm only thinking." + +"Well?" + +"It is a good thought, that Socialism," answered Ned slowly, as they +walked on. "There's nothing in it that doesn't seem fit for men to do. +It's a part with Nellie kissing that woman in the wet. What tries to make +us care for each other and prevent harm being done to one another can't +be very far wrong and what tries to break down the state of affairs that +is must be a little right. I don't care, either, whether it's right or +wrong. It feels right in my heart somehow and I'll stand by it if I'm the +only man left in the world to talk up for it." + +Geisner linked his arm in Ned's. + +"Remember this when you are sorrowful," he said. "It is only through Pain +that Good comes. It is only because the world suffers that Socialism is +possible. It is only as we conquer our own weaknesses that we can serve +the Cause." + +They strolled on till they came to the terraced steps of the Gardens. +Before them stretched in all its wondrous glory the matchless panorama of +grove and garden, hill-closed sea and villa'd shore, the blue sky and the +declining sun tipping with gold and silver the dark masses of an inland +cloud. + +"What is Life that we should covet it?" said Geisner, halting there. +"What is Death that we should fear it so? What has the world to offer +that we should swerve to the right hand or the left from the path our +innermost soul approves? In the whole world, there is no lovelier spot +than this, no purer joy than to stand here and look. Yet, it seems to me, +Paradise like this would be bought dearly by one single thought unworthy +of oneself." + +"We are here to-day," he went on, musingly. "To-morrow we are called +dead. The next day men are here who never heard our names. The most +famous will be forgotten even while Sydney Harbour seems unchanged. And +Sydney Harbour is changing and passing, and the continent is changing and +passing, and the world is changing and passing, and the whole universe is +changing and passing. + +"It is all change, universal change. Our religions, our civilisations, +our ideas, our laws, change as do the nebulae and the shifting continents +we build on. Yet through all changes a thread of continuity runs. It is +all changing and no ending. Always Law and always, so far as we can see, +what we call progression. A man is a fool who cares for his life. He is +the true madman who wastes his years in vain and selfish ambition. + +"Listen, Ned," he pursued, turning round. "There, ages ago, millions and +millions of years ago, in the warm waters yonder, what we call Life on +this earth began. Minute specks of Life appeared, born of the sunshine +and the waters some say, coming in the fitness of Time from the All-Life +others. And those specks of Life have changed and passed, and come and +gone, unending, reproducing after their kind in modes and ways that +changed and passed and still are as all things change and pass and are. +And from them you and I and all the forms of Life that breathe to-day +have ascended. We struggled up, obedient to the Law around us and we +still struggle. That is the Past, or part of it. What is the Future, as +yet no man knows. We do more than know--we feel and dream, and struggle +on to our dreaming. And Life itself to the dreamer is as nothing only the +struggling on. + +"And this has raised us, Ned, this has made us men and opened to us the +Future, that we learned slowly and sadly to care for each other. From the +mother instinct in us all good comes. This is the highest good as yet, +that all men should live their life and lay down their life when need is +for their fellows. With all our blindness we can see that. With all our +weakness we can strive to reach nearer that ideal. It is but Just that we +should live so for others since happiness is only possible where others +live so for us." + +He turned again and gazed intently across the sail-dotted harbour. + +"There is one thing I would like to say." He spoke without turning. "Man +without Woman is not complete. They two are but one being, complete and +life-giving. Love when it comes is the keystone of this brief span of +Life of ours. They who have loved have tasted truly of the best that Life +can give to them. And this is the great wrong of civilisation to-day, +that it takes Love from most and leaves in us only a feverish, degrading +Lust. It is when we lust that Woman drags us down to the level of that +Lust and blackens our souls with the blackness of hell. When we love +Woman raises us to the level of Love and girds on us the armour that +wards our own weakness from us. + +"Love comes to few, I think. Society is all askew and, then, we have +degraded women. So they are often well-nigh unfit for loving as men are +often as unfit themselves. Physically unfit for motherhood, mentally +unfit to cherish the monogamic idea that once was sacred with our people, +sexually unfit to rouse true sex-passion--such women are being bred by +the million in crowded cities and by degenerate country life. They match +well with the slaves who 'move on' at the bidding of a policeman, or with +the knaves who only see in Woman the toy of a feeble lust. + +"There are two great reforms needed, Ned, two great reforms which must +come if Humanity is to progress, and which must come, sooner or later, +either to our race or to some other, because Humanity must progress. One +reform is the Reorganisation of Industry. The other is the Recognition of +Woman's Equality. These two are the practical steps by which we move up +to the socialistic idea. + +"If it ever comes to you to love and be loved by a true woman, Ned, let +nothing stand between you and her. If you are weak and lose her you will +have lost more than Life itself. If you are strong and win her you can +never lose her again though the universe divided you and though Death +itself came between you, and you will have lived indeed and found joy in +living." + +"Should one give up the Cause for a woman?" asked Ned. + +Geisner turned round at last and looked him full in the face. + +"Lust only," he answered, "and there is no shame to which Woman cannot +drag Man. Love and there is nothing possible but what is manly and true." + +As he spoke, along the terraced path below them came Nellie, advancing +towards them with her free swinging walk and tall lissom figure, +noticeable even at a distance among the Sunday promenaders. + +"See?" said Geisner, smiling, laying his hand on Ned's arm. "This is +Paradise and there comes Eve." + + + +PART II. HE KNEW HIMSELF NAKED. + + +In yesterday's reach and to-morrow's, +Out of sight though they lie of to-day, +There have been and there yet shall be sorrows +That smite not and bite not in play. + +The life and the love thou despisest, +These hurt us indeed and in vain, +O wise among women, and, wisest, +Our Lady of Pain.--SWINBURNE. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +THE SLAUGHTER OF AN INNOCENT. + +Mrs. Hobb's baby was dying. + +"It had clung to its little life so long, in the close Sydney streets, in +the stuffy, stifling rooms which were its home; it had battled so +bravely; it was being vanquished at last. + +"The flame of its life had flickered from its birth, had shrunk to a +bluish wreathing many a time, had never once leapt upward in a strong red +blaze. Again and again it had lain at its mother's breast, half-dead; +again and again upon its baby face Death had laid the tips of its +pinching fingers; again and again it had struggled moaning from the verge +of the grave and beaten Lack the grim Destroyer by the patient filling of +its tiny lungs. It wanted so to live, all unconsciously. The instinct to +exist bore it up and with more than Spartan courage stood for it time and +again in the well-nigh carried breach. Now, it was over, the battling, +the struggling. Death loitered by the way but the fight was done. + +"The poor little baby! Poor unknown soldier! Poor unaided heroic life +that was spent at last! There were none to help it, not one. In all the +world, in all the universe, there was none to give it the air it craved, +the food it needed, the living that its baby-soul faded for not having. +It had fought its fight alone. It lay dying now, unhelped and helpless, +forsaken and betrayed." + +* * * * * + +So thought Nellie, sitting there beside it, her head thrown back, over +her eyes her hands clasped, down her cheeks the tears of passionate pity +streaming. + +* * * * * + +"What had its mother done for it? The best she could, indeed, but what +was that? The worst she could when she gave it life, when she bore it to +choke and struggle and drown in the fetid stream that sweeps the children +of the poor from infancy to age; the life she gave it only a flickering, +half-lighted life; the blood she gave it thin with her own weariness and +vitiate from its drunken sire; the form she gave it soft-boned and +angle-headed, more like overgrown embryo than child of the boasted +Australian land. Even the milk it drew from her unwieldy breasts was +tainted with city smoke and impure food and unhealthy housing. Its +playground was the cramped kitchen floor and the kerb and the gutter. Its +food for a year had been the food that feeds alike the old and the young +who are poor. All around conspired against it, yet for two years and more +it had clung to its life and lived, as if defying Fate, as if the impulse +that throbbed in it from the Past laughed at conditions and would have it +grow to manhood in spite of all. In the strength of that impulse, do not +millions grow so? But millions, like this little one, are crushed and +overborne. + +"It had no chance but the chance that the feeble spark in it gave it. It +had no chance, even with that, to do more than just struggle through. +None came to scatter wide the prison walls of the slum it lived in and +give it air. None came to lift the burden of woe that pressed on all +around it and open to it laughter and joy. None came to stay the robbery +of the poor and to give to this brave little baby fresh milk and +strengthening food. In darkness and despair it was born; in darkness and +despair it lived; in darkness and despair it died. To it Death was more +merciful than Life. Yet it was a crime crying for vengeance that we +should have let it waste away and die so." + +* * * * * + +So thought Nellie, weeping there beside it, all the woman in her aching +and yearning for this poor sickly little one. + +* * * * * + +"It was murdered, murdered as surely as if a rope had been put round its +neck and the gallows-trap opened under it; murdered as certainly as +though, dying of thirst, it had been denied a sup of water by one who had +to spare; murdered, of sure truth, as though in the dark one who knew had +not warned it of a precipice in the path. It had asked so little and had +been denied all; only a little air, only a little milk and fruit, only a +glimpse of the grass and the trees, even these would have saved it. And +oh! If also in its languid veins the love-life had bubbled and boiled, if +in its bone and flesh a healthy parentage had commingled, if the blood +its mother gave it had been hot and red and the milk she suckled it to +white and sweet and clean from the fount of vigorous womanhood! What +then? Then, surely it had been sleeping now with chubby limbs flung wide, +its breathing so soft that you had to bend your ear to its red lips to +hear it, had been lying wearied with dancing and mischief-making and +shouting and toddling and falling, resting the night from a happy to-day +till the dawn woke it betime for a happy to-morrow. All this it should +have had as a birthright, with the years stretching in front of it, on +through fiery youth, past earnest manhood, to a loved and loving old age. +This is the due, the rightful due, of every child to whom life goes from +us. And that child who is born to sorrow and sordid care, pot-bound from +its mother's womb by encircling conditions that none single-handed can +break, is wronged and sinned against by us all most foully. If it dies we +murder it. If it lives to suffer we crucify it. If it steals we +instigate, despite our canting hypocrisy. And if it murders we who hang +it have beforehand hypnotised its will and armed its hand to slay." + +* * * * * + +So Nellie thought, the tears drying on her cheeks, leaning forward to +watch the twitching, purpled face of the hard-breathing child. + +* * * * * + +"Is there not a curse upon us and our people, upon our children and our +children's children, for every little one we murder by our social sins? +Can it be that Nemesis sleeps for us, he who never slept yet for any, he +who never yet saw wrong go unavenged or heard the innocent blood cry +unanswered from the ground? + +"Can it be that he has closed his ears to the dragging footfalls of the +harlot host and to the sobs of strong men hopeless and anguished because +work is wanting and to the sighing of wearied women and to the +death-rattle of slaughtered babes? Surely though God is not and Humanity +is weak yet Nemesis is strong and sleepless and lingers not! Surely he +will tear down the slum and whelm the robbers in their iniquity and +visit upon us all punishment for the crime which all alike have shared! +Into the pit which we have left digged for the children of others shall +not our own children fall? Is happiness safe for any while to any +happiness is denied? + +"It is a crime that a baby should live so and die so. It is a villainy +and we all are villains who let it be. No matter how many are guilty, +each one who lives with hands unbound is as guilty as any. It were better +to die alone, fighting the whole world single-handed, refusing to share +the sin or to tolerate it or to live while it was, than with halting +speech to protest and with supple conscience to compromise. He is a +coward who lets a baby die or a woman sink to shame or a fellow-man be +humbled, alone and unassisted and unrighted. She is false to the divinity +of womanhood who does not feel the tigress in her when a little one who +might be her little one is tossed, stifled by unholy conditions, into its +grave. But where are the men, now, who will strike a blow for the babies? +Where are the women who will put their white teeth into the murderous +hands of the Society that throttles the little ones and robs the weak and +simple and cloaks itself with a 'law and order' which outrages the +Supreme Law of that Humanity evolving in us? + +"Surely we are all tainted and corrupted, even the best of us, by the +scrofulous cowardice, the fearsome selfishness, of a decaying +civilisation! Surely we are only fit to be less than human, to be slave +to conditions that we ourselves might govern if we would, to be criminal +accomplices in the sins of social castes, to be sad victims of inhuman +laws or still sadder defenders of inhumanity! Oh, for the days when our +race was young, when its women slew themselves rather than be shamed rid +when its men, trampling a rotten empire down, feared neither God nor man +and held each other brothers and hated, each one, the tyrant as the +common foe of all! Better the days when from the forests and the steppes +our forefathers burst, half-naked and free, communists and conquerors, a +fierce avalanche of daring men and lusty women who beat and battered Rome +down like Odin's hammer that they were! Alas, for the heathen virtues and +the wild pagan fury for freedom and for the passion and purity that Frega +taught to the daughters of the barbarian! And alas, for the sword that +swung then, unscabbarded, by each man's side and for the knee that never +bent to any and for the fearless eyes that watched unblenched while the +gods lamed each other with their lightnings in the thunder-shaken storm! +Gone forever seemed the days when the land was for all, and the cattle +and the fruits of the field, and when, unruled by kings, untrammelled by +priests, untyrannised by pretence of 'law,' our fathers drank in from +Nature's breast the strength and vigour that gave it even to this little +babe to fight its hopeless fight for life so bravely and so long. Odin +was dead whose sons dared go to hell with their own people and Frega was +no more whose magic filled with molten fire the veins of all true lovers +and nerved with desperate courage the hand of her who guarded the purity +of her body and the happiness of her child. The White Christ had come +when wealth and riches and conquests had upheaped wrongs, upon the heads +of the wrongers, the cross had triumphed over the hammer when the fierce +freedom of the North had worn itself out in selfish foray; the +shaven-pated priest had come to teach patience as God-given when a +robber-caste grew up to whom it seemed wise to uproot the old ideas from +the mind of the people whose spent courage it robbed. Alas, for the days +when it was not righteous to submit to wrong nor wicked to strike tyranny +to the ground, when one met it, no matter where! Alas, for the men of the +Past and the women, their faith and their courage and their virtue and +their gods, the hearts large to feel and the brains prompt to think and +the arms strong to do, the bare feet that followed the plough and trod in +the winepress of God and the brown hands that milked cows and tore kings +from their thrones by their beard! They were gone and a feebler people +spoke their tongue and bore their name, a people that bent its back to +the rod and bared its head to the cunning and did not rise as one man +when in its midst a baby was murdered while all around a helpless +kinsfolk were being robbed and wronged. + +"For the past, who would not choose it? Who would not, if they could, +drop civilisation from them as one shakes off a horrid nightmare at the +dawning of the day? Who would not be again a drover of cattle, a follower +of the plough, a milker of cows, a spinner of wool-yarn by the fireside, +to be, as well, strong and fierce and daring, slave to none and fearing +none, ignorant alike of all the wisdom and all the woes of this hateful +life that is? + +"For only one moment of the past if the whole past could not be! Only to +be free for a moment if the rest were impossible! Only to lose one's hair +and bare one's feet and girdle again the single garment round one's waist +and to be filled with the frenzy that may madden still as it maddened our +mothers when the Roman legions conquered! Only to stand for a moment, +free, on the barricade, outlawed and joyous, with Death, Freedom's +impregnable citadel, opening its gates behind--and to pass through, the +red flag uplifted in the sight of all men, with flaming slums and smoking +wrongs for one's funereal pyre!" + +* * * * * + +So Nellie thought in her indignation and sorrow, changing the wet cloth +on the baby's head, powerless to help it, uncomforted by creeds that +moulder in the crimson-cushioned pews. She knew that she was unjust, +carried away by her tumultuous emotions, knew also, in her heart, that +there was something more to be desired than mere wild outbreaks of the +despairing. Only she thought, as we all think, in phases, and as she +would certainly have talked had opportunity offered while she was in the +mood, and as she would most undoubtedly have written had she just then +been writing. The more so as there was a wave of indignation and anger +sweeping over Australia, sympathetic with the indignation and anger of +the voteless workers in the Queensland bush. The companions of her +childhood were to be Gatling-gunned because of the squatters, whose +selfish greed and heartless indifference to all others had made them +hateful to this selector's daughter. Because the bushmen would not take +the squatters' wage and yield his liberty as a workman to the squatter's +bidding and agree to this and to that without consultation or discussion, +the scum of southern towns and the sifted blacklegs of southern 'estates' +were to be drafted in hordes to Queensland to break down the unionism +that alone protected the bushman and made him more of a man than he had +been when the squatter could do as he would and did. From the first days +she could remember she had heard how the squatters filched from the +bushmen in their stores and herded the bushmen in vile huts and preferred +every colour to white when there were workers wanted; and how the +magistrates were all squatters or squatters' friends and how Government +was for the squatters and for nobody else on the great Western plains; +and she knew from Ned of the homeless, wandering life the bushmen led and +how new thoughts were stirring among them and rousing them from their +aimless, hopeless living. She knew more, too, knew what the bushman was: +frank as a child, keeping no passing thought unspoken, as tender as a +woman to those he cared for, responsive always to kindly, earnest words, +boiling over with anger one moment and shouting with good humour the +next, open-handed with sovereigns after months and years of lonely +toiling or sharing his last plug of tobacco with a stranger met on the +road. His faults she knew as well: his drunkenness often, his looseness +of living, his excitability, all born of unnatural surroundings; but his +virtues she knew as well, none better, and all her craving for the scent +of the gums and to feel again the swaying saddle and to hear again the +fathomless noon-day silence and to see again the stock rushing in +jumbling haste for the water-hole, went out in a tempestuous sympathy for +those who struggled for the union in the bush. And Ned! She hardly knew +what she thought about Ned. + +She was unjust in her thoughts, she knew, not altogether unjust but +somewhat. There had been heroism in the passive struggle of six months +before, when the seamen left the boats at the wharves for the sake of +others and when the "lumpers" threw their coats over their shoulders and +stood by the seamen and when the miners came up from the mines so that no +coal should go to help fight comrades they had never seen. Her heart had +thrilled with joy to see so many grip hands and stand together, officers +and stewards and gasmen and lightermen and engine-drivers and cooks and +draymen, from Adelaide to far-off Cooktown, in every port, great and +small, all round the eastern coast. As the strike dragged on she lived +herself as she had lived in the starving hand-to-mouth days of her bitter +poverty, to help find bread for the hungry families she knew. For +Phillips and Macanany were on strike, while Hobbs, who had moved round +the corner, had been sacked for refusing to work on the wharves; and many +another in the narrow street and the other narrow streets about it were +idling and hungering and waiting doggedly to see what might happen, with +strike pay falling steadily till there was hardly any strike pay at all. +And Nellie's heart, that had thrilled with joy when New Unionism uprose +in its strength and drew the line hard and fast between the Labour that +toiled and the Capitalism that reaped Labour's gains, ached with mingled +pride and pain to see how hunger itself could not shake the stolid +unionism about her. She saw, too, the seed that for years had been sown +by unseen, unknown sowers springing up on every hand and heard at every +street corner and from every unionist mouth that everything belonged of +right to those who worked and that the idle rich were thieves and +robbers. She smiled grimly to watch Mrs. Macanany and viragoes like her +pouring oil on the flames and drumming the weak-kneed up and screaming +against "blacklegging" as a thing accurst. And when she understood that +the fight was over, while apparently it was waxing thicker, she had +waited to see what the end would be, longing for something she knew not +what. She used to go down town, sometimes of an evening, to watch the +military patrols, riding up and down with jingling bits and clanking +carbines and sabres as if in a conquered city. She heard, in her +workroom, the dull roar of the angry thousands through whose midst the +insolent squatters drove in triumphal procession, as if inciting to +lawlessness, with dragoon-guarded, police-protected drays of blackleg +wool. Then the end came and the strike was over, leaving the misery it +had caused and the bitter hatreds it had fostered and the stern lesson +which all did not read as the daily papers would have had them. And now +the same Organised Capitalism which had fought and beaten the maritime +men and the miners, refusing to discuss or to confer or to arbitrate or +to conciliate, but using its unjust possession of the means of living to +starve into utter submission those whose labour made it rich, was at the +same work in the Queensland bush, backing the squatters, dominating +government, served by obsequious magistrates and a slavish military and +aided by all who thought they had to gain by the degradation of their +fellows or who had been ground so low that they would cut each other's +throats for a crust or who, in their blind ignorance, misunderstood what +it all meant. And there were wild reports afloat of resistance brooding +in Queensland and of excited meetings in the bush and of troops being +sent to disperse the bushmen's camps. Why did they endure these things, +Nellie thought, watching and waiting, as impotent to aid them as she was +to save the baby dying now beside her. Day by day she expected Ned. + +She knew Ned was in the South, somewhere, though she had not seen him. He +had come down on some business, in blissful ignorance of the nearness of +the coming storm, but would be called back, she knew, now this new +trouble had begun. And then he would be arrested, she was sure, because +he was outspoken and fearless and would urge the men to stand out till +the last, and would be sent to prison by legal trickery under this new +law the papers said had been discovered; all so that the unions might +break down and the squatters do as they liked. Which, perhaps, was why +her thoughts for the time being were particularly tinged with pessimism. +If the vague something called "law and order" was determined to be broken +so that the bush could be dragooned for the squatter it seemed to her as +well to make a substantial breakage while men were about it--and she +did not believe they would. + +She placed a cool damp cloth on the baby's head, wishing that its mother +would come up, Mrs. Hobbs having been persuaded to go downstairs for some +tea and a rest while Nellie watched by the sick child and having been +entangled in household affairs the moment she appeared in the dingy +kitchen where Mrs. Macanany, to the neglect of her own home, was "seeing +to things." The hard breathing was becoming easier. Nellie brought the +candle burning in a broken cup. The flushed face was growing paler and +more natural. The twitching muscles were stilling. There was a change. + +One unused to seeing Death approach would have thought the baby settling +down at last to a refreshing, health-reviving sleep. Nellie had lived for +years where the children die like rabbits, and knew. + +"Mrs. Hobbs!" she called, softly but urgently, running to the stairs. + +The poor woman came hastily to the foot. "Quick, Mrs. Hobbs!" said +Nellie, beckoning. + +"Oh, Mrs. Macanany! The baby's dying!" cried poor Mrs. Hobbs, tripping on +her dragging skirts in her frantic haste to get upstairs. Mrs. Macanany +followed. The children set up a boohoo that brought Mr. Hobbs from the +front doorstep where he had been sitting smoking. He rushed up the stairs +also. When he reached the top he saw, by the light of the candle in +Nellie's hand, a little form lying still and white; its mother crouched +on the floor, wailing over it. + +It was a small room, almost bare, the bedstead of blistered iron, the +mattress thin, the bedding tattered and worn. A soapbox was the chair on +which Nellie had been sitting; there was no other. Against the wall, +above a rough shelf, was a piece of mirror-glass without a frame. The +window in the sloping roof was uncurtained. On the poor bed, under the +tattered sheet, was the dead baby. And on the floor, writhing, was its +mother, Mrs. Macanany trying to comfort her between the pauses of her own +vehement neighbourly grief. + +Nellie closed the dead baby's eyes, set the candle on the shelf and moved +to the door where Mr. Hobbs stood bewildered and dumbfoundered, his pipe +still in his hand. "Speak to her!" she whispered to him. "It's very hard +for her." + +Mr. Hobbs looked hopelessly at his pipe. He did not recollect where to +put it. Nellie, understanding, took it from his fingers and pushed him +gently by the arm towards his wife. He knelt down by the weeping woman's +side and put his hands on the head that was bent to the ground. "Sue," he +said, huskily, not knowing what to say. "Don't take on so! It's better +for 'im." + +"It's not better," she cried in answer, kneeling up and frantically +throwing her arms across the bed. "How can it be better? Oh, God! I wish +I was dead. Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" + +"Don't, Sue!" begged Mr. Hobbs, weeping in a clumsy way, as men usually do. + +"It's not right," cried the mother, rolling her head, half-crazed. "It's +not right, Jack. It's not right. It didn't ought to have died. It didn't +ought to have died, Jack. It wouldn't if it had a chance, but it hadn't a +chance. It didn't have a chance, Jack. It didn't have a chance." + +"Don't, Sue!" begged Mr. Hobbs again. "You did what you could." + +"I didn't," she moaned. "I didn't. I didn't do what I could. There were +lots of things I might have done that I didn't. I wasn't as kind as I +might have been. I was cross to it and hasty. Oh, my God, my God! Why +couldn't I have died instead? Why couldn't I? Why don't we all die? It's +not right. It's not right. Oh, my God, my God!" + +And she thought God, whatever that is, did not hear and would not answer, +she not knowing that in her own pain and anguish were the seeds of +progression and in her cries the whetting of the sickle wherewith all +wrongs are cut down when they are ripe for the reaper. So she wept and +lamented, bewailing her dead, rebellious and self-reproachful. + +"Take the baby, dear?" quoth Mrs. Macanany, reappearing from a descent to +the kitchen with a six months' infant squalling in her arms. "Give it a +drink now! It'll make you feel better." + +Poor Mrs. Hobbs clutched the baby-in-arms convulsively and sobbed over +it, finding some comfort in the exertion. To Mrs. Macanany's muttered +wrath Nellie intervened, however, with warnings of "fits" as likely to +follow the nursing of the child while its mother was so excited and +feverish. Mr. Hobbs loyally seconded Nellie's amendment and with +unexpected shrewdness urged the mother to control her grief for the dead +for the sake of the living. Which succeeding, to some extent, they got +the poor woman downstairs and comforted her with a cup of tea, Nellie +undressing and soothing the crying children, who sobbed because of this +vague happening which the eldest child of 11 explained as meaning that +"Teddy's going to be put in the deep hole." + +It was after 10 when Nellie went. Mrs. Hobbs cried again as Nellie kissed +her "good-night." Mr. Hobbs shook hands with genuine friendship. "I don't +know whatever we'd have done without you, Miss Lawton," he said, +bashfully, following her to the door. + +"I don't know what they'll do without you, Mr. Hobbs," retorted Nellie, +whose quick tongue was noted in the neighbourhood. + +He did not answer, only fumbled with the door-knob as she stood on the +step in the brilliant moonlight. + +"Give it up!" urged Nellie. "It makes things worse and they're bad enough +at the best. It's not right to your wife and the children." + +"I don't go on the spree often," pleaded Mr. Hobbs. + +"Not as often as some," admitted Nellie, "but if it's only once in a +life-time it's too often. A man who has drink in him isn't a man. He +makes himself lower than the beasts and we're low enough as it is without +going lower ourselves. He hurts himself and he hurts his family and he +hurts his mates. He's worse than a blackleg." + +"I don't see as it's so bad as that," protested Mr. Hobbs. + +"Yes, it is," insisted Nellie, quickly. "Every bit as bad. It's drink +that makes most of the blacklegs, anyway. Most of them are men whose +manhood has been drowned out of them with liquor and the weak men in the +unions are the drunkards who have no heart when the whisky's out of them. +Everybody knows that. And when men who aren't as bad feel down-hearted +and despairing instead of bracing up and finding out what makes it they +cheer up at a pub and imagine they're jolly good fellows when they're +just cowards dodging their duty. They get so they can't take any pleasure +except in going on the spree and if they only go on once in a month or +two "--this was a hit at Hobbs--"they're the worse for it. Why, look +here, Mr. Hobbs, if I hadn't been here you'd have gone to-night and +brought home beer and comforted yourselves getting fuddled. That's so, +you know, and it wouldn't be right. It's just that sort of thing "--she +added softly--"that stops us seeing how it is the little ones die when +they shouldn't. If everybody would knock off drinking for ten years, +everybody, we'd have everything straightened out by then and nobody would +ever want to go on the spree again." + +She stood with her back to the moonlight, fingering the post of the door. +Mr. Hobbs fumbled still with the door-knob and looked every way but at +her. She waited for an answer, but he did not speak. + +"Come," she continued, after a pause. "Can't you give it up? I know it's +a lot to do when one's used to it. But you'll feel better in the end and +your wife will be better right away and the children, and it won't be +blacklegging on those who're trying to make things better. No matter how +poor he is if a man's sober he's a man, while if he drinks, no matter if +he's got millions, he's a brute." + +"You never drink anything, Miss Lawton, do you?" asked Mr. Hobbs, +swinging the door. + +"I never touched it in my life," said Nellie. + +"Do you really think you're better for it?" + +"I think it has kept me straight," said Nellie, earnestly. "I wouldn't +touch a drop to save my life. Some people call us who don't drink fools +just because a few humbugs make temperance a piece of cant. I think those +who get drunk are fools or who drink when there's a prospect of +themselves or those they drink with getting drunk. Drink makes a man an +empty braggart or a contented fool. It makes him heartless not only to +others but to himself." + +There was another pause. + +"If you won't for the sake of your wife and your children and yourself +and everybody, will you do it to please me?" asked Nellie, who knew that +Mr. Hobbs regarded her as the one perfect woman in Australia and, +woman-like, was prepared to take advantage thereof. + +"You know, Miss Lawton, I'm not one of the fellows who swear off Monday +mornings and get on the spree the next Saturday night. If I say I'll turn +temperance I'll turn." So quoth the sturdy Hobbs. + +"I know that. If you were the other sort do you think I'd be bothering +you?" retorted Nellie. + +"Well, I'll do it," said Mr. Hobbs. "So help me----" + +"Never mind that," interrupted the girl. "If a man's a man his word's his +word, and if he's not all the swearing in the world won't make any +difference. Let's shake on it!" She held out her hand. + +Mr. Hobbs dropped the door-knob and covered her long, slender hand with +his great, broad, horny-palmed one. + +"Good night, Mr. Hobbs!" she said, the "shake" being over. "Get her to +sleep and don't let her fret!" + +"Good night, Miss Nellie!" he answered, using her name for the first +time. He wanted to say something more but his voice got choked up and he +shut the door in her face, so confused was he. + +"Hello, Nellie!" said a voice that made her heart stand still, as she +crossed the road, walking sadly homewards. At the same time two hands +stretched out of the dense shadow into the lane of moonlight that shone +down an alley way she was passing and that cut a dazzling swath in the +blackness made still blacker by the surrounding brilliancy. "I've been +wondering if you ever would finish that pitch of yours." + +It was Ned. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +ON THE ROAD TO QUEENSLAND. + +While Nellie had been talking temperance to Mr. Hobbs, Ned had been +watching her impatiently from the other side of the street. For an hour +and more he had been prowling up and down, up and down, between the +Phillipses and the Hobbses, having learned from Mrs. Phillips, who looked +wearier than ever, where the Hobbses lived now and why Nellie had gone +there after hardly stopping to swallow her dinner. At seven he had +acquired this information and returned soon after nine to find Nellie +still at the house of sickness, now, alas, the house of death. So he had +paced up and down, up and down, waiting for her. He had seen the Hobbs' +door open at last and had watched impatiently, from the shadow opposite, +the conversation on the door step. His heart gave a great leap as she +stopped across the road full in the moonlight. He saw again the sad stern +face that had lived as an ideal in his memory for two long eventful +years. There was none like her in the whole world to him, not one. + +The years had come to her in this stifling city, amid her struggling and +wrestling of spirit, but the strong soul in her had borne her up through +all, she had aged without wearying, grown older and sadder without +withering from her intense womanhood. Broader of hip a little, as Ned +could see with the keen eyes of love, not quite so slender in the waist, +fuller in the uncorsetted bust, more sloping of shoulder as though the +pillared neck had fleshed somewhat at the base; the face, too, had +gathered form and force, in the freer curve of her will-full jaw, in the +sterner compression of fuller lips that told their tale of latent +passions strangely bordering on the cruel, in the sweeter blending of +Celt and Saxon shown in straight nose, strong cheek-bones and well-marked +brows. She trod still with the swinging spring of the bill-people, erect +and careless. Only the white gleam of her collar and a dash of colour in +her hat broke the sombre hue that clothed her, as before, from head to +foot. + +Ned devoured her with his eyes as she came rapidly towards him, +unconscious of his presence. She was full grown at last, in woman's +virgin prime, her mind, her soul, her body, all full and strong with pure +thoughts, natural instincts and human passions. Her very sadness gave her +depths of feeling that never come to those who titter and fritter youth +away. Her very ignoring of the love-instincts in her, absorbed as her +thoughts were in other things, only gave those instincts the untrammelled +freedom that alone gives vigorous growth. She was barbarian, as her +thoughts had been beside the dying baby: the barbarian cultured, as +Shakespeare was, the barbarian wronged, as was Spartacus, the barbarian +hating and loving and yearning and throbbing, the creature of her +instincts, a rebel against restrictions, her mind subject only to her own +strong will. She was a woman of women, in Ned's eyes at least. One kiss +from her would be more than all other women could give, be their +self-abandonment what it might. To be her lover, her husband, a man might +yield up his life with a laugh, might surrender all other happiness and +be happy ever after. There was none like her in the whole world to Ned, +not one--and he came to say good-bye to her, perhaps for ever. + +In the black shadows thrown by the high-rising moon, the crossing +alley-way cut a slice of brilliancy as if with a knife. From the shadow +into the moonshine two hands stretched towards her as Ned's voice greeted +her. She saw his tall form looming before her. + +"Ned!" she cried, in answer, grasping both his hands and drawing him +forward into the light. "I was expecting you. I've been thinking of you +every minute for the last week. How tired you look! You're not ill?" + +"No! I'm all right," he answered, laughing. "It's those confounded +trains. I can't sleep on them, and they always give me a headache. But +you're looking well, Nellie. I can't make out how you do it in this +stuffed-up town." + +"I'm all right," She replied, noticing a red rose in his coat but saying +nothing of it. "Nothing seems to touch me. Did you come straight +through?" + +"Straight through. We rushed things all we could but I couldn't get away +before. Besides, as long as I get Saturday's boat in Brisbane it'll be as +soon as it's possible to get on. That gives me time to stay over to-night +here. I didn't see you going down and I began to wonder if I'd see you +going back. You can do a pitch, Nellie. When a fellow's waiting for you, +too." + +Nellie laughed, then sobered down. "The baby's dead," she said, sadly. +"You recollect it was born when you were here before, the day we went to +the Strattons." + +"I don't wonder," he answered, looking round at the closed-in street, +with its dull, hopeless, dreary rows of narrow houses and hard roadway +between. "But I suppose you're tired, Nellie. Let's go and get some +oysters!" + +"I don't care to, thanks. I feel like a good long walk," she went on, +taking his arm and turning him round to walk on with her. "I'm thirsting +for a breath of fresh air and to stretch myself. I'm a terrible one for +walks, you know." + +"Not much riding here, Nellie;" walking on. + +"That's why I walk so. I can go from here right down to Lady Macquarie's +Chair in under half-an-hour. Over two miles! Not bad, eh, Ned?" + +"That's a good enough record. Suppose we go down there now, Nellie, only +none of your racing time for me. It's not too late for you?" + +"Too late for me! My word! I'm still at the Phillipses and they don't +bother. I wouldn't stay anywhere where I couldn't come and go as I liked. +I'd like to go it you're not too tired." + +"It'll do me good," said Ned, gleefully. So they set off, arm in arm. +After they had walked a dozen yards he stopped suddenly. + +"I've brought you a rose, Nellie," he exclaimed, handing it to her. "I'm +so pleased to see you I forgot it." + +"I knew it was for me," she said, fondly, pinning it at her throat. "How +ever did you recollect my colour?" + +"Do you think I forget anything about you, Nellie?" he asked. She did not +answer and they walked on silently. + +"Where is Geisner?" he enquired, after a pause. "I don't know. Why?" + +"Oh, nothing. Only he'd advise us a little." + +After a pause: "What do you think of things, Ned?" + +"What do I think? We couldn't get any wires through that explained +anything. There was nothing on but the ordinary strike business when I +came down. I suppose some of the chaps have been talking wild and the +Government has snapped at the chance to down the union. You know what our +fellows are." + +"Yes. But I don't quite see what the Government's got to gain. +Proclamations and military only make men worse, I think." + +"Sometimes they do and sometimes they don't," answered Ned. "A crowd +that's doing no harm, only kicking up a bit of a row, will scatter like +lambs sometimes if a single policeman collars one of them. Another time +the same crowd will jump on a dozen policemen. The Government thinks the +crowd'll scatter and I'm afraid the crowd'll jump." + +"Why afraid?" enquired Nellie, biting her lips. + +"Because it has no chance," answered Ned. "These are all newspaper lies +about them having arms and such nonsense. There aren't 500 guns in the +whole Western country and half of them are old muzzle-loading shot guns. +The kangarooers have got good rifles but nineteen men out of twenty no +more carry one than they carry a house." + +"But the papers say they're getting them!" + +"Where are they to get them from, supposing they want them and naturally +the chaps want them when they hear of military coming to 'shoot 'em +down'? You can reckon that the Government isn't letting any be carried on +the railways and, even if they did I don't believe you could buy 500 +rifles in all Queensland at any one time." + +"Then it's all make-up that's in the papers? It certainly seemed to me +that there was something in it." + +"That's just it, there is something in it. Just enough, I'm convinced, to +give the Government an excuse for doing what they did during the maritime +strike without any excuse and what the squatters have been planning for +them to do all along." + +"One of the Queensland men who was here a week or two ago was telling me +about the maritime strike business. It was the first I'd heard of that. +Griffith didn't seem to be that way years ago," said Nellie. + +"Griffith is a fraud," declared Ned, hotly. "I'd sooner have one of the +Pure Merinoes than Griffith. They do fight us out straight and fair, +anyway, and don't cant much about knowing that things aren't right, with +Elementary Property Bills and 'Wealth and Want' and that sort of wordy +tommy-rot. I like to know where to find a man and that trick of Griffith +at the maritime strike in Brisbane showed where to find him right +enough." + +"Was it Griffith?" asked Nellie. + +"Of course it was Griffith. Who else would it be? The fellows in Brisbane +feel sore over it, I tell you. When they'd been staying up nights and +getting sick and preaching themselves hoarse, talking law and order to +the chaps on strike and rounding on every man who even boo'd as though he +were a blackleg, and when the streets were quieter with thousands of +rough fellows about than they were ordinary times, those shop-keepers and +wool-dealers and commission agents went off their heads and got the +Government to swear in 'specials' and order out mounted troopers and +serve out ball cartridges. And all the time the police said it wasn't +necessary, that the men on strike were perfectly orderly. Who'd ever do +that but Griffith? And what can we expect from a government that did such +a thing?" + +"The Brisbane men do seem sore over that," agreed Nellie. "The man who +told me vowed it would be a long time before he'd do policeman's work +again. He said that for him Government might keep its own order and see +how soon it got tired of it." + +"Well, it's the same thing going on now. I mean the Government and the +squatters fixing up this military business between them just to +dishearten our fellows. Besides, they've got it into their heads, +somehow, that most men are only unionists through fear and that if +they're sure of 'protection' they'll blackleg in thousands." + +"That's a funny notion," said Nellie. "But all employers have it or +pretend to have it. I fancy it comes through men, afraid of being +victimised if they display independence, shifting the responsibility of +their sticking up for rules upon the union and letting the boss think +they don't approve of the rules but are afraid to break them, when +they're really afraid to let him know they approve them." + +"That's about it, Nellie, but most people find it easy to believe what +they want to believe. Anyway, I've got it straight from headquarters that +the squatters expect to get blacklegs working under enough military +protection to make blacklegging feel safe, as they look at it, and then +they think our unions will break right down. And, of course, what maddens +our crowd is that blacklegs are collected in another part of the world +and shipped in under agreements which they can be sent to prison if they +break, or think they can, which amounts to the same, and are kept guarded +away from us, like convicts, so that we can't get to them to talk to them +and win them over as is done in ordinary strikes in towns." + +"That's shameful!" said Nellie. "The squatter governments have a lot to +answer for." + +"And what can we do?" continued Ned. "They won't let us have votes. There +are 20,000 men in the back country altogether and I don't believe 5000 of +them have votes and they're mostly squatters and their managers and +'lifers' and the storekeepers and people who own land. I've no vote and +can't get one. None of the fellows in my lot can get votes. We can't +alter things in Parliament and the law and the government and the +military and the police and the magistrates and everything that's got +authority are trying to down us and we can't help ourselves. Do you +wonder that our chaps get hot and talk wild and act a little wild now and +then?" + +Nellie pressed his arm answeringly. + +"I feel myself a coward sometimes," went on Ned. "Last drought-time some +of us were camped 'way back at a water-hole on a reserve where there was +the only grass and water we could get for hundreds of miles. We had our +horses and the squatter about wanted the grass for his horses and tried +to starve us away by refusing to sell us stores. He wouldn't even sell us +meat. He was a fool, for we took his mutton as we wanted it, night-times, +and packed our stores from the nearest township, a hundred and eighty +miles off. I used to think that the right thing to do was to take what we +wanted off his run and from his store, in broad daylight, and pay him +fair prices and blow the heads off anybody who went to stop us. For we'd +a better right to the grass than he had. Only, you see, Nellie, it was +easier to get even with him underhand and we seem to do always what's +easiest." + +"They've always acted like that, those squatters, Ned," said Nellie. +"Don't you recollect when they closed the road across Arranvale one +drought 'cause the selectors were cutting it up a bit, drawing water from +the reserve, and how everybody had to go seven miles further round for +every drop of water? I've often wondered why the gates weren't lifted and +the road used in spite of them." + +"They'd have sent for the police," remarked Ned. "Next year Arranvale +shed was burned," he added. + +"It's always that way," declared Nellie, angrily. "For my part I'd sooner +see the wildest, most hopeless outbreak, than that sort of thing." + +"So would the squatters, Nellie," retorted Ned, grimly. "I feel all you +do," he went on. "But human nature is human nature and the squatters did +their level best, ignorantly I admit, to make the men mere brutes, and +the life alone has made hundreds mad, so we can't wonder if the result +isn't altogether pleasant. They've made us hut in with Chinese and +Malays. They've stuck up prices till flour that cost them tuppence a +pound I've seen selling us for a shilling. They've cut wages down +whenever they got a chance and are cutting them now, and they want to +break up our unions with their miserable 'freedom of contract' agreement. +Before there were unions in the bush the only way to get even with a +squatter was by some underhand trick and now we've got our unions and are +ready to stand up manly and fight him fair he's coming the same dodge on +us that the shipowners came on the seamen, only worse. Going to use +contract labour from the South that we can't get near to talk to and that +can't legally knock off if we did talk it over, and going to break up the +camps and shoot down unarmed men just to stop the strike. How can you +wonder if a few fires start or expect the chaps to be indignant if they +do? Besides, half the fires that happen at times like this are old +shanties of sheds that are insured above their value. It's convenient to +be able to put everything down to unionists." + +"It worries me," said Nellie, after a few minutes' silence. + +"Me too," said Ned. "We've got such a good case if both sides could only +be shown up. We've been willing to talk the whole thing over all along +and we're willing yet or to arbitrate it either. We're right and lots of +these fellows know it who abuse us. And if our chaps do talk a bit rough +and get excited and even if they do occasionally carry on a bit, it's not +a circumstance to the way the other side talk and get excited and carry +on. Only all the law is against us and none against them. Our chaps are +so hot that they don't go at it like lawyers but like a bull at a gate, +when they talk or write. And so the Government gets a hold on us and can +raise a dust and prevent people from seeing how things really are!" + +"Ned," she said, after a pause. "Tell me honestly! Do you thing there +will be any trouble?" + +"Honestly, I don't, Nellie. At least nothing serious. Some of the fellows +may start to buck if the Government does try to break up the camps and it +might spread a little, but there are no guns and so I don't see how it +could. There seems to be a lot of talk everywhere but that's hard fact. +Ten thousand bushmen with rifles wouldn't have much trouble with the +Government and the Government wouldn't have much trouble with ten +thousand bushmen without rifles. Besides, we're trying to do things +peacefully and I don't see why we shouldn't win this round as things +stand and get votes soon into the bargain!" + +"But if there is trouble, Ned?" she persisted. "Supposing it does start?" + +"I shall go with the chaps, of course, if that's what you mean." + +"Knowing it's useless, just to throw your life away?" she asked, quietly, +not protestingly, but as one seeking information. + +"I've eaten their bread," answered Ned. "Whatever mad thing is done, +however it's done, I'm with them. I should be a coward if I stood out of +it because I didn't agree with it. Besides----" + +"Besides what?" + +"I believe in Fate somehow. Not as anything outside bossing us, you know, +but as the whole heap of causes and conditions, of which we're a part +ourselves. But I don't feel that there'll be any real trouble though some +of us'll get into trouble just the same." + +"The Government will pick the big thistles, you mean." + +"Those they think the big thistles, I suppose. Of course the Government +is only the squatters and the companies in another shape and they only +want to break down the strike and are glad of any excuse that'll give +them a slant at us. They have a silly idiotic notion that only a few men +keep the unions going and that if they can get hold of a dozen or two the +others will all go to work like lambs just as the squatter wants The +fellows here have heard that the Government's getting ready to make a lot +of arrests up there. I'm one." + +Nellie squeezed his arm again; "I've heard that. I suppose they can do +anything they like, Ned, but surely they won't dare to really enforce +that old George the Fourth law they've resurrected?" + +"Why not? They'll do anything, Nellie. They're frantic and think they +must or the movement will flood them out. They'd like nothing better than +a chance to shoot a mob of us down like wild turkeys. They have squatter +magistrates and squatter judges--you know we've got some daisies up in +Queensland--and they'll snap up all the best lawyers and pack the jury +with a lot of shopkeepers who're just in a panic at the newspaper yarns. +The worst interpretation'll be put on everything and every foolish word +be magnified a thousand times. I know the gentry too well. They'll have +us sure as fate and all I hope is that the boys won't be foolish enough +to give them an excuse to massacre a few hundred. It'll be two or three +years apiece, the Trades Hall people have heard. However, I suppose we +can stand it. I don't care so long as the chaps stick to the union." + +"Do you think they will?" asked Nellie, after another pause. + +"I'm sure they will. They can rake a hundred of us in for life and knock +the union endways and in a year there'll be as much fight in the boys as +there is now, and more bitter, too. Why they're raising money in Sydney +for us already and I'm told that it was squeezed as dry as a bone over +the maritime strike. The New South Wales fellows are all true blue and so +they are down Adelaide way, as good as gold yet. The bosses don't know +what a job they tackled when they started in to down unionism. They fancy +that if they can only smash our fellows they'll have unionism smashed all +over Australia. The fun will only just have started then." + +"What makes you so sure the men will stick, Ned?" enquired Nellie. + +"Because they all know what the squatter was before the union and what +he'll be the minute he gets another chance. The squatters will keep the +unions going right enough. Besides everybody's on for a vote now in the +bush and, of course, the Government is going to keep it from them as long +as possible. Without unionism they'll never get votes and they know it." + +They had reached the path by Wooloomooloo Bay. Ned took off his hat and +walked bareheaded. "This is lovely!" he remarked, refreshed. + +"What a fool Griffith is!" cried Nellie, suddenly. + +"He's not as cunning as he ought to be," assented Ned. "But why?" + +"Do you know what I'd do if I were him?" answered Nellie. "I'd send all +the military and all the police home and go up into the bush by myself +and have a chat with the committee and the men at the camps and find out +just how they looked at the thing and ask them to assist in keeping order +and I'd see that they got justice if Parliament had to be called together +specially to do it." + +"He's not smart enough to do that," answered Ned. "Besides, the squatters +and the capitalistic set are the Parliament and wouldn't let him. I +suppose he believes every lie they stuff him with and never gives a +minute's thought to our having a side." + +"He didn't use to be a bad man, once," persisted Nellie. + +"I suppose he's not a bad man now," cried Ned, boiling over. "He's not on +the make like most of them and he fancies he's very patriotic, I imagine, +but what does he know of us or of the squatter? He sees us at our worst +and the squatter at his best and we've got different ways of talking and +when we get drunk on poisoned rum that the Government lets be sold we +aren't as gentlemanly as those who get drunk on Hennessy and champagne. +We don't curse in the same gentlemanly way and we splash out what we +think and don't wear two faces like his set. And so he thinks we're +ruffians and outlaws and he can't feel why the bushmen care for the +unions. The squatter has taken up all the land and the squatter law has +tied up what hasn't been taken and most of us are a lot of outcasts, +without homes or wives or children or anything that a man should have +barring our horses. We've got no votes and every law is set against us +and we've no rights and the squatter'd like to throw us all out to make +room for Chinese. There's nothing in front of the bushman now unless the +union gets it for him and they're trying to break up our union, Griffith +and his push, and, by God, they shan't do it. They haven't gaols enough +to hold every good unionist, not if they hang a thousand of us to start +with." + +"What does it matter, after all, Ned?" said Nellie, gently. "The Cause +itself gains by everything that makes men think. There'll never be peace +until the squatter goes altogether and the banks and the whole system. +And the squatter can't help it. I abuse him myself but I know he only +does what most of our own class in his place would do." + +"Of course he can't help it, Nellie," agreed Ned. "They're mostly +mortgaged up to the neck like the shopkeepers and squeeze us partly to +keep afloat themselves. It's the system, not the squatters personally. A +lot of them are decent enough, taking them off their runs and some are +decent even on their runs. Even the squatters aren't all bad. I don't +wish them any harm individually but just the same we're fighting them and +they're fighting us and what I feel sorest about is that it's just +because the New Unionism is teaching our chaps to think and to be better +and to have ideas that they are trying so hard to down it." + +"They don't know any better," repeated Nellie. + +"That's what Geisner says, I recollect. I mind how he said they'd try +sending us to prison here in Australia. They're beginning soon." + +They were right at the point now. + +"There's only one thing I'd like to know first, Nellie." + +"What is it, Ned?" she asked, unconsciously, absorbed in her fear for +him. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +A WOMAN'S WHIM. + +"Nellie!" + +It was a husky whisper. His throat was parched, his lips dry, his mouth +also. His heart thumped, thumped, thumped, so that it sickened him. He +shook nervously. His face twitched. He felt burning hot; then deadly +cold. He turned his hat slowly round and round in his trembling fingers. + +It was as though he had turned woman. He did not even feel passion. He +dared not look at her. He could feel her there. He did not desire as he +had desired so often to snatch her to him, to crush her in his arms, to +smother her with kisses, to master her. All his strength fled from him in +an indescribable longing. + +He had dreamed of this moment, often and often. He had rehearsed it in +his mind a thousand times, when the reins dropped on his horse's neck, +when he lay sleepless on the ground, even as he chatted to his mates. He +had planned what to say, how to say it, purposing to break down her +stubborn will with the passionate strength of his love for her, with mad +strong words, with subtle arguments. He had seen her hesitating in his +dreaming, had seen the flush come and go on her cheeks, her bosom heaving +beneath the black dress he knew so well. He had made good his wooing with +the tender violence that women forgive for love's sake, had caught her +and kissed her till her kisses answered and till she yielded him her +troth and pledged herself his wife. So he had dreamed in his folly. And +now he stood there like a whipped child, pleading huskily: + +"Nellie!" + +He had not known himself. He had not known her. Even now he hardly +understood that her glorious womanliness appealed to all that was highest +in him, that in her presence he desired to be a Man and so seemed to +himself weak and wicked. It was not her body only, it was her soul also +that he craved, that pure, clear soul of hers which shone in every tone +and every word and every look and every gesture. Beautiful she was, +strong and lithe and bearing her head up always as if in stern defiance; +beautiful in her cold virginity; beautiful in the latent passion that +slumbered lightly underneath the pale, proud face. But most beautiful of +all to him, most priceless, most longed for, was the personality in her, +the individuality which would have brought him to her were she the +opposite, physically, of all she was. He had wondered in reading +sometimes of the Buddhist thoughts if it were indeed that she was his +mate, that in re-incarnation after re-incarnation they had come together +and found in each other the completed self. And then he had wondered if +there were indeed in him such power and forcefulness as were in her and +if he were to her anything more than a rough, simple, ignorant bush +fellow, in whom she was interested a little for old acquaintance sake and +because of the common Cause they served. For to himself, he had been +still the same as before he ate from her hands the fruit of the Tree of +Knowledge. Absorbed in his work, a zealot, a fanatic, conscious of all +she had and of all he lacked, he had not noticed how his own mind had +expanded, how broader ideas had come to him, how the confidence born of +persistent thought gave force to his words and how the sincerity and +passion that rang in his voice reached if but for a moment the hearts of +men. When he thought of her mentality he doubted that she would be his, +she seemed so high above him. It was when he thought of her solely as a +Woman, when he remembered the smile of her parting, the hand-clinging +that was almost a caress, the tender "Come back to me again, Ned!" that +he felt himself her equal in his Manhood and dreamed his dream of how he +would woo and win her. + +And now! Ah, now, he knew himself and knew her. He realised all that he +was, all that he might have been. He would have wooed her and Nemesis +struck him on the mouth, struck him dumb. + +There come moments in our lives when we see ourselves. For years, for a +generation, till dying often, we live our lives and do not know except by +name the Ego that dwells within. We face death unflinchingly, as most men +do, and it never speaks. We love and we hate, with a lightness that is +held civilised, and it never stirs. We suffer and mourn and laugh and +sneer and it lies hidden. Then something stirs us to the very base of our +being and self-consciousness comes. And happy, thrice happy, in spite of +all sorrow and pain, no matter what has been or what awaits him, is he to +whom self-consciousness does not bring the self reproach that dieth not, +the remorse that never is quite quenched. He would have wooed and he was +dumb. For with a flash his life uprose before him. He saw himself naked +and he was ashamed. + +Tremblingly, shaken with anguish, he saw himself--unfit to look into +the eyes of a woman such as this. Like loathsome images of a drunkard's +nightmare scenes that were past came to him. Upon his lips were kisses +that stung and festered, around his neck were the impress of arms that +dragged him down, into his eyes stared other eyes taunting him with the +evil glances that once seemed so dear. What had he of manhood to offer to +this pure woman. It seemed to him a blasphemy even to stand there by her. +His passion fled. He only felt a pitiful, gnawing, hopeless, +indescribable longing. + +What he had been! How he had drunk and drunk and drunk again of the +filthy pools wherewith we civilised peoples still our yearnings for the +crystal spring of Love, that the dragon of Social Injustice guards from +us so well! His sins rose in front of him. They were sins now as they had +never been before. The monogamy of his race triumphed in him. For men and +for women alike he knew there was the same right and the same wrong. + +His soul abhorred itself because of his unfitness to match with this +ideal woman of his people. He could feel her purity, as he stood there by +her. He could feel that her lips still waited for the lover of her life, +that round her waist the virgin zone still lay untied, that she could +still give herself with all the strength of unsullied purity and +unweakened passion. And he, who had thought in his miserable folly that +at least he was as much Man as she was Woman? He could only give her the +fragments of a life, the battered fragments of what once had been well +worth the having. + +He knew that now. He saw himself naked and he knew what he was and what +he had been. He had feared comparison with her intellectually and he +towered above her, even now; he knew it. He knew now that to him it had +been given to sway the thoughts of men, to feel the pulse of the great +world beat, to weld discontent into action, to have an idea and to dare +and to give to others faith and hope. That came to him also, without +conceit, without egotism--with a rush of still more bitter infinitely +more unbearable, pain. For this, too, he had wasted, flung away, so it +seemed to him in his agony of degradation: because he had not been true +to his higher self, because he had not done as a true Man would. And so, +he had been blind. He saw it plainly, now, the path he should have trod, +trampling his weaknesses down, bending his whole life in one strong +effort, living only for the work at hand. And to him it came that, +perchance, on him was this great punishment that because of his +unworthiness the Cause must wait longer and struggle more; that because +he had not been strong little children would sob who might have laughed +and men would long for death who might have joyed in living. And he knew, +too, that had he but been what he might have been he would have stood +fearlessly by her side at last and won her to cast in her lot with his. +For there was a way out, indeed, a way out from the house of bondage, and +none had been so near to it in all time as he had all his life, none had +had their feet pointed so towards it, none had failed so strangely to +pick up the track and follow it to the end. Years ago, as he thought, +sleepless, under the stars, he had touched on it, Geisner had brought him +near to it. And still he had not seen it, had not seen as he saw now that +those who seek to change the world must first of all show the world that +change is possible, must gather themselves together and go out into the +desert to live their life in their own way as an example to all men. Who, +could do this as the bushmen could, as he and his houseless, homeless, +wandering mates could? If he only could lead them to it, Geisner helping +him! If another chance might be his as the chance had been! Now, life +seemed over. He had a prescience of misfortune. A Queensland gaol would +swallow him up. That would be the end of it all. + +He did not think that he was much the same as others, more forceful +perhaps for evil as for good but still much the same. He did not think +that social conditions had been against him, that Society had refused him +the natural life which gives morality and forced upon him the unnatural +life which fosters sin. What did that matter? The Puritan blood that +flowed in his veins made him stern jury and harsh judge. He tried himself +by his own ideal and he condemned himself. He was unworthy. He had +condemned those who drank; he had condemned those who cursed and swore +meaninglessly; he had looked upon smoking as a weakness, almost a fault. +Now, he condemned himself, without reservation. He had sinned and his +punishment had begun. He had lived in vain and he had lost his love. It +never occurred to him that he might play a part before her--he was too +manly. Yet his great longing grew greater as he realised everything. All +the loneliness of his longing spoke in that hoarse whisper: + +"Nellie?" + +And Nellie? Nellie loved him. + +She had held him as a brother for so long that this love for him had +crept upon her, little by little, inch by inch, insidiously, unperceived. +She remembered always with pleasure their school days together and their +meetings since, that meeting here in Sydney two years before most of all. +She had felt proud of him, of his strength and his fiery temper, of his +determined will, of the strong mind which she could feel growing and +broadening in the letters he had sent her of late. She could not but know +that to him she was very much, that to her he owed largely the bent of +his thinking, that to her he still looked as a monitress. But she lulled +herself with the delusion that all this was brotherliness and that all +her feelings were sisterliness. His coming that night, his gift of the +rose, had filled her with a happiness that mingled strangely with the +pain of her fears. + +Coming along, arm in arm with him, she had been thinking of him, even +while she spoke earnestly of other things. Would she ever see him again, +she wondered with a sinking of the heart, would she ever see him again. +Never had he thought or care for himself, never would he shrink from fear +of consequences if it seemed to him that a certain course was "straight." +She would not have him shrink, of course. He was dear to her because he +was what he was, and yet, and yet, it pained her so to think that she +nevermore might see him. Seldom she saw him it was true, only now and +then, years between, but she always hoped to see him. What if the hope +left her! What should she do if she should see him again nevermore? + +The kaleidoscope of her memories showed to her one scene, one of the +episodes that had gone to make up her character, to strengthen her +devotion: the whirring of a sewing machine in a lamp-lit room and a +life-romance told to the whirring, the fate of a woman as Geisner's was +the fate of a man. A romance of magnificent fidelity, of heroic sacrifice +illumined by a passionate love, of a husband followed to the land of his +doom from that sad isle of the Atlantic seas, of prison bars worn away by +the ceaseless labour of a devoted woman and of the cruel storm that beat +the breath from her loved one as freed and unfettered he fled to liberty +and her! She heard again the whirr of the machine, saw again the +lamplight shine on the whitening head majestic still. For Ned, while he +lived, no matter where, she would toil so. Though all the world should +forget him she would not. But supposing, after all, she never saw him +more. What should she do? What should she do? And yet, she did not know +yet that she loved him. + +They walked along, side by side, close together, through the dull weary +streets, by barrack-rows of houses wrapped in slumber or showing an +occasional light; through thoroughfares which the windows of the shops +that thrive, owl-like, at night still made brilliant; down the long +avenue of trim-clipped trees whereunder time-defying lovers still sat +whispering; past the long garden wall, startling as they crossed the road +a troop of horses browsing for fallen figs; along the path that winds, +water-lapped, under the hollowed rocks that shelter nightly forlorn +outcasts of Sydney. She saw it all as they passed along and she did not +see it. Afterwards she could recall every step they took, every figure +they passed, every tree and seat and window and lamp-post on the way. + +At one corner a group of men wrangled drunkenly outside a public-house. +Down one deserted street another drunkard staggered, cursing with awful +curses a slipshod woman who kept pace with him on the pavement and +answered him with nerveless jeers. Just beyond a man overtook them, +walking swiftly, his tread echoing as he went; he turned and looked at +her as he passed; he had a short board and wore a "hard hitter." Then +there was a girl plying her sorry trade, talking in the shadow with a +young man, spruce and white-shirted. They had to wait at one street for a +tram to rush past screeching and rattling. At one crossing Ned had seized +her arm because a cab was coming carelessly. One of the lovers in the +avenue was tracing lines on the ground with a stick, while her sweetheart +leaned over her. Down under the rocks she saw the forms of sleepers here +and there; from one clump of bushes came a sound of heavy snoring. She +saw all this, everything, a thousand incidents, but she did not heed +them. She was as one in a daze; or as one who moves and thinks and sees, +sleep-walking. + +So they reached the point by Lady Macquarie's Chair, paused for a moment +at the turn, hesitated, then together, as of one accord, went down the +grassy slope by the landing stairs and out upon the rough wave-eaten +fringe of rock to the water's edge. They were alone together, alone in +Paradise. There were none others in the whole world. + +Above them, almost overhead, in the starry sky, the full round moon was +sailing, her white glare falling upon a matchless scene of mingling land +and water, sea and shore and sky. Like a lake the glorious harbour +stretched before them and on either hand. In its bosom the moon sailed as +in a mirror; on it great ships floated at anchor and islets nestled down; +all round the sheltering hills verily clapped their hands. In the great +dome of the universe there was not a cloud. Through the starless windows +of that glorious dome they could see into the fathomless depths of +Eternity. Under the magic of the moon not even the sordid work of man +struck a discordant note. At their feet the faint ripplings of this +crystal lake whispered their ceaseless lullaby and close behind them the +trees rustled softly in the languid breathings of the sleeping sea. Of a +truth it was Paradise, fit above all fitness to gladden the hearts of +men, worthy to fill the soul to overflowing with the ecstasy of living, +deserving to be enshrined as a temple of the Beautiful wherein all might +worship together, each his own God. + +The keen sense of its loveliness, its perfect beauty, its sublime +simplicity, stole over Nellie as she stood silently by Ned's side in the +full moonlight and gazed. Over her angry soul, tortured by the love she +hardly knew, its pure languor crept, soothing, softening. She looked up +at the silvery disc and involuntarily held out her hands to it, its +radiance overpowering her. She wrenched her eyes away from it suddenly, a +strange fearfulness leaping in her who knew no fear; the light at the +South Heads flashed before her, the convent stood out in the far +distance, a ferry-house shone white, the towers and roofs of Sydney +showed against the sky, the lights on the shipping and on the further +shore were as reflections of the stars above. And there in the water, as +in a mirror, was that glowing moon. Startled, she found herself thinking +that it would be heavenly to take Ned's hand and plunge underneath this +crystal sheet that alone separated them from peace and happiness. She +looked up again. There was the moon itself, swimming amid the twinkling +stars, full and round and white and radiant. As its rays enwrapped her +eyes, she heard the leaves rustling in melody and the wavelets rippling +in tune. + +All Nature lived to her then. There was life in the very rocks under her +feet, language in the very shimmer of the waters, a music, as the +ancients dreamed in the glittering spheres that circled there in space. +The moon had something to say to her, something to tell her, something +she longed to hear and shrank from hearing. She knew she was not herself +somehow, not her old self, that it was as though she were being +bewitched, mesmerised, drawn out of herself by some strange influence, +sweet though fearful. Suddenly a distant clock struck and recalled her +wandering thoughts. + +"Half-past! Half-past eleven I suppose! I thought it was later, ever so +much later. It has seemed like hours, it is so beautiful here, but we +haven't been here many minutes," she said. Adding incongruously: "Let's +go. It's getting very late." She spoke decidedly. She felt that she dare +not stay; why, she had not the least idea. + +Then she heard Ned, who was standing there, rigid, except that he was +twirling his soft straw hat round and round in his fingers, say in a low +tremulous husky whisper: + +"Nellie!" + +Then she knew. + +She was loved and she loved. That was what the stars sang and the little +ripples and the leaves. That was what the hard rock knew and what the +shimmer of the water laughed to think of and what the glowing moon had to +tell her as it swam high in heaven, looking down into her heart and +swelling its tumultuous tide. The moon knew, the full moon that ever made +her pulse beat strong and her young life throb till its throbbing was a +pain, the full white moon that, dethroned on earth, still governs from +the skies the lives of women. She was loved. She was loved. And she, who +had vowed herself to die unmarried, she loved, loved, loved. + +She knew that those only laugh at Love to whom the fullness of living has +been denied, in whose cold veins, adulterate with inherited disease, a +stagnant liquid mocks the purpose of the rich red blood of a healthy +race; that in that laugh of theirs is the, knell of them and of their +people; that the nation which has ceased to love has almost ceased to +live. + +She knew that every breath she had ever drawn had been drawn that she +might live for this moment; that every inch of her stature and every +ounce of her muscle and every thought of her brain had built up slowly, +surely, ultimately, this all-absorbing passion; that upon her was the +hand of the Infinite driving her of her own nature to form a link in the +great Life-chain that stretches from the Whence into the Whither, to lose +herself in the appointed lot as the coral insect does whose tiny body +makes a continent possible. + +She knew that Love is from the beginning and to all time, knew that it +comes to each as each is, to the strong in strength and to the weak in +weakness. She knew that to her it had come with all the force of her +grand physique and vigorous brain and dominant emotionality, that in her +heart one man, one hero, one lover, was enshrined and that to him she +would be loyal and true for ever and ever, choosing death rather than to +fail him. + +She knew that they do rightly and for themselves well who in Love's +strength brush aside all worldly barriers and insensate prejudice. She +knew that it is the one great Democrat strong as Death--when it comes, +though sad to say in decaying states it comes too seldom; that its +imperious mandate makes the king no higher than the beggar-girl and binds +in sweet equality the child of fortune and the man of toil. She knew that +the mysterious Power which orders all things has not trusted to a frail +support in resting the conservation of the race upon the strength of +loving. + +All this she knew and more, knew as by instinct as her love flamed +conscious in her. + +She knew that there was one thing to which love like hers could not link +itself and that was to dishonour, not the false dishonour of +conventionalism but the real dishonour of proving untrue to herself. She +know that when she ceased to respect herself, when she shrank from +herself, then she would shrink before him whom she loved and who loved +her. She knew that she could better bear to lose him, to go lonely and +solitary along the future years, than shame that self-consciousness which +ever she had held sacred but which was doubly sacred now he loved her. + +How she loved him! For his soul, for his body, for his brain, for his +rough tenderness, for his fiery tongue! She loved his broad shoulders and +his broad mind. She loved his hearty laugh and his hearty hand-grip and +his homely speech and his red-hot enthusiasm. She loved him because she +felt that he dared and because she felt that he loved her. She loved him +because she had learned to see in him her ideal. She loved him because he +was in danger for the Cause and because he was going from her and because +she had loved him for years had she but known. She loved him for a +thousand things. And yet! Something held her back. It only needed a word +but the word did not come. It was on her lips a dozen times, that one +word "Ned!" which meant all words, and she did not say it. + +They stood there side by side, motionless, silent, waiting, Ned suffering +anguish unspeakable, Nellie plunged in that great joy which comes so +seldom that some say it only comes to herald deeper sadness. To him the +glorious scene around spoke nothing, he hardly saw it; to her it was +enchanted with a strange enchantment, never had it seemed so, all the +times she had seen it. How beautiful life was! How sweet to exist! How +glad the world! + +"Nellie!" said Ned, at last, humbly, penitently, hopelessly. "I'm not a +good man. I haven't been just what you think I've been." He stopped, then +added, slowly and desperately as if on an afterthought: "If--your own +heart--won't plead--for--me--it's not a bit of use my saying +anything." + +When one speaks as one feels one generally speaks to the point and this +sudden despairing cry of Ned's was a better plea than any he could by +long thinking have constructed. Wonderful are the intricacies of a man's +mind, but still more intricate the mind of woman. Nellie at the moment +did not care whether he had been saint or sinner. She felt that her love +was vast enough to, wash him clean of all offending and make amend in him +for all shortcoming. She could not bear to see him in pain thus when she +was so happy; in uncertainty, in despair, when the measure of her love +was not to be taken, so huge was it and all for him. If he had sinned, +and how men sin there is little hid from the working girl, it was not +from evil heart. If he had not been good he would be good. He would +promise her. + +"But you will be good now, will you not, Ned?" she asked, softly, not +looking at him, dropping her hand against his, stealing her slender +fingers into the fingers that nervously twirled the hat. + +From bitter despondency Ned's thoughts changed to ecstatic hope. He swung +round, his hand in Nellie's, his brain in a whirl. Was it a dream or was +she really standing there in the strong moonshine, her lovelit eyes +looking into his for a moment before the down-cast lids veiled them, her +face flushed, her bosom heaving, her hand tenderly pressing his? He +dropped his hat, careless, of the watery risk, and seizing her by both +arms above the elbows, held her for a moment in front of him, striving to +collect himself, vainly trying to subdue the excitement that made him +think he was going to faint. + +"Nellie!" he whispered, passionately, his craving finding utterance. +"Kiss me!" She lifted up the flushed face, with the veiled downcast eyes +and soft quivering lips. He passed his hands under her arms and bent +down. Then a white mist came over his eyes as he crushed her to him and +felt on his parched lips the burning kiss of the woman he loved. For a +moment she rested there, in his arms, her mouth pressed to his. The rose, +shattered, throw its petals as an offering upon the altar of their joy. + +The Future, what did it matter to him? The scaffold or the gaol might +come or go, what did it matter to him? It flashed through his mind that +Nellie could be his wife before he went and then all the governments in +the world and all the military and all the gatling guns might do their +worst. They could not take from him a happiness he had not deserved, but +which had come to him as a free gift in despite of his unworthiness. And +as he thought this, Nellia shook herself out of his arms, pushing him so +violently that he staggered and almost fell on the uneven rocks. + +"I cannot," she cried, holding up her arms as if to ward him off. "I +cannot, Ned. You mustn't touch me. I cannot." + +"Nellie!" he replied, bewildered. "What on earth is the matter?" + +"I cannot," she cried again. "Ned, you know I can't." + +"Can't what?" he asked, gradually understanding. + +"I can't marry. I shall never marry. It's cruel to you, contemptible of +me, to be here. I forgot myself, Ned. Come along! It's madness to stay +here." + +She turned on her heel and walked off sharply, taking the upper path. He +picked up his hat and hastily followed. There was nothing else to be +done. Overtaking her, he strode along by her side in a fury of mingled +rage, sorrow, anger and disappointment. + +She paused at the corner of her street. As she did so bells far and near +began to strike midnight, the clock at the City Hall leading off with its +quarters. They had been gone an hour and a quarter. To both of them it +seemed like a year. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +THE WHY OF THE WHIM. + +Nellie stopped at the corner of her street, under the lamp-post. Ned +stopped by her side, fuming by now, biting his moustache, hardly able to +hold his tongue. Nellie looked at him a moment, sadly and sorrowfully. +The look of determination that made her mouth appear somewhat cruel was +on her whole face; but with it all she looked heart-broken. + +"Ned," she begged. "Don't be angry with me. I can't. Indeed, I can't." + +"Why not?" he demanded, boiling over. "If you wouldn't have had me at +first I wouldn't have blamed you. But you say you love me, or as good as +say, and then you fly off. Nellie! Nellie, darling! If you only knew how +for years I've dreamed of you. When I rode the horse's hoofs kept saying +'Nellie.' I used to watch the stars and think them like your eyes, and +the tall blue gum and think it wasn't as full of grace as you. Down by +the water just now I thought you wouldn't have me because I wasn't fit, +and I'm not, Nellie, I'm not, but when I thought it I felt like a lost +soul. And then, when I thought you loved me in spite of all, everything +seemed changed. I seemed to feel that I was a man again, a good man, fit +to live, and all that squatter government of ours could do, the worst +they could do, seemed a bit of a joke while you loved me. And----" + +"Ned! Ned!" begged Nellie, who had put her hands over her face while he +was speaking. "Have pity on me! Can't you see? I'm not iron and I'm not +ice but I can't do as others do. I cannot. I will not." + +"Why not?" he answered. "I will speak, Nellie. Do you----" + +"Ned!" she interrupted, evidently forcing herself to speak. "It's no use. +I'll tell you why it's not." + +"There can be no reason." + +"There is a reason. Nobody knows but me. When I have said I would never +marry people think it is a whim. Perhaps it is, but I have a reason that I +thought never to tell anyone. I only tell you so that you may understand +and we may still be friends, true friends." + +"Go on! I'll convince you that it doesn't mean what you think it does, +this reason, whatever it is." + +"Ned! Be reasonable!" She hesitated. She looked up and down the street. +Nothing moved. The moon was directly overhead. There were no shadows. It +was like day. An engine whistle sounded like a long wail in the distance. +In the silence that followed they could hear the rushing of a train. Ned +waited, watching her pain-drawn face. A passionate fear assailed him, +blotting out his wrath. + +"You recollect my sister?" she asked, looking away from him. + +He nodded. + +"You heard she died? You spoke of her two years ago." + +He nodded again. + +"I did not tell you the whole truth then . . . . . . I did not tell +anybody . . . . . . I came down here so as not to tell . . . . . . I +could not bear to go home, to chance any of them coming down to Brisbane +and seeing me . . . . . . You know." She stopped. He could see her hands +wringing, a hunted look in the eyes that would not meet his. + +"Never mind telling me, Nellie," he said, a great pity moving him. "I'm a +brute. I didn't mean to be selfish but I love you so. It shall be as you +say. I don't want to know anything that pains you to tell." + +"That is your own self again, Ned," she answered, looking at him, smiling +sadly, a love in her face that struck him with a bitter joy. "But you +have a right. I must tell you for my own sake. Only, I can't begin." Her +mouth trembled. Great tears gathered in her eyes and rolled down her +cheeks. A lump rose in his throat. He seized her hands and lifted them +reverently to his lips. He could not think of a word to say to comfort +her. + +"Ned!" she said, in a tone almost inaudible, looking at him through her +tears. "She died in the hospital but I didn't tell you how. . . . . She +died, oh, a terrible death . . . . . . She had gone . . . . . down, Ned. +Right down. Down to the streets, Ned." + +He pressed her hands, speechless. They stood thus facing one another, +till down his face, too, the sad tears rained in sympathy, sad tears that +mourned without reproach the poor dead sister whom the hard world had +crushed and scorned, sad tears that fell on his passion like rain on fire +and left in him only a yearning desire to be a comforter. Nellie, +snatching her hands away, pressed them to her mouth to stifle the frantic +sobs that began to shake her, long awful sobs that drew breath whistling +through clenched fingers. And Ned, drawing her to him, laid her head on +his shoulder, stroking her hair as a mother does, kissing her temple with +loving, passionless kisses, striving to comfort her with tender brotherly +words, to still her wild cries and frantic sobs in all unselfishness. +There were none to see them in all this moonlit city. The wearied +toilers, packed around them, slumbered or tossed unconsciously. Above +them, serene and radiant, the full moon swam on amid the stars. + +"She was so good, Ned," cried Nellie, choking, with sobs, almost +inarticulate, pouring out to him the pent-up thinking of long years. "She +was so good. And so kind. Don't you remember her, Ned? Such a sweet girl, +she was. It killed her, Ned. This cruel, cruel life killed her. But +before it killed her--oh!--oh!--oh!--oh! Why are we ever born? +Why are we ever born?" + +It was heart-rending, her terrible grief, her abandonment of anguish +which she vainly endeavoured to thrust back into her throat. With all her +capacity for passionate love she bewailed her sister's fate. Ned, +striving to soothe her, all the while mingled his tears with hers. A +profound sadness overshadowed him. He felt all his hopes numbed and +palsied in the face of this omnipotent despair. This girl who was dead +seemed for the time the symbol of what Life is. He had hated Society, +hated it, but as its blackest abyss opened at his very feet his hate +passed from him. He only felt an utter pity for all things, a desire to +weep over the helpless hopelessness of the world. + +Nellie quieted at last. Her sobs ceased to shake her, her tears dried on +her pale face, but still she rested her head on Ned as if finding +strength and comfort in him. Her eyelids were closed except for an +occasional belated lingering sob she might have been asleep. Her grief +had exhausted her. At last a coming footfall roused her. She raised her +head, putting her hands instinctively to her hat and hair, pulling +herself together with a strong breath. + +"You are very kind to me, Ned," she said, softly. "I've been so silly but +I'm better now. I don't often carry on like that." She smiled faintly. +"Let's walk a bit! I shall feel better and I have such a lot to tell you. +Don't interrupt! I want you to know all about it, Ned." And so, walking +backwards and forwards in the moonlit streets, deserted and empty, +passing an occasional night prowler, watched with suspicious eyes by +energetic members of the "foorce" whose beats they invaded, stopping at +corners or by dead-walls, then moving slowly on again, she told him. + +* * * * * + +"You know how things were at home on the Darling Downs, Ned. Father a +'cooky,' going shearing to make both ends meet, and things always going +wrong, what with the drought and the wet and having no money to do things +right and the mortgage never being cleared off. It wasn't particularly +good land, either, you know. The squatters had taken all that and left +only stony ridges for folks like ours. And we were all girls, six of us. +Your father was sold up, and he had you boys to help him. Well, my father +wasn't sold up but he might as well have been. He worked like a horse and +so did mother, what with the cows and the fowls and looking after things +when father was away, and we girls did what we could from the time we +were little chits. Father used to get up at daybreak and work away after +dark always when he was at home. On Sunday mornings after he'd seen to +the things he used to lie on his back under that tree in front if it was +fine or about the house if it was wet, just dead beat. He used to put a +handkerchief over his face but he didn't sleep much. He just rested. In +the afternoon he used to have a smoke and a read. Poor father! He was +always thought queer, you recollect, because he didn't care for +newspapers except to see about farming in and took his reading out of +books of poetry that nobody else cared about. On Monday he'd start to +work again, with only a few hours for sleep and meals, till Saturday +night. Yet we had only just a living. Everything else went in interest on +the mortgage. Twelve per cent. Mother used to cry about it sometimes but +it had to be paid somehow. + +"When Mary was fifteen and I was thirteen, you remember, she went to +Toowoomba, to an uncle of ours, mother's brother, who had four boys and +no girls and didn't know what to put the boys to. Father and mother +thought this a splendid chance for Mary to learn a trade, there were so +many of us at home, you know, and so they took one of my cousins and +uncle took Mary and she started to learn dressmaking. Uncle was a small +contractor, who had a hard time of it, and his wife was a woman who'd got +frozen about the heart, although she was as good as gold when it melted a +little. She was always preaching about the need for working and saving +and the folly of wasting money in drink and ribbons and everything but +what was ugly. She said that there was little pleasure in the world for +those who had to work, so the sooner we made up our minds to do without +pleasure the better we'd get on. Mary lived with them a couple of years, +coming home once in a while. Then she got the chance of a place where +she'd get her board and half-a-crown a week. She couldn't bear aunt and +so she took it and I went to live at uncle's and to learn dressmaking, +too. That was six months after you went off, Ned. I wasn't quite fifteen +and you were eighteen, past. Seven years ago. I was so sorry when you +went away, Ned. + +"Aunt wasn't pleasant to live with. I used to try to get on with her and +I think she liked me in her way but she made me miserable with her +perpetual lecturing about the sin of liking to look nice and the +wickedness of laughing and the virtue of scraping every ha'penny. I used +to help in the house, of course, when I came from work and I was always +getting into trouble for reading books, that I borrowed, at odd minutes +when aunt thought I ought to be knitting or darning or slaving away +somehow at keeping uncomfortable. I used to tell Mary and Mary used to +wish that I could come to work where she did. We used to see each other +every dinner hour and in the evening she'd come round and on Sundays we +used to go to church together. She was so kind to me, and loving, looking +after me like a little mother. She used to buy little things for me out +of her halfcrown and say that when she was older aunt shouldn't make me +miserable. Besides aunt, I didn't like working in a close shop, shut up. +I didn't seem to be able to take a good breath. I used to think as I sat, +tacking stuff together or unpicking threads that seemed to be endless, +how it was out in the bush and who was riding old Bluey to get the cows +in now I was gone and whether the hens laid in the same places and if it +was as still and fresh as it used to be when we washed our faces and +hands under the old lean-to before breakfast. And Toowoomba is fresher +than Sydney. I don't know what I'd have thought of Sydney then. I used to +tell Mary everything and she used to cheer me up. Poor Mary! + +"For a long while she had the idea of going to Brisbane to work. She said +there were chances to make big wages there, because forewomen and draping +hands were wanted more and girls who had anything in them had a better +show than in a little place. I used to remind her that it was said there +were lots too many girls in Brisbane and that unless you had friends +there you couldn't earn your bread. But she used to say that one must +live everywhere and that things couldn't be worse than they were in +Toowoomba. You see she was anxious to be able to earn enough to help with +the mortgage. Father had been taken sick shearing: and had to knock off +and so didn't earn what he expected and that year they'd got deeper into +debt and things looked worse than ever. One day he came into Toowoomba +with his cart, looking ten years older. Next day, Mary told me she didn't +care what happened, she was going to Brisbane to see if she couldn't earn +some money or else they'd lose the selection and that she'd spoken for +her place for me and I was to have it. She'd been saving up for a good +while what she could by shillings and sixpences and pennies, doing sewing +work for anybody who'd pay her anything in her own time. She said that +when she'd got a five-pound-a-week place she'd come back for a visit and +bring me a new dress, and mother and father and the others all sorts of +things and pay the interest all herself and that I should have the next +best place in the shop and come to live with her. We talked about going +into business together and whether it wouldn't be better for father to +throw up the selection after a while and live with us in Brisbane. Ah! +What simple fools we were! If we had but known! + +"So Mary went to Brisbane, with just a few shillings beside her ticket +and hardly knowing a soul in the big town. I went to the station with her +in the middle of the night. She was going by the night train because then +she'd get to Brisbane in the morning and have the day in front of her and +she had nowhere to go if she got in at night. I recollect thinking how +sweetly pretty she looked as she sat in the carriage all alone. + +"You remember her, Ned? Well, she got prettier and prettier as she grew +older, not tall and big and strong-looking like me but smaller than I was +even then and with a fresh round face that always smiled at you. She had +small feet and hands and hair that curled naturally and her skin was +dark, not fair like mine. People in Toowoomba used to turn and look at +her when she went out and everybody liked her. She was so kind to +everybody. And she was full of courage though she did cry a little when +she kissed me good-bye, because I cried so. I could never have stopped +crying had I but known how I should see her again. + +"She wrote in two or three days to say that she had got a place, just +enough to pay her board, and expected to get a better one soon. She was +always expecting something better when she wrote and my aunt when I saw +her wagged her head and said that rolling stones gathered no moss. The +interest-day came round and father just managed to scrape the money +together. They'd got so poor and downhearted that I used to cry at night +thinking of them and I used to tell Mary when I wrote. I used to blame +myself for it once but I don't now. We all get to believe at last in what +must be will be, Ned. And then I had a letter from Mary telling me she +had a much better place and in two or three weeks mother wrote such a +proud pleased letter to say that Mary had sent them a five-pound note. +And for about a year Mary sent them two or three pounds every month and +at Christmas five pounds again. Then her letters stopped altogether, both +to them and to me. To me she had kept writing always the same, kind and +chatty and about herself. She told me she had to save and scrape a little +but that she had hope some day to be able to get me down. I never dreamed +it was not so, not even when the letters stopped, though afterwards, when +I went through them, I saw that the handwriting, in the later ones, was +shaky a little. + +"We waited and waited to hear from her but no letter came to anybody. +There was a girl I knew whose father had been working in Toowoomba and +who was in the same shop for a little while and her father was going to +Brisbane to a job and they were all going. He was a carpenter. She and I +had got to be friendly after Mary went away and she promised to find her +but couldn't. You see we were bush folks still and didn't think anything +of streets and addresses and thought the post office enough. And when two +months passed and no letter came mother wrote half crazy, and I didn't +know what to do, and I wrote to the girl I knew to ask her to get me work +so that I could go to look for Mary. It just happened that they wanted a +body hand in her shop and they promised me the place and I went the next +day I heard. They wanted a week's notice where I was working and didn't +want to give up my things without but aunt went and got them and gave me +the money for my fare and told me if I wanted to come back to write to +her and she'd find the money again. Poor old aunt! I shall never forget +her. Her heart was all right if she had got hard and unhappy. That's how +I got to Brisbane to look for Mary. + +"I went to board with the girl I knew. I was earning ten shillings a week +and paid that for my board and helped with the ironing for my washing. +Her father had got out of work again for times were bad and they were +glad to get my money. Lizzie got ten shillings a week and she had a +brother about fourteen who earned five shillings. That was about all they +had to live on often, nine in the family with me and the rent seven +shillings for a shell of a place that was standing close up against other +humpies in a sort of yard. There were four little rooms unceiled and +Lizzie and I slept together in a sort of shelf bedstead, with two little +sisters sleeping on the floor beside us. When it was cold we used to take +them in with us and heap their bedclothes on top of us. The wind came +through the walls everywhere. Out in the bush one doesn't mind that but +in town, where you're cooped up all day, it doesn't seem the same thing. +We had plenty of bread and meat and tea generally but the children didn't +seem to thrive and got so thin and pale-looking that I thought they were +going to be ill. Lizzie's father used to come home, after tramping about +for work, looking as tired as my father did after his long day in the +fields and her mother fretted and worried and you could see things +getting shabbier and shabbier every week. I don't know what I should have +done only Lizzie and I now and then got a dress to make for a neighbour +or some sewing to do, night-times. Lizzie's mother had a machine and we +used that and they always made me keep my half of what we got that way, +no matter how hard up they were. They never thought of asking for +interest for the use of the machine. And all the while I was looking for +Mary. + +"I used to stand watching as the troops of girls went by to work and from +work, morning and evening, going to a new place every day so that I +shouldn't miss her and in the dinner hours I used to go round the work +rooms to see if she worked in one of them or if anybody knew her. At +first, when I had a shilling to spare, I put an advertisement that she +would understand in the paper, but I gave that up soon. I never dreamed +of going to the police station, any more than we had dreamed of it in +Toowoomba. I just looked and looked but I couldn't find her. + +"I shall never forget the first time I got out of work. One Saturday, +without a minute's warning, a lot of us were told that we wouldn't be +wanted for a week or two. Lizzie and I were both told. She could hardly +keep herself from crying but I couldn't cry. I was too wretched. I +thought of everything and there seemed nothing to do anywhere. At home +they couldn't help me. I shrank from asking aunt, for she'd only offered +to help me to come back and what could I do in Toowoomba if I got there? +And how could I find Mary? I had only ten shillings in the world and I +owed it all for my board. I got to imagining where I should sleep and how +long I could go without dying of hunger and I hated so to go into the +house with Lizzie to tell them. Lizzie's mother cried when she heard it +and Lizzie cried, but I went into the bedroom when I'd put my money on +the table and began to put my things in my box. They called me to dinner +and when I didn't come and they found out that I meant to go because I +couldn't pay any more they were so angry. Lizzie's mother wanted to know +if they looked altogether like heathens and then we three cried like +babies and I felt better. I used to cry a good deal in those days, I +think. + +"Lizzie's father got a job next week a few miles out of Brisbane and went +away to it and on the Monday I answered an advertisement for a woman to +do sewing in the house and was the first and got it. She was quite young, +the woman I worked for, and very nice. She got talking to me and I told +her how I'd got out of work and about Mary. I suppose she was Socialist +for she talked of what I didn't understand much then, of how we ought to +have a union to get wages enough to keep us when work fell off and of the +absurdity of men and women having to depend for work upon a few employers +who only worked them when they could get profit. She thought I should go +to the police-station about Mary but I said Mary wouldn't like that. What +was more to me at the time, she paid me four shillings a day and found me +work for two weeks, though I don't think she wanted it. There are kind +people in the world, Ned. + +"I got back to regular work again, not in the same shop but in another, +and then Lizzie's folks moved out to where her father was working. I and +another girl got a room that we paid five shillings a week for, +furnished, with the use of the kitchen. It cost us about ten shillings a +week between us for food, and I got raised to twelve-and-six a week +because they wanted me back where I'd worked before. So we weren't so +badly off, and we kept a week ahead. Of course we lived anyhow, on dry +bread and tea very often, with cakes now and then as a treat, boiled eggs +sometimes and a chop. There was this about it, we felt free. Sometimes we +got sewing to do at night from people we got to hear of. So we managed to +get stuff for our dresses and we kept altering our hats and we used to +fix our boots up with waxed threads. And all the time I kept looking for +Mary and couldn't see her or hear of her. + +"I had got to understand how Mary might live for years in a place like +Brisbane without being known by more than a very few, but I puzzled more +and more as to how she'd got the money she'd sent home. The places where +she might have earned enough seemed so few that everybody knew of them. +In all dressmaking places the general run of girls didn't earn enough to +keep themselves decently unless they lived at home as most did. Even then +they had a struggle to dress neatly and looked ill-fed, for, you see, it +isn't only not getting enough it's not getting enough of the right food +and getting it regularly. Most of the girls brought their lunch with them +in a little paper parcel, bread and butter, and in some places they made +tea. Some had lots of things to eat and lots to wear and plenty of pocket +money and didn't seem to have to work but they weren't my sort or Mary's. + +"What made me think first how things might be was seeing a girl in the +second place I worked at. She looked so like Mary, young and fresh and +pretty and lively, always joking and laughing. She was very shabby and +made-over when I saw her first, with darned gloves and stitched-up boots +down at heel and bits of ribbon that she kept changing to bring the best +side up. Then she got a new dress all at once and new boots and gloves +and hat and seemed to have money to spend and the girls began to pass +remarks about her when she wasn't bearing and sometimes to her face when +they had words with her. I didn't believe anything bad at first but I +knew she wasn't getting any more pay and then, all at once, I recollected +being behind her one night when we came out of the shop and seeing a +young fellow waiting in a door-way near. He was a good-looking young +fellow, well-dressed and well to do, and as she passed with some other +girls he dropped his stick out in front of her and spoke to her. She +laughed and ran back to the shop when we'd gone on a little further and +spoke to him for a second or two as she passed him. It was after that she +was well dressed and I saw her out with him once or twice and--and--I +began to think of Mary. You see, I knew how hard the life was and how +wearying it is to have to slave and half-starve all the time, and then +Mary wanted money so to send home to help them. And when the girls talked +at work they spoke of lots of things we never heard of in the bush and +gradually I got to know what made me sick at heart. + +"I was nearly mad when I thought of that about Mary, my sister Mary who +was so good and so kind. I hated myself for dreaming of such a thing but +it grew and grew on me and at last I couldn't rest till I found out. I +didn't think it was so but it began to seem just possible, a wild +possibility that I must satisfy to myself, the more I couldn't find her. +I somehow felt she was in Brisbane somewhere and I learnt how easily one +slips down to the bottom when one starts slipping and has no friends. So +I used to go on Queen Street at night and look for her there. But I never +saw her. I wanted to ask about her but I couldn't bear to. I thought of +asking the Salvation Army people but when I went one night I couldn't. + +"At last one night when we'd been working late at the shop, till eleven, +as we did very often in busy times without getting any overtime pay +though they turned us off as they pleased when work got slack, I saw a +girl coming that I thought I'd ask. She was painted up and powdered and +had flaring clothes but she looked kind. It was a quiet street where I +met her and before I had time to change my mind she got to me and I +stopped and asked her. I told her I'd lost my sister and did she know +anything of her. She didn't laugh at me or say anything rude but talked +nice and said she didn't think so and I mustn't think about that but if I +liked she'd find out. I told her the name but she said that wasn't any +good because girls always changed their name and she looked like crying +when she said this. I had a photograph of Mary's that I always carried +with me to show anybody who might have seen her without knowing her and +the girl said if I'd trust her with it for a week she'd find Mary if she +was in Brisbane and meet me. So I lent it to her. And we were just +talking a bit and she was telling me that she was from London and that +when she was a little girl a great book-writer used to pat her on the +head and call her a pretty little thing and give her pennies and how +she'd run away from home with a young officer, who got into trouble +afterwards and came out to Australia without her and how she came out to +find him and would some day, when a policeman came along and asked us +what we were doing. She said we weren't doing anything and that he'd +better mind his business and he said he knew her and she'd better keep a +civil tongue in her head. Then he wanted to know what my name was and +where I lived and the girl told me not to tell him or he'd play a trick +on me and I didn't. But I told him I worked at dressmaking and roomed +with another girl and he gave a kind of laugh and said he thought so and +that if I didn't give him my name and address I'd have to come along with +him. I began to cry and the girl told him he ought to be ashamed of +himself ruining a poor hard-working girl who was looking for her sister +and he only laughed again and said he knew all about that. I don't know +what would have happened only just then an oldish man came along, wearing +spectacles and with a kind sharp face, who stopped and asked what was the +matter. The policeman was very civil to him and seemed to know him and +told him that I wouldn't give him my address and that I was no good and +that he was only doing his duty. The girl called the policeman names and +told how it really was, only not my name, and the man looked at me and +told the policeman I was shabby enough to be honest and that he'd answer +for me and the policeman touched his hat and said 'good-night, sir,' and +went on. Then the man told me I'd had a narrow escape and that it should +be a lesson to me to keep out of bad company and I told him the girl had +told the truth and he laughed, but not like the policeman, and said that +was all the more reason to be careful because policemen could do what +they liked with dressmakers who had no friends. Then be pulled out some +money and told me to be a good girl and offered it to me, so kindly, but +of course I didn't take it. Then he shook hands and walked off. There are +kind people in the world, Ned, but we don't always meet them when we need +them. I didn't know then how much he did for me or what cruel, wicked +laws there are. + +"Next week I met the girl again. I wanted so to find Mary I didn't care +for all the policemen. I knew when I saw her coming that she'd found her. +I didn't seem to care much, only as though something had snapped. It was +only afterwards, when Mary was dead, that I used to get nearly crazy. I +never told anybody, not even my room-mate, that I'd found her. + +"She was in the hospital, dying, Mary was. I've heard since how that +awful life kills the tender-hearted ones soon and Mary wasn't 21. She was +in a bleak, bare ward, with a screen round her, and near by you could +hear other girls laughing and shouting. You wouldn't have known her. Only +her eyes were the same, such loving, tender eyes, when she opened them +and saw me. She looked up and saw me standing there by the bedside and +before she could shrink away I put my arms round her neck and kissed her +forehead, where I used to kiss her, because I was the tallest, just where +the hair grew. And I told her that she mustn't mind me and that she was +my dear, dear sister and that she should have let me known because it had +taken me so long to find her. And she didn't say anything but clung tight +to me as though she would never let me go and then all at once her arms +dropped and when I lifted my head she had fainted and her eyelids were +wet. + +"She died three days after. I made some excuse to get away and saw her +every day. She hardly spoke she was so weak but she liked to lie with my +hand in hers and me fanning her. She said that first day, when she came +to, that she thought I would come. But she wouldn't have written or +spoken a word, Mary wouldn't. She didn't even ask after the folks at home +or how I was getting on. She said once she was so tired waiting and I +knew she meant waiting to die. She didn't want to live. The last day she +lay with her eyes half-closed, looking at me, and all at once her lips +moved. I bent down to her and heard her murmur: 'I did try, Nellie, I did +try,' and I saw she was crying. I put my arms round her and kissed her on +the forehead and told her that I knew she had, and then she smiled at me, +such a sweet pitiful smile, and then she stopped breathing. That was the +only change. + +"I couldn't stay in Brisbane. I was afraid every minute of meeting +somebody who'd known Mary and who might ask me about her, or of father or +uncle or somebody coming down. I wrote home and said I'd found out that +Mary had died in the hospital of fever and they never thought of wanting +to know any more, they were so full of grief. And then I got wondering +how I should get away, somewhere, where nobody would be likely to come to +ask me about her, and I couldn't go because I had no money and I was just +wishing one day that I could see you when who should I meet but that Long +Jack. He gave me your address and I wrote to ask you to lend me thirty +shillings, the fare to Sydney, and you sent me five pounds, Ned. That's +how I came here. Mary wouldn't have anybody know if she could help it and +I couldn't have stayed there to meet people who knew her and would have +talked of her." + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +AS THE MOON WANED. + +The shadows were beginning to throw again as Nellie finished telling her +story. The quarters had sounded as they walked backwards and forwards. It +was past one when they stopped again under the lamp-post at the corner. + +"You see, Ned," she went on. "Mary couldn't help it. It's easy enough to +talk when one has everything one wants or pretty well everything but when +one has nothing or pretty well nothing, it's different. I've been through +it and know. The insults, the temptations, the constant steady pressure +all the time. If you are poor you are thought by swagger people fair +game. And, even workingmen, the young ones, who don't think themselves +able to marry generally, help hunt down their working sisters. Women +can't always earn enough to live decently and men can't always earn +enough to marry on; and when well-to-do men get married they seem to get +worse instead of better, generally. So upon the hungry, the weary, the +hopeless, girls who have to patch their own boots and go threadbare and +shabby while others have pretty things, and who are despised for their +shabbiness by the very hypocrites who cant about love of dress, and who +have folks at home whom they love, and who are penniless as well and in +that abject misery which comes when there isn't any money to buy the +little things, upon these is forced the opportunity to change all this if +only for a little while. Besides, you know, women have the same instincts +as men--why do we disguise these things and pretend they haven't and +shouldn't when we know that it is right and healthy that they should?-- +and though it is natural for a woman to hate what is called vice, because +she is better than man--she is the mother-sex, you know--yet the very +instincts which if things were right would be for good and happiness seem +to make things worse when everything is wrong. Women who work, growing +girls as many are, have little pleasure in their lives, less even than +men. And wiseacres say we are light and frivolous and chattering, because +most women can only find relief in that and know of nothing else, though +all the time in the bottom of their hearts there are deep wells of human +passion and human love. If you heard sewing-room talk you would call us +parrots or worse. If you knew the sewing-room lives you would feel as I +do." + +He did not know what to say. + +"For myself," straightening herself with unconscious pride, "it has not +been so much. I have been hungry and almost ragged, here in Sydney, +wearing another girls dress when I went to get slop-work, so as to look +decent, living on rye bread for days at a time, working for thirty-eight +hours at a stretch once so as to get the work done in time to get the +money. That's sweating, isn't it? Of course I'm all right now. I get +thirty shillings a week for draping and the wife of the boss wants to +keep on friendly terms with Mrs. Stratton and I'm a good hand, so I can +organise without being victimised for it. But even when I was hardest up +it wasn't the same to me as to most girls. As a last resort I used to +think always of killing myself. That would have been ever so much easier +to me than the other thing. But I am hard and strong. I've heard my +mother say that her father was the first of his people to wear boots. +They went barefooted before then and I'm barefooted in some things yet. +Mary wasn't like me, but better, not so hard or so selfish. And so, she +couldn't help it, any more than I can." + +"Nellie," he said, speaking the thought he had been thinking for an hour. +"What difference does all this make between you and me?" + +"Don't you understand?" she cried. "When people marry they have children. +And when my sister Mary ended so, who is safe? Nothing we can do, no care +we can take, can secure a child against misery while the world is what it +is. I try to alter things for that. I would do anything, everything, no +matter what, to make things so that little children would have a chance +to be good and happy. Because the unions go that way I am unionist and +because Socialism means that I am Socialist and I love whatever strikes +at things that are and I hate everything that helps maintain them. And +that is how we all really feel who feel at all, it is the mother in us, +the source of everything that is good, and mothers do not mind much how +their children are bettered so long as they are bettered. No matter what +the bushmen do up there in Queensland, my heart is with them, so long as +they shake this hateful state of things. I can't remember when everybody +round weren't slaving away and no good coming of it. My father has only a +mortgaged farm to show for a life of toil. My sister, my own sister, who +grew up like a flower in the Queensland bush and worked her fingers to +the bone and should have been to-day a happy woman with happy children on +her knee, they picked her up when she lay dying in the gutter like a dog +and in their charity gave her a bed to die on when they wouldn't give her +decent wages to live on. Everywhere I've been it's the same story, men +out of work, women out of work, children who should be at school the only +ones who can always get work. Everywhere men crawling for a job, sinking +their manhood for the chance of work, cringing and sneaking and +throat-cutting, even in their unionism. In every town an army of women +like my Mary, women like ourselves, going down, down, down. Honesty and +virtue and courage getting uncommon. We're all getting to steal and +plunder when we get a chance, the work people do it, the employers do it, +the politicians do it. I know. We all do it. Women actually don't +understand that they're selling themselves often even when a priest does +patter a few clap-trap phrases over them. Oppression on every hand and we +dare not destroy it. We haven't courage enough. And things will never be +any better while Society is as it is. So I hate what Society is. Oh! I +hate it so. If word or will of mind could sweep it away to leave us free +to do what our inner hearts, crushed by this industrialism that we have, +tell us to do it should go. For we've good in our hearts, most of us. We +like to do what's kind, when we've a chance. I've found it so, anyway. +Only we're caught in this whirl that crushes us all, the poor in body and +the rich in soul. But till it goes, if it ever goes, I'll not be guilty +of bringing a child into such a hell as this is now. That to me would be +a cruelty that no weakness of mine, no human longing, could excuse ever. +For no fault of her own Mary's life was a curse to her in the end. And so +it may be with any of us. I'll not have the sin of giving life on me." + +They stood face to face looking into each other's eyes. Unflinchingly she +offered up her own heart and his on the altar of her ideal. + +He read on her set lips the unalterability of her determination. It was +on his tongue to suggest that it was easy to compromise, but there was +that about her which checked him. Above all things there was a +naturalness about her, an absence of artificiality, the emanation of a +strong and vigorous womanliness. The very freedom of her speech was +purity itself. The dark places of life had been bared to her and she did +not conceal the fact or minimise it but she spoke of it as something +outside of herself, as not affecting her excepting that it roused in her +an intense sympathy. She was indeed the barefooted woman in her +conception of morality, in her frankness and in her strong emotions +untainted by the gangrene of a rotting civilisation. To suggest to her +that fruitless love, that barren marriage, which destroys the soul of +France and is spreading through Australia, would be to speak a strange +language to her. He could say nothing. He was seized with a desire to get +away from her. + +"Good-bye!" he said, holding out his hand. She took it in both her own. + +"Ned!" she cried. "We part friends, don't we? If there is a man in the +world who could make me change my mind, it's you. Wherever you go I shall +be thinking of you and all life through I shall be the same. You have +only to let me know and there's nothing possible I wouldn't do for you +gladly. We are friends, are we not? Mates? Brother and sister?" + +Brother and sister! The spirit moved in Ned's hot heart at the words. +Geisner's words came to him, nerving him. + +"No!" he answered. "Friends? Yes. Mates? Yes. Brother and sister? No, +never. I don't feel able to talk now. You're like a thorn bush in front +of me that it's no use rushing at. But I'm not satisfied. You're wrong +somewhere and I'm right and the right thing is to love when Love comes +even if we're to die next minute. I'm going away and I may come back and +I mayn't but if I do you'll see my way. I shall think it out and show +you. Why, Nellie, I'm a different man already since you kissed me. You +and I together, why, we'd straighten things out if they were a thousand +times as crooked. What couldn't we do, you and me? And we'll do it yet, +Nellie. When I come back you'll have me and we two will give things such +a shaking that they'll never be the same again after we've got through +with them. Now, goodbye! I'll come back if it's years and years, and +you'll wait for me, I know. Good-bye, till then." + +She felt her feet leave the ground as he lifted her to him in a hug that +made her ribs ache for a week, felt his willing lips on her passive ones, +felt his long moustache, his warm breath, his reviving passion. Then she +found herself standing alone, quivering and pulsating, watching him as he +walked away with the waddling walk of the horseman. + +In her heart, madly beating, two intense feelings fought and struggled. +The dominant thought of years, to end with herself the life that seems a +curse and not a blessing, to be always maid, to die in the forlorn hope +and to leave none to sorrow through having lived by her, was shaken to +its base by a new-born furious desire to yield herself utterly. It came +to her to run after Ned, to go with him, to Queensland, to the bush, to +prison, to the gallows if need be. An insane craving for him raged within +her as her memory renewed his kisses on her lips, his crushing arm-clasp, +the strength that wooed with delicious bruisings, the strong personality +that smote against her own until she longed to stay the smiting. It +flashed through her mind that crowning joy of all joys would be to have +his child in her arms, to rear a little agitator to carry on his father's +fight when Ned himself was gone for ever. + +Then--she stamped her foot in self-contempt and walked resolutely to +her door. When she got up to her room she went to the open window and, +kneeling down there, watched with tearless eyes the full white moon that +began to descend towards the roofs amid the gleaming stars of the +cloudless sky. + +The hours passed and she still knelt watching, tearless and sleepless, +mind and body numbed and enwrapped by dull gnawing pain. + +* * * * * + +Pain is to fight one's self and to subdue one's self. Nellie fought with +herself and conquered. + +A paradox this seems but is not, for in truth each individual is more +than one, far more. Every living human is a bundle of faggot faculties, +in which bundle every faculty is not an inert faggot but a living, +breathing, conscious serpent. The weakling is he in whose forceless +nature one serpent after another writhes its head up, dominant for a +moment only, doomed to be thrust down by another fancy as fickle. The +strong man is he whose forceful nature casts itself to subdue its own +shifting desires by raising one supreme above the others and holding it +there by identifying the dearest aspirations with its supremacy. And we +call that man god-like whose heart yearns towards one little ideal, +struggling for existence amid the tumultuous passions that clash in him +around it, threatening to stifle it, and whose personality drives him to +pick this ideal out and to lift it up and to hold it supreme lifelong. He +himself is its bitterest enemy, its most hateful foe, its would-be +murderer. He himself shrinks from and cowers at and abhors the choking +for its sake of faculties that draw titanic strength from the innermost +fibres of his own being. Yet he himself shelters and defends and battles +for this intruder on his peace, this source of endless pain and +brain-rending sorrow. A strength arises within him that tramples the +other strength underfoot; he celebrates his victory with sighs and tears. +So the New rises and rules until the Old is shattered and broken and +fights the New no more; so Brutality goes and so Humanity comes. + +Nellie fought with herself kneeling there at her window, watching the +declining moon, staring at it with set eyes, grimly willing herself not +to think because to think was to surrender. Into heart and ear and brain +the serpents hissed words of love and thoughts of unspeakable joy. Upon +her lips they pressed again Ned's hot kisses. Around her waist they threw +again the clasping of his straining arms. "Why not? Why not?" they asked +her. "Why not? Why not?" they cried and shouted. "Why not? Oh, why not?" +they moaned to her. And she stared at the radiant moon and clenched her +fingers on the window sill and would not answer. Only to her lips rose a +prayer for death that she disowned unuttered. Had she fallen so low as to +seek refuge in superstition, she thought, and from that moment she bore +her agony in her own way. + +It did pass through her mind that the ideal she had installed in her +passionate heart did not aid her, that it had shrunk back out of sight +and left her alone to fight for it against herself, left her alone to +keep her life for it free from the dominance of these mad passions that +had lifted their heads within her and that every nerve in her fought and +bled for. She crushed this back also. She would not think. Only she would +be loyal to her conception of Right even though the agony of her loyalty +drove her mad. + +She knew what Pain meant, now. She drank to the very dregs the cup of +human misery. To have one's desires within one's reach, to have one's +whole being driving one to stretch out one's hand and satisfy the eternal +instincts within, and to force one's self to an abnegation that one's +heart revolts from, that indeed was Pain to her. She learnt the weakness +of all the philosophies as in a flash of lightning one sees clearly. She +could have laughed at the sophism that one chooses always that which +pleases one most. She knew that there are unfathomed depths in being +which open beneath us in great crises and swallow up the foundations on +which we builded and thought sure. She paralysed her passion intuitively, +waiting, as one holds breath in the water when a broken wave surges over. + +Gradually she forgot, an aching pain in her body lulling the aching pain +of her mind. Gradually the white disc of the moon expanded before her and +blotted out all active consciousness. Slowly the fierce serpents withdrew +their hissing heads again. Slowly the ideal she had fought for lifted +itself again within her. She began to feel more like her old self, only +strangely exhausted and sorrowful. She was old, so old; weary, so weary. +Hours went by. She passed into abstraction. + +The falling of the moon behind the roofs roused her. She gazed at its +disappearing rim in bewilderment, for the moment not realising. Then the +sense of bodily pain dawned on her and assured her of the Reality. + +She stood up, feeling stiff and bruised, her back aching, her head +swimming, all her desiring ebbing as the moon waned. Already the glimmer +of dawn paled the moonshine. She could hear the crowing of the cocks, the +occasional rumble of a cart, the indescribable murmur that betokens an +awakening city. The night had gone at last and the daylight had come and +she had worn herself out and conquered. She thought this without joy; it +was her fate not her heart. Nature itself had come to her rescue, the +very Nature she had resisted and denied. + +She struck a light and looked into the glass, curious to know if she were +the same still. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, her nose was pinched, +her cheeks wan, on her forehead between the brows were distinct wrinkles, +from the corners of the mouth were chiselled deeply the lines of pain. +She was years older. Could it be possible that only five hours ago she +had flung herself into a lover's arm by the moonlit water, a passionate +girl, in womanhood's first bloom? She had cast those days behind her for +ever, she thought; she would serve the Cause alone, henceforth, while she +lived. Rest, eternal rest, must come at last; she could only hope that it +would come soon. At least, if she lived without joy, she would die +without self-reproach. + +Exhausted, she sank to sleep almost as her head touched the pillow. And +in her sleep she lived again that night at the Strattons with Ned and +heard Geisner profess God and condemn her hatred of maternity. "You close +the gates of Life," he said. Taking her hand he led her to where a great +gate stood, of iron, brass bound, and there behind it a great flood of +little children pressed and struggled, dashing and crashing till the +great gates shook and tottered. + +"They will break the gates open," she cried to him in anguish. + +"Did you deem to alter the unalterable?" he asked. And his voice was +Ned's voice and turning round she saw it was Ned who held her hand. They +stood by the harbour side again and she loved him. Again her whole being +melted into his as he kissed her. Again they were alone in the Universe, +conscious only of an ineffable joy. + +* * * * * + +"Time to get up, Nellie!" called Mrs. Phillips, who was knocking at the +door. Nellie's working day began again. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +UNEMPLOYED. + +After ten minutes' walking Ned reached a broad thoroughfare. Hesitating +for a moment, to get his bearings, he saw across the way one of the cheap +restaurants of which "all meals sixpence" is the symbol and which one +sees open until all sorts of hours. The window was still lighted, so Ned, +parched with thirst, entered to get a cup of coffee. It was a +clean-looking place, enough. He saw on the wall the legend "Clean beds" +as he gulped down his coffee thirstily from the saucer. + +"Can you put me up to-night?" he asked, overpowered with a drowsiness +that dulled even his thoughts about Nellie and unwilling to walk on to +his hotel. + +"Yes, sir," answered the waiter, a young man who was making preparations +to close for the night. "In half a minute." + +Soon a cabman had finished his late midnight meal and departed. But +another passer-by dropped in, who was left over a plate of stew while the +waiter led Ned to a narrow stair at the end of the room, passing round a +screen behind which a stout, gray-haired man slumbered in an arm chair +with all the appearance of being the proprietor. The waiter showed Ned +the way with a lighted match, renewed when burnt out. Ned noticed that +the papered walls and partitions of the stairway and upper floor were +dirty, torn and giving way in patches. From the first landing a dark +narrow passage led towards the front street while three or four ricketty, +cracked doors were crowded at the stairhead. Snoring sounds came from all +quarters. The waiter turned up a still narrower twisting stairway. As +they neared the top Ned could see a dim light coming through an open +doorway. + +The room to which he was thus introduced was some fifteen feet long and +as many broad, on the floor. Two gabled windows, back and front, made +with the centre line of the low-sloping ceiling a Greek cross effect. A +single candle, burning on a backless chair by one of the windows, threw +its flickering light on the choked room-full of old-fashioned iron +bedsteads, bedded in make-shift manner, six in all, four packed against +the wall opposite the door at which the stairs ended and one on each side +of the window whereby was the light. On one of these latter beds a +bearded man lay stretched, only partly undressed; on its edge sat a youth +in his shirt. Although it was so late they were talking. + +"Not gone to bed yet?" asked the waiter. + +"Hullo, Jack!" replied the youth. "Aren't you coming to bed yet?" + +"A gentleman of Jack's profession," said the bearded man, whose liquorous +voice proclaimed how he had put in his evening, "doesn't require to go to +bed at all. 'Gad, that's very good. You understand me?" He referred his +wit to the youth. He spoke with the drawling hesitation of the English +"swell." + +"I understand you," replied the youth, in a respectful voice that had +acquired its tone in the English shires. + +"I don't get much chance whether I require it or not," remarked Jack, +with an American accentuation, proceeding to make up the other bed by the +light. There was nothing on the grimy mattress but a grimy blanket, so he +brought a couple of fairly clean sheets from a bed in the opposite corner +and spread them dexterously. + +"Have we the pleasure of more company, Jack?" enquired the broken-down +swell. "You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the English lad. + +"This gentleman's going to stay," replied Jack, putting the sheet over +the caseless pillow. + +"Glad to make your acquaintance, sir," said the swell to Ned, upon this +introduction. "We can't offer you a chair but you're welcome to a seat on +the bed. If you can't offer a man wine give him whisky, and if you +haven't got whisky offer him the best you've got." This last to the +youth. "You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the youth. "I understand you perfectly." + +"Thanks," replied Ned. "But it won't hurt to stand for a minute. There +ain't much room to stand though, is there?" + +His head nearly touched the ceiling in the highest part; on either side +it sloped sharply, the slope only broken by the window gables, the stair +casement being carried into the very centre of the room to get height for +the door. The plaster on the ceiling had come off in patches, as if +cannon-balled by unwary heads, showing the lath, and was also splashed by +the smoke-wreaths of carelessly held candles; the papering was half torn +from the shaky plastering of the wall; the flooring was time-eaten. A +general impression of uncleanness was everywhere. On a ricketty little +table behind the candle was a tin basin and a cracked earthenware +pitcher. Excepting a limited supply of bedroom ware, which was very +strongly in evidence, there was no other furniture. Looking round, Ned +saw that on the bed opposite the door, hidden in the shadows, a man lay +groaning and moaning. Through the windows could be seen the glorious +moonlight. + +"No. A man wants to be careful here," said the waiter, throwing the +blanket over the sheets and straightening it in a whisk. "There," he went +on, "will that suit you?" + +"Anything'll suit me," said Ned, pulling off his coat and hanging it over +the head of the postless bed. "I'm much obliged." + +"That's all right," replied Jack, cheerfully. "I'll be up to bed soon," +he informed the others and ran down stairs again. + +"Will you have a cigarette?" asked the English lad, holding out a box. + +"Thanks, but I don't smoke," answered Ned, who had pulled off his boots +and was wrestling with his shirt. Finally it came over his head. He lay +down in his underclothing, having first gingerly turned back the blanket +to the foot. + +"I don't desire to be personal," said the broken-down swell. "You'll +excuse me, but I must say you're a finely built man. You understand me? +No offence!" + +"He is big," chipped in the youth. + +"You don't offend a man much by telling him he's well built," retorted +Ned, with an attempt at mirth. + +"Certainly. You understand me. It's not the size, my boy"--to the +youth. "Size is nothing. It's the proportion, the capacity for putting +out strength. I've been an athlete myself and I'm no chicken yet. But our +friend here ought to be a Hercules. Will you take a drink? You'll excuse +the glass." He offered Ned a flask half full of whisky. + +"Thanks just the same but I never drink," answered Ned, stretching +himself carelessly. The lad refused also. + +"You're wise, both of you," commented the other, swallowing down a couple +of mouthfuls of the undiluted liquor. "If I'd never touched it I should +have been a wealthy man to-day. But I shall be a wealthy man yet. You +understand me?" + +"Yes," answered Ned, mechanically. He was looking at the frank, open, +intelligent face and well-made limbs of the half-naked lad opposite and +wondering what he was doing here with this grizzled drunkard. The said +grizzled drunkard being the broken-down swell, whose highly-coloured +face, swollen nose and slobbery eyes told a tale that his slop-made +clothes would have concealed. "How old are you?" he asked the lad, the +drunkard having fallen asleep in the middle of a discourse concerning a +great invention which would bring him millions. + +"I'm nineteen." + +"You look older," remarked Ned. + +"Most people think I'm older," replied the lad proudly. + +"You're not a native." + +"No. I'm from the west of England." + +"Which county?" + +"Devon." + +"My father's Devon," said Ned, at which the poor lad looked up eagerly, +as though in Ned he recognised an old friend. + +"That's strange, isn't it? How you meet people!" he remarked. + +"I've never been there, you know," explained Ned. "Fact is I don't think +it would be well for me to go. If all my old dad used to say is true I'd +soon get shipped out." + +"How's that?" + +"Why, they transport a man for shooting a rabbit or a hare, don't they? +My dad told me a friend of his was sent out for catching salmon and that +his mother was frightened nearly to death when she knew he'd been off +fishing one night. Of course, they don't transport to here any more. We +wouldn't have it. But they do it to somewhere still, I suppose." + +"I don't know, I'm sure," answered the lad. "I never heard much about +that. I came out when I was fourteen." + +"How was that?" + +"Well, there was nothing to do in England that had anything in it and +everybody was saying what a grand country Australia was and how everybody +could get on and so I came out." + +"Your folks come?" + +"My father was dead. I only had a stepfather." + +"And he wanted to get rid of you, eh?" enquired Ned, getting interested. + +"I suppose he did, a little," said the lad, colouring. + +"You came out to Sydney?" + +"No. To Brisbane. That didn't cost anything." + +"You hadn't any friends?" + +"No. I got into a billet near Stanthorpe, but when I wanted a raise they +sacked me and got another boy. Then I came across to New South Wales. It +wasn't any use staying in Queensland. I wish I'd stayed in England," he +added. + +"How's that?" + +"I can't get work. I wouldn't mind if I could get a job but it's pretty +hard when you can't." + +"Can't you get work?" + +"I haven't done a stroke for ten weeks." + +"Well, are you hard up?" enquired Ned, to whose bush experience ten weeks +out-of-work meant nothing. + +"Look here," returned the lad, touching the front of his white shirt and +the cuffs. Ned saw that what he had taken for white flannel in the dim +candle-light was white linen, guileless of starch, evidently washed in a +hand-basin at night and left to dry over a chair till morning. "A man's +pretty hard up--ain't he?--when he can't get his shirt laundried." + +"That's bad," said Ned, sympathetically, determining to sympathise a +pound-note. Starched shirts did not count to him personally but he +understood that the town and the bush were very different. + +"I've offered three times to-day to work for my board," said the lad, not +tremulously but in the matter-of-fact voice of one who had looked after +himself for years. + +"Where was that?" asked Ned, wide-awake at last, alarmed for the bushmen +rapidly turning over in his mind the effect of strong young men being +ready to work for their board. + +"One place was down near the foot of Market Street, a produce merchant. +He told me he couldn't, that it was as much as he could do to provide for +his own family. Another place was at a wood and coal yard and the boss +said I'd leave in a week at that price so it wasn't any good talking. The +other was a drayman who has a couple of drays and he said he'd never pay +under the going wage to anybody and gave me sixpence. He said it was all +he could afford because times were so bad." + +"Are you stumped then?" asked Ned. + +"I haven't a copper." + +Just then the broken-down swell woke up from his doze and demanded his +flask. After some search it was found underneath him. Then, heedless of +his interruptions, Ned continued the conversation. + +"Do they take you here on tick?" he enquired. + +"Tick! There's no tick here. That old man downstairs is as hard as nails. +Why, if it hadn't been for this gentleman I'd have had to walk about all +night or sleep in the Domain." + +"Fair dues, my boy, fair dues?" put in the broken-down swell, "Never +refer to private matters like that. You make me feel ashamed, my boy. I +should never have mentioned that little accommodation. You understand +me?" + +"I understand you," replied the lad. "I understand you perfectly." + +"That's all right," said Ned, suddenly feeling a respect for this +grizzled drunkard. "We must all help one another. How was it?" + +"Well," said the lad. "I met a friend of mine and he gave me sixpence and +this box of cigarettes. It was all he had. I've often slept here and so I +came and asked the old man to trust me the other half. He wouldn't listen +to it. I was going away when this gentleman came along. He only had +threepence more than his own bed-money but he persuaded the old man to +knock off threepence and he'd pay threepence. I thought I'd have had to +go to the Domain." + +"But that's nothing," said Ned. "I'd just as soon sleep out as sleep in." + +"I've never come down to sleeping out yet," returned the lad, simply. +"Perhaps your being a native makes a difference." Ned was confronted +again with the fact that the bushman and the townsman view the same thing +from opposite sides. To this lad, struggling to keep his head up, to lie +down nightly in the Domain meant the surrender of all self-respecting +decency. + +"I shouldn't have brought up the subject. You understand me?" said the +drunkard. "But now it's mentioned I'll ask if you noticed how I talked +over that old scoundrel downstairs. You understand me? Where's that +flask? My God! I am feeling bad," he continued, sitting up on the bed. + +"You're drinking too much," remarked Ned. + +The man did not reply, but, with a groan, pushed the lad aside, sprang +from the bed, and began to retch prodigiously into the wash basin, after +which he announced himself better, lay down and took another drink. +Meanwhile the man in the far corner tossed and groaned as if he were +dying. + +"You're friend's still worse," said the lad. + +"He's just out of the hospital. I told him he shouldn't mix his drinks so +soon but he would have his own way. He'll be all right when he's slept it +off. A man's a fool who gets drunk. You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the lad. "I never want to get drunk. All I want +is work." + +"Why don't you go up to Queensland?" asked the man, to Ned's hardly +suppressed indignation. "The pastoralists would be glad to get a +smart-looking lad like you. Good pay, all expenses paid, and a six +months' agreement! I believe that's the terms. You understand me?" + +"I understand you," said the English lad. "I understand you perfectly. +But that's blacklegging and I'd sooner starve than blackleg. I ain't so +hard up yet that I'll do either." + +"Put it there, mate," cried Ned, stretching his hand out. "You're a +square little chap." His heart rose again at this proof that the union +spirit was spreading. + +"You're a good boy," said the drunkard, slapping his shoulder. "I'm not a +unionist and I'm against the unions. You understand me? I am a gentleman +--poor drunken broken-down swell-and a gentleman must stick to his own +Order just as you stick to your Order. I'd like to see the working +classes kept in their places, but I despise a traitor, my boy. You +understand me?" + +"I understand you perfectly," said the lad. + +"Yet you'd work for your board?" said Ned, enquiringly. + +"I suppose I shouldn't," said the lad. "But one must live. I wouldn't cut +a man out of a job by going under him when he was sticking up for what's +right but where nobody's sticking up what's the use of one kicking. +That's how I look at it. Of course, a lot don't." + +"They'll get a lot to go then?" + +"I think they'll get a lot. Some fellows are so low down they'll do +anything and a lot more don't understand. I didn't use to understand." + +"Would you go up with them for the union?" asked Ned, after a pause. + +"You mean to come out again?" + +"Yes, and to get as many to come out as you can by explaining things. It +may mean three months' gaol so you want to make up your mind well." + +"I wouldn't mind going to gaol for a thing like that. It's not being in +gaol but what you're in for that counts, isn't it?" + +So they talked while the two drunkards groaned and tossed, the stench of +this travellers' bedroom growing every moment more unbearable. Finally +the waiter returned. + +"Not gone to bed yet," he exclaimed. "Phew! This is a beauty to-night, a +pair of beauties. Ain't it a wonder their insides don't poison 'em?" + +"I thought I'd never get to bed," he went on, coming to light his pipe at +the candle and then returning to the bed he had taken Ned's sheets from. +"First one joker in, then another, and the old man 'ud stay open all +night for a tanner. Past two! Jolly nice hour for a chap that's to be up +at six, ain't it?" + +He pulled off his boots and vest and threw himself down on the bare +mattress in his trousers. "Ain't you fellows going to bed to-night?" he +enquired. + +"It's about a fair thing," said Ned, feeling nervous and exhausted with +lack of sleep. So the young fellow blew the candle out and went over to +the bed a adjoining Jack's. As he lay down Jack picked up a boot and +tapped the wall alongside him gently. "I think I hear her," he remarked. +In a few moments there was an answering tap. + +"Who's that?" asked Ned. + +"The slavey next door," answered Jack, upon which an interchange of +experience took place between Jack and the young fellow in which gable +windows and park seats and various other stage-settings had prominent +parts. + +At last they all slept but Ned. Drowsy as he was he could not sleep. It +was not that he thought much of Nellie, at least he did not feel that he +was thinking of her. He only wanted to sleep and forget and he could not +sleep. The moonshine came through the curtainless window and lit up the +room with a strange mysterious light. The snoring breathing that filled +the room mingled with other snoring sounds that seemed to come up the +stairway and through the walls. The stench of the room stifled him. The +drunkards who tossed there, groaning; this unemployed lad who lay with +his white limbs kicked free and bathed in the moonlight; the tired waiter +who lay motionless, still dressed; were there with him. The clock-bells +struck the quarters, then the hour. + +Three o'clock. + +He had never felt so uncomfortable, he thought, so uneasy. He twisted and +squirmed and rubbed himself. Suddenly a thought struck him. He leaned up +on his elbow for a moment, peering with his eyes in the scanty light, +feeling about with his hand, then leaped clean out of the bed. It swarmed +with vermin. + +Like most bushmen, Ned, who was sublimely tolerant of ants, lizards and +the pests of the wilds generally, shivered at the very thought of the +parasites of the towns. To strip himself was the work of an instant, to +carefully re-dress by the candle-end he lighted took longer; then he +stepped to the English lad's side and woke him. + +"Hello?" said the lad, rubbing his eyes in sleepy astonishment. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I can't sleep with bugs crawling over me," said Ned. "I'm going to camp +out in the park. Here's a 'note' to help you along and here's the address +to go to if you conclude to go up to Queensland for the union. I'll see +about it first thing in the morning so he'll expect you. The 'note's' +yours whether you go or not." + +"I'm ever so much obliged," said the lad, taking the money and the slip +of paper. "I'll go and I'll be square. You needn't be afraid of me and +I'll pay it back, too, some day. Do you know the way out?" + +"I'll find it all right," replied Ned. + +"Oh! I'll go down with you or you'd never find it. It's through the back +at night." So the good-hearted young fellow pulled on his trousers and +conducted Ned down the creaking, stairway, through the kitchen and the +narrow back yard to the bolted door that led to the alley behind. + +"Shall I see you again?" asked the lad. Somehow everybody who met Ned +wanted to see more of him. + +"My name's Hawkins," replied Ned. "Ned Hawkins. Ask anybody in the +Queensland bush about me, if you get there." + +"I suppose you're one of the bushmen," remarked the lad, pausing. "If +they're all as big as you it ought to be bad for the blacklegs." + +"Why, I'm a small man up on the Diamantina," said Ned laughing. "Which is +the way to the park?" + +"Turn to your right at the end of the alley, then turn to the left. It's +only five minutes' walk." + +"Thanks. Good-bye!" said Ned. + +"It's thank you. Good-bye!" said the lad. + +They shook hands and parted. In a few minutes Ned was in the park. He +stepped over a low railing, found a branching tree and decided to camp +under it. He pulled his boots off and his coat, loosened his belt, put +boots and coat under his head for a pillow, stretched out full length on +the earth and in ten seconds was in a deep slumber. + +He was roused a moment after, it seemed to him; in reality it was nearly +six hours after--by kicks on the ribs. He turned over and opened his +eyes. As he did so another kick made him stagger to his feet gasping with +pain. A gorilla-faced constable greeted him with a savage grin. + +"Phwat d'ye mane, ye blayguard, indaycently exposing yersilf in this +parrt av th' doomane? Oi've as good a moind as iver a man had in the +wurrld to run yez in. Can't ye find anither place to unthdress yersilf +in, ye low vaygrant?" + +Ned did not answer. He buttoned up the neck of his shirt, which had +opened in the night, tightened his belt again, drew on his boots and +thrust his arms into his coat. While he did so the constable continued +his abuse, proud to show his authority in the presence of the crowd that +passed in a continuous stream along the pathway that cut through the +carefully tended flower-bedded lawn-like park. It was one of Ned's strong +points that he could control his passionate temper. Much as he longed to +thrash this insolent brute he restrained himself. He desired most of all +to get back to Queensland and knew that as no magistrate would take his +word against a "constable's" as to provocation received, to retaliate now +would keep him in Sydney for a month at least, perhaps six. But his +patience almost gave way when the constable followed as he walked away, +still abusing him. + +"You'd better not go too far," warned Ned, turning round. + +It suddenly dawned upon the constable that this was not the ordinary +"drunk" and that it was as well to be satisfied with the exhibition of +authority already made. Ned walked off unmolested, chewing the cud of his +thoughts. + +This sentence of Geisner's rang in his ears: + +"The slaves who 'move on' at the bidding of a policeman." + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +"THE WORLD WANTS MASTERS." + +"It can't do any good. We have made up our minds that the matter might +just as well be fought out now, no matter what it costs. We've made all +our arrangements. There is nothing to discuss. We are simply going to do +business in our own way." + +"It can't do any harm. There is always something to be said on the other +side and I always find workingmen fairly reasonable if they're met +fairly. At any rate, you might as well see how they look at it. The +labour agitation itself can't be stifled. The great point, as I regard +it, is to make the immediate relations of Capital and Labour as peaceable +as possible. The two parties don't see enough of each other." + +"I think we see a great deal too much of them. It's a pretty condition of +things when we can't go on with our businesses without being interfered +with by mobs of ignorant fools incited by loud-tongued agitators. The +fools have got to be taught a lesson some day and we might as well teach +it to them now." + +"You know I'm no advocate of Communism or Socialism or any such nonsense. +I look at the matter solely from a business standpoint. I am a loser by +disturbances in trade, so I try to prevent disturbances. I've always been +able to prevent them in my own business and I think they can always be +prevented." + +"Well, Melsom, you may be right when it's a question of wages, but this +is a question of principle. We're willing to confer if they'll admit +'freedom of contract.' That's all there is to say about it." + +"But what is 'freedom of contract?' Besides, if it is questioned, there +can't be much harm in understanding why. For my part, I find it an +interminable point of discussion when it is raised and one of the +questions that settles itself easily when it isn't." + +"It is the key of the whole position. If we haven't a right to employ +whoever we like at any terms we may make with any individual we employ +what rights have we?" "Hear what they think of it, Strong! It can surely +do no harm to find out what makes them fight so." + +And so on for half an hour. + +"Well, I don't mind having a chat with one of them," conceded Strong at +last. "It's only because you persist so, Melsom. I suppose this man +you've been told is in town is an oily, ignorant fellow, who'll split +words and wrangle up a cloud of dust until nobody can tell what we're +talking about. I've heard these fellows." + +Thus it was that Ned, calling at the Trades Hall, after having washed and +breakfasted at his hotel and seen to various items of union business +about town, was greeted with the information that Mr. Melsom was looking +for him. + +"Who's Melsom?" + +"Oh! A sort of four-leaved clover, a reasonable employer," answered his +genial informant. "He's in a large way of business, interested in a good +many concerns, and whenever he's got a finger in anything we can always +get on with it. He's a great man for arbitration and conciliation and has +managed to settle two or three disputes that I never thought would be +arranged peaceably. He's a thoroughly decent fellow, I can assure you." + +"What does he want with me, I wonder?" + +"He wants you to see Strong, just to talk matters over and let Strong +know how you Queenslanders look at things." + +"Who's Strong?" + +"Don't you know? He's managing director of the Great Southern Mortgage +Agency. He's the man who's running the whole show on the other side and a +clever man, too, don't you forget it." + +Ned recollected the man he had seen at the restaurant and what Nellie had +said of him, two years ago. + +"But I can't see him without instructions. I must wire up to know what +they say about it," said Ned. + +"That's just what you mustn't do, old man. Strong won't consent to any +formal interview, but told Melsom, that he'd be glad to see anybody who +knew how the other side saw things, to chat the matter over as between +one man and another. I told Melsom yesterday that you were in town till +to-night and he came this morning to get you to see Strong at eleven. +He'll be back before then. I told him I thought it would be all right." + +"I don't see how I can do that without instructions," repeated Ned. + +"If it were formal there could be only one possible instruction, surely," +urged the other. "As it is absolutely informal and as all that Melsom +hopes is that it may lead to a formal conference, I think you should go. +You'd talk to anybody, wouldn't you? Besides, Melsom has his heart set on +this. I don't believe it will lead to anything, mind you, but it will +oblige him and he often does a good turn for us." + +"That settles it," said Ned. "Only I'll have to say I'm only giving my +own opinion and I'll have to talk straight whether he likes it or not." + +"Of course. By the way, here are some wires that'll interest you, and I +want to arrange about sending money up in case they proclaim the unions +illegal. Heaven knows what they can't do now-a-days! Have you heard what +they did here during the maritime strike?" + +* * * * * + +Shortly before eleven, Strong was closeted in his private office with a +burly man of unmistakably bush appearance, modified both in voice and +dress by considerable contact with the towns. Of sandy complexion, broad +features and light-coloured eyes that did not look one full in the face, +the man was of the type that attracts upon casual acquaintance but about +which there is an indefinable something which, without actually +repelling, effectually prevents any implicit confidence. + +"You have been an officer of the shearers' union, you say?" enquired +Strong, coldly. + +"I've been an honorary officer, never a paid one," answered the man, who +held his hat on his knee. + +"There's a man in Sydney now, named Hawkins. Do you know him?" + +"Yes. I've shorn with him out at the--" + +"What sort of a man is he?" interrupted Strong. + +"He's a young fellow. There's not much in him. He talks wild." + +"Has he got much influence?" + +"Only with his own set. Most of the men only want a start to break away +from fellows like Hawkins. I'm confident the new anion I was talking of, +admitting 'freedom of contract,' would break the other up and that +Hawkins and the rest of them couldn't stop it." + +"It seems feasible," said Strong, sharply. "At any rate, there's nothing +lost by trying it. This is what we will do. We will pay you all expenses +and six pounds a week from to-day to go up to Queensland, publicly +denounce the union, support 'freedom of contract' and try to start +another union against the present one; generally to act as an agent of +ours. Payment will be made after you come out. Until then you must pay +your own expenses." + +"I think I should have expenses advanced," said the man. + +"We know nothing of you. You represent yourself as so-and-so and if you +are genuine there is no injustice done by our offer. You must take or +leave it." + +"I'll take it," said the man, after a slight hesitation. + +"There's another matter. Do you know the union officials in Brisbane?" + +"I know all of them, intimately." + +"Then you may be able to do something with them. We are informed that +they are implicated in all that's going on, the instigators of it. Bring +us evidence criminally implicating them and we will pay well." + +"This is business," said the man, a little shamefacedly. "What will you +pay?" + +Strong jotted some figures on a slip of paper. "If you are a friend of +these men," he said, passing the slip over, "you will know their value +apiece to you." A sneer he could not quite conceal peeped from under his +business tone. + +"That concludes our business, I think," he continued, tearing the slip +up, having received it back. "I will instruct our secretary and you can +call on him this afternoon." + +He touched an electric bell-button on his desk. A clerk appeared at the +door instantly. + +"Show this man out by the back way," ordered Strong, glancing at the +clock. "Good-day!" + +The summarily dismissed visitor had hardly gone when another clerk +announced Mr. Melsom. + +"Anybody with him?" + +"Yes, sir. A tall, bush-looking man." + +"Show them both in." + +"What sneaking brutes these fellows are!" Strong thought, contemptuously, +jotting instructions on some letters he was glancing through, working +away as one accustomed to making the most of spare minutes. + +* * * * * + +Mr. Melsom had left Ned and Strong together, having to attend to his own +business which had already been sufficiently interfered with by his +exertions on behalf of his pet theory of "getting things talked over." +Ned had felt inwardly agitated as he walked under the great archway and +up the broad iron stairway that led to the inner offices of this great +fortress-like building, the centre of the southern money-power. He had +noted the massive walls of hewn stone, the massive gates and the enormous +bolts, chains and bars. In the outer office he had glanced a little +nervously around the lofty, stuccoed, hall-like room, of which the +wood-work was as massive in its way as were the stone walls without and +of which the very glass of the partitions looked put in to stay, while +the counters and desks, with their polished brass-work and great +leathern-bound ledgers, seemed as solid as the floor itself; he wondered +curiously what all these clerks did who leaned engrossed over their desks +or flitted noiselessly here and there on the matting-covered flagstones +of the flooring. Why he should be nervous he could not have explained. +But he was cool enough when, after a minute's delay, a clerk led Melsom +and himself through a smaller archway opening from this great office hall +and up a carpetted stone stairway loading between two great bare walls +and along a long lofty passage, wherein footfalls echoed softly on the +carpetted stone floor. Finally they reached a polished, pannelled door +which being opened showed Strong writing busily at a cabinet desk placed +in the centre of the handsomely furnished office-room. The great +financier greeted Melsom cordially, nodded civilly enough to Ned and +agreed with the latter's immediate statement that he came, as a private +individual solely, to see a private individual, at the request of Mr. +Melsom. + +"Now, where do we differ?" Strong asked, when Melsom had gone. + +"We are you and me, of course," said Ned, putting his hat on the floor. + +Strong nodded. + +"Well, you have sat down at your desk here and drawn up a statement as to +how I shall work without asking me. I object. I say that, as I'm +concerned, you and I together should sit down and arrange how I shall +work for you since I must work for you." + +"In our agreement, that you refer to, we have tried to do what is fair," +replied Strong, looking sharply at Ned. + +"Do you want me to talk straight?" asked Ned. "Because, if you object to +that, it's better for me to go now than waste words talking round the +subject." + +"Certainly," answered Strong. "Straight talk never offends me." + +"Then how do I know you have tried to do fairly?" enquired Ned. "Our +experience with the pastoralists leads us to think the opposite." + +"There have been rabid pastoralists," admitted Strong, after a moment's +thought, "just as there have been rabid men on the other side. I'll tell +you this, that we have had great difficulty in getting some of the +pastoralists to accept this agreement. We had to put considerable +pressure on them before they would moderate their position to what we +consider fair." + +Ned did not reply. He stowed Strong's statement away for future use. + +"Besides," remarked Strong, after a pause, during which he arranged the +letters before him. "There is no compulsion to accept the agreement. If +you don't like it don't work under it, but let those who want to accept +it." + +"I fancy that's more how it stands than by being fair," commented Ned, +bitterly. + +"Well! Isn't that fair?" asked Strong, leaning back in his office chair. + +"Is it fair?" returned Ned. + +"Well! Why not?" + +"How can it be fair? We have nothing and you have everything. All the +leases and all the sheep and all the cattle and all the improvements +belong to you. We've got to work to live and we can't work except for +you. What's the sense of your saying that if we don't like the agreement +we needn't take it? We must either break the agreement or take it. That's +how we stand." + +"Well, what do you object to in it?" + +"I don't know what the others object to in it. I know what I object to." + +"That's what I want to know." + +"Well, for one thing, when I've earned money it's mine. The minute I've +shorn a sheep the price of shearing it belongs to me and not to the +squatter. It's convenient to agree only to draw pay at certain times, but +it's barefaced to deliberately withhold my money weeks after I've earned +it, and it's thieving to forfeit wages in case a squatter and I differ as +to whether the agreement's been broken or not." + +"There ought to be some security that a pastoralist won't be put to loss +by his men leaving him at a moment's notice," asserted Strong. + +"You've got the law on your side," answered Ned. "You can send a man to +prison, like a thief, if he has a row with a squatter after signing an +agreement, but we can't send the squatter to prison if he's in fault. The +Masters and Servants Act is all wrong and we'll alter it when we get a +chance, I can assure you, but you're not content with the Masters and +Servants Act. You want a private law all in your own hand." + +"We've had a very serious difficulty to meet," said the other. "Men go on +strike on frivolous pretext and we must protect our interests. We've not +cut down wages and we don't intend to." + +"You have cut down wages, labourers' wages," retorted Ned. + +"That has been charged," replied Strong, lifting his eyebrows. "But I can +show you the list of wages paid on our stations during the last five +years and you will see that the wages we now offer are fully up to the +average." + +"That may be," said Ned. "But they are less than they were last year. I'm +speaking now of what I know." + +"Oh! There may be a few instances in which the unions forced up wages +unduly which have been rectified," said Mr. Strong. "But the general rate +has not been touched." + +"The pastoralists wouldn't dare arbitrate on that," answered Ned. "In +January, 1890, they tried to force down wages and we levelled them up. +Now, they are forcing them down again. At least it seems that way to me." + +"That matter might be settled, I think," said Strong, dismissing it. +"What other objections have you to the agreement?" + +"As an agreement I object to the whole thing, the way it's being worked. +If it were a proposal I should want to know how about the Eight Hours and +the Chinese." + +"We don't wish to alter existing hours," answered Strong. + +"Then why not put it down?" + +"And we don't wish to encourage aliens." + +"A good many pastoralists do and we are determined to try to stop them. +It looks queer to us that nothing is said about it." + +"Some certainly did urge that Chinese should be allowed in tropical +Queensland but our influence is against that and we hope to restrain the +more impetuous and thus prevent friction." + +Ned shrugged his shoulders without answering. + +"We hope--" began Strong. Then he broke off, saying instead: "I do not +see why the men should regard the pastoralists as necessarily inimical +and as not desirous of doing what is fair." + +"Look here, Mr. Strong," said Ned leaning forward, as was his habit when +in earnest. "We are beginning to understand things. We know that you +people are after profits and nothing else, that to you we are like so +many horses or sheep, only not so valuable because we're harder to break +in and our carcasses aren't worth anything. We know that you don't care a +curse whether we live or die and that you'd fill the bush with Chinese +to-morrow if you could see your way to making an extra one per cent. by +it." + +"You haven't much confidence in us, at any rate," returned Strong, +coolly. "But if we look carefully after profits you must recollect that a +great deal of capital is trust funds. The widow and the orphan invest +their little fortunes in our hands. Surely you wouldn't injure them?" + +"I thought we were talking straight to one another," said Ned. "You will +excuse me, Mr. Strong, for thinking that to talk 'widow and orphan' isn't +worthy of a man like you unless you've got a very small opinion of me. +When you think about our widows and orphans we'll think about your widows +and orphans. That's only clap-trap. It doesn't alter the hard fact that +you're only after profit and don't care what happens to us so long as you +get it." + +The financier bit his lips, flushing. He took up a letter and glanced +over it before replying. + +"Do you care what happens to us?" + +"As things are, no. How can we? The worst that could happen to one of +you would leave you as well off as the most fortunate of us. There is war +between us, only I think it possible to be a little civilised and not to +fight each other like savages as we are doing." + +"I am glad you admit that some of your methods are savage." + +"Of course I admit it," answered Ned. "That is my opinion of the way both +sides fight now. Instead of conferring and arbitrating on immediate +questions and leaving future questions to be talked over and understood +and thoroughly threshed out in free discussion, we strike, you lockout, +you victimise wholesale and, naturally, we retaliate in our own ways." + +"You prefer to be left uninterrupted to preach this new socialistic +nonsense?" + +"Why not, if it is sound? And if it isn't sound, why not? Surely your +side isn't afraid of discussion if it knows it's right." + +"Do you really think that we should leave our individual rights to be +decided upon by an ignorant mob?" + +"My individual rights are at the mercy of ignorant individuals at +present," said Ned. "I am not allowed to work if I happen to have given +offence to a handful of squatters." + +"I think you exaggerate," answered Strong. "I know that some pastoralists +are very vindictive but I regard most of them as honorable men incapable +of a contemptible action." + +"Of course they are," said Ned. "The only thing is what do they call +contemptible? You and I are very friendly, just now, Mr. Strong. You're +not small enough to feel any hatred just because I talk a bit straight +but you know very well that you'd regard it as quite square to freeze me +out because I do talk straight." + +The two men looked into each other's eyes. Strong began to respect this +outspoken bushman. + +"I think that one of the most fundamental of all rights in any civilised +society is the right of a man to employ whom he likes at any terms and +under any conditions that he can get men to enter his employment. It +seems to me that without this right the very right to private property +itself is disputed for in civilisation private property does not mean +only a hoard, stored up for future use, but savings accumulated to carry +on the industrial operations of civilisation. These savings have been +prompted by the assurance that society will protect the man who saves in +making, with the man who has not saved, the contracts necessary to carry +on industry, unhampered by the interference of outsiders. That seems to +me, I repeat, a fundamental right essential to the very existence of +society. The man who disputes it seems to me an enemy of society. Whether +he is right or wrong, or whether society itself is right or wrong, is +another question with which, as it is a mere theory, practical men have +nothing to do." Strong had only been fencing in his talk before. Now that +he was ready he stated his position, quite coolly, with a quiet emphasis +that made his line of argument clear as day. + +"Then why confer at all, under any conditions, oven if unionists admitted +all this?" asked Ned. + +"Simply for convenience. Some of our members object to any conference but +the general opinion is that it does not involve a sacrifice of principle +to discuss details provided principles are admitted. In the same way, +some favoured the employment of men at any wage arranged between the +individual man and hie employer, but the general opinion was that it is +advisable and convenient for pastoralists in the same district to pay the +same wages." + +"Then the pastoralists may combine but the bushmen mayn't." + +"We don't object to the bushmen forming unions. We claim the right to +employ men without asking whether they are unionist or non-unionist." + +"Which means," said Ned, "the right to victimise unionists." + +"How is that?" asked Strong. + +"We know how. Do you suppose for a moment, Mr. Strong, that ideas spring +up with nothing behind them? All those who are acquainted with the +history of unionism know that 'close unionism,' the refusal to work with +non-unionists, arose from the persistent preference given by employers to +non-unionists, which was a victimising of unionists." + +"That may have been once, but things are different now," answered Strong. + +"They are not different now. Wherever employers have an opportunity they +have a tendency to weed out unionists. I could give you scores of +instances of it being done. The black list is bad enough now. It would be +a regular terrorism if there was nothing to restrain the employer. Then +down would come wages, up would go hours and in would come the Chinese. +If it is a principle with you, it is existence itself with us." + +"I think the pastoralists would agree not to victimise, as you call it," +said Strong, after thinking a minute. + +"Who is to say? How are we to know?" answered Ned. "Supposing, Mr. +Strong, you and I had a dispute in which we both believed ourselves right +would you regard it as a fair settlement to submit the whole thing, +without any exception, to an arbiter whom we both chose and both believed +to be fair?" + +"Certainly I should," said Strong. + +"The whole dispute, no matter what it was? You'd think it fair to leave +it all to the arbiter?" + +"Certainly." + +"Then why not leave 'freedom of contract' to arbitration?" demanded Ned. +"You say you are right. We say we are right. We have offered to go to +arbitration on the whole dispute, keeping nothing back. We have pledged +ourselves to stand by the arbitration. Isn't that honest and fair? What +could be fairer? It may be that we have taken a wrong method against +victimising in close unionism. But it cannot be that we should not have +some defence against victimising, and close unionism is the only defence +we have as yet, that any union has had, anywhere, except in Sheffield and +I don't suppose you want rattening to start here. Why not arbitrate?" + +"It is a question of principle," answered Strong, looking Ned in the +face. + +"That means you'll fight it out," commented Ned, rising and picking up +his hat. Then he put his foot on his chair and, leaning on his knee, thus +expressed his inward thoughts: "You can fight if you like but when it's +all over you'll remember what I say and know it's the straight wire. +You've been swallowing the fairy tales about ours being a union of +pressed men but you will see your mistake, believe me. You may whip us; +you've got the Government and the police and the P.M.'s and the money and +the military but how much nearer the end will you be when you have +whipped us? You'll know by then that the chaps up North, like men +everywhere else, will go down fighting and will come up smiling to fight +again when you begin to take it out of them because they're down. And in +the end you'll arbitrate. You'll have no way out of it. Its fair and +because it's fair and because we all know it's fair we'll win that or-- +" Ned paused. + +"I'm sorry you look at the matter so," said Strong, arranging his papers. + +"How else should we look at it? If we pretend to give in as you want us +to do, it'll only be as a trick to gain time, as a ruse to put you off +until we're readier. We won't do that. For my part, and for the part of +the men I know, the union is a thing which mustn't get a bad name. We may +lie individually but the union's word must be as good as gold no matter +what it says. If the union says the sheep are wet, they're wet, and if it +says they're dry, they are dry--if the water's dripping off 'em," added +Ned, with a twinkle in his eye. "I mean, Mr. Strong, that we're trying to +be better men in our rough way and the union is what's making us better +and some of us would die for it. But we'd sooner see it die than see it +do what's cowardly." + +"I am sorry that men like you are so deceived as to what is right," said +Strong. + +"Perhaps we're all deceived. Perhaps you're deceived. Perhaps the whole +of life is a humbug." So Ned said, with careless fatalism. "Only, if your +mates were in trouble you'd be a cur if you didn't stand by them, +wouldn't you? That's the difference between you and me, Mr. Strong. You +don't believe that we're all mates or that the crowd has any particular +troubles and I do. And as long as one believes it, well, it doesn't +matter to him whether he's deceived or not, I think. I won't detain you +any longer. Its no use our talking, I can see." + +Strong got up and walked towards the door. + +"I think not," he said. "But I am glad to have met you, Mr. Hawkins, and +I can't help feeling that you're throwing great abilities away. You'll +get no thanks and do no good and you'll live to regret it. It's all very +well to talk lightly of the outlook in Queensland but when you have +become implicated in lawlessness and are suffering for it the whole +affair will look different. Don't misunderstand me! You are a young man, +capable, earnest. There is no position you might not aspire to. Be warned +in time. Let me help you. I shall be only too glad. You will never repent +it for I ask nothing dishonourable." + +"I don't quite understand," said Ned, sternly, his brow knitting. + +"I'm not offering a bribe," continued Strong, meeting Ned's gaze +unflinchingly. "That's not necessary. You know very well that you will +hang yourself with very little more rope. I am talking as between one man +and another. I meet only too few manly men to let one go to destruction +without trying to save him. The world doesn't need saviours; it needs +masters. You can be one of them. Think well of it: Not one in a million +has the chance." + +"You mean that you'll help me to get rich?" + +"Rich!" sneered Strong. "What is rich? It is Power that is worth having +and to have power one must control capital. In your wildest ranting of +the power of the capitalist you have hardly touched the fringe of the +power he has. Only there are very few who are able to use it. I offer you +the opportunity to become one of the few. I never make a mistake in men. +If you try you can be. There is the offer, take it or leave it." + +For an instant Ned dreamed of accepting it, of throwing over everything +to become a great capitalist, as Strong said so confidently he could be, +and then, after long years, to pour his wealth into the treasuries of the +movement, now often checked for lack of funds. Then he thought of Nellie +and of Geisner, what they would say, still hesitating. Then he thought of +his mates expecting him, waiting for him, and he decided. + +"I was thinking," he said, straightforwardly, "whether I wouldn't like to +make a pile so as to give it to the movement. But, you see, Mr. Strong, +the chaps are expecting me and that settles it. I am much obliged but it +would be dishonourable in me." + +"You know what is in front?" asked Strong, calmly, making a last effort. + +"I think so. I'm told I'm one of those to be locked up. What does that +matter? That won't lose me any friends." + +"A stubborn man will have his way," remarked Strong. Adding, at a +venture: "Particularly when there is a woman in it." + +"There is a woman in it," answered Ned, flushing a little; "a woman who +won't have me." + +Strong opened the door. "I've done my best for you," he said. "Don't +blame me whatever happens. You, at least, had your choice of peace or +war, of more than peace." + +"I understand. Personally, I shan't blame you," said Ned. "I choose war, +more than war," and he set his mouth doggedly. + +"War, at any rate," answered Strong, holding out his hand, his face as +grave as Ned's. The two men gripped hands tightly, like duellists +crossing swords. Without another word they shook hands heartily and +separated. + +Strong closed the door and walked up and down his room, hurriedly, deep +in thought, pulling his lip. He sat down at his desk, took up his pen, +got up and paced the room again. He went to the window and looked out +into the well that admitted light to the centre of the great +fortress-building. Then walked back to his desk and wrote. + +"He is a dangerous man," he murmured, as if excusing himself. "He is a +most dangerous man." + +A youth answered a touch of the button. Strong sent for his confidential +clerk. + +"Send this at once to Queensland in cipher," he instructed, in a business +tone, when the man appeared; "this" being: + +Prominent bush unionist named Hawkins leaves Sydney to-night by train for +Central Queensland via Brisbane. Have him arrested immediately. Most +important. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +THE REPUBLICAN KISS. + +"I've never felt so before," said Ned. "For about ten minutes I wanted to +go back and kill him." + +"Why?" + +"Because he is like a wall of iron in front of one. If he were a fat +hulking brute, as some of them are, I wouldn't have minded. I could have +pitied him and felt that he wasn't a fair specimen of Humanity. But this +man is a fair specimen in a way. He looks like a man and he talks like a +man and you feel him a man, only he's absolutely unable to understand +that the crowd are the same flesh and blood as he is and you know that +he'd wipe us down like ninepins if he could see he'd gain by it. He's all +brains and any heart he's got is only for his own friends. He is +Capitalism personified. He made me feel sick at heart at the hopelessness +of fighting such men in the old ways. I felt for a little while that the +only thing to do was to clear them out of the way as they'd clear us if +they were in our shoes." + +"You've got over it soon." + +"Of course," admitted Ned, with a laugh. "He can live for ever, for me, +now. It was a fool's thought. It's the system we're fighting, not the +products of it, and he's only a product just like the fat beasts we abuse +and the ignorant drunken bushmen he despises. I was worrying, as you call +it, or I shouldn't have even thought of it." + +Ned was talking to Connie. After having had dinner at a restaurant with +his Trades Hall friend, to whom he related part of his morning's +interview, he had found himself with two or three hours on his hands. So +he had turned his steps towards the Strattons, longing for sympathy and +comfort, being strangely depressed and miserable without being able to +think out just how he felt. + +He found Mrs. Stratton writing in her snug parlour. The rooms had the +same general appearance that they had two years before. The house, seen +by daylight for the first time, was embowered in trees and fringed back +and front with pretty flower beds and miniature lawns. Connie herself was +fair and fresh as ever and wore a loose robe of daintily flowered stuff; +the years had passed lightly over her, adding to rather than detracting +from the charms of her presence. She welcomed him warmly and with her +inimitable tact, seeing his trouble, told him how they all were, +including that Josie had married and had a beautiful baby, adding with a +flush that she herself had set Josie a bad example and bringing in the +example for Ned to admire. The other children were boating with George +and Josie, she explained, George not having yet escaped from that +horrible night-work. Harry was well and would be home after a while. He +was painting a series of scenes from city life, the sketches of which she +showed him. Arty was married to a very nice girl, who knew all his +poetry, every line, by heart. Ford was well, only more bitter than ever. +When Ned asked after Geisner, she said he had not been back since and she +had only heard once, indirectly, that he was well. Thus she led him to +talk and he told her partly what took place between Strong and himself. +Strong's offer he could not tell to anyone. + +"You didn't get on with Nellie last night?" she asked, alluding to his +"worrying." Having taken the baby out she had sat down on the stool by +the open piano. + +Ned looked up. "How do you know? Has she been here?" + +"No. She hasn't been here, but I can tell. You men always carry your +hearts on your sleeve, when you think you aren't. You asked her to marry +you, I suppose, and she said 'No.' Isn't that it?" + +"I can't tell you all about it, Mrs. Stratton," answered Ned, frankly. +"That's about it. But she did quite right. She thought she shouldn't and +when Nellie thinks anything she tries to do it. That's what should be." + +Mrs. Stratton strummed a few notes. "I'll show you something," she said, +finally, getting up. "It passes the time to show old curiosities." + +She left the room, returning in a few minutes with a quaint box of dark +wood, bound with chased iron work and inlaid with some semi-transparent +substance in the pattern of a coat-of-arms. She opened it with a little +key that hung on her watch chain. Inside were a number of compartments, +covered with little lids. She lifted them all, together, exposing under +the tray a deeper recess. From this she took a miniature case. + +"Look at it!" she said, smiling. "I ought to charge you sixpence but I +won't." + +Ned pressed the spring, the lid of the case flew up, and there, in +water-colour, was the head and bust of a girl. The face was a delicate +oval, the mouth soft and sweet, the eyes bright with youth and health, +the whole appearance telling of winning grace and cultured beauty. The +fullness of the brows betrayed the artist instinct. The hair was drawn to +the top of the head in a strange foreign fashion. The softly curving +lines of face and figure showed womanhood begun. + +"She is very beautiful," commented Ned. Then, looking at it more closely: +"Do you know that somehow, although it's not like her, this reminds me of +Nellie?" + +"I knew you'd say that," remarked Connie, swinging round on the music +stool so as to reach the keys again and striking a note or two softly. +"It has got Nellie's presentment, whatever you call it. I noticed it the +first time I saw Nellie. That was how we happened to speak first. Harry +noticed it, too, without my having said a word to him. They might be +sisters, only Nellie's naturally more self-reliant and determined and has +had a hard life of it, while she"--nodding at the miniature--"had +been nursed in rose-leaves up to the time it was taken." + +"I don't see just where the likeness comes in," said Ned, trying to +analyse the portrait. + +"It's about the eyes and the mouth particularly, as well as a general +similitude," explained Connie. + +"As I tell Nellie, she's got a vicious way of setting her lips, so," and +Mrs. Stratton, mimicking, drew the corners of her mouth down in Nellie's +style. "Then she draws her brows down till altogether she looks as though +the burden of the whole world was on her. But underneath she has the same +gentle mouth and open eyes and artist forehead as the picture and one +feels it. It's very strange, don't you know, that Geisner never seemed to +notice it and yet he generally notices everything. After all, I don't +know that it is so strange. It's human nature." + +"Geisner?" said Ned, clumsily, having nothing particular to say. "Has he +seen it?" + +"Once or twice," observed Connie. "It belongs to him. He leaves it with +me. That's how Harry's seen it and you. It's the only thing he values so +he takes care of it by never having it about him, you know," she added, +in the flippant way that hid her feelings. + +"I suppose it is--that it's--it's the girl he--" stumbled Ned, +beginning to understand suddenly. + +"That's her," said Connie, strumming some louder notes. "She died. They +had been married a few days. She was taken ill, very ill. He left her, +when her life was despaired of. She would have him go, too. She got +better a little but losing him killed her." + +Ned gazed at the portrait, speechless. What were his troubles, his grief, +his sorrows, beside those of the man who had loved and lost so! Nellie at +least lived. At least he had still the hope that in the years to come he +and she might mate together. His thoughts flew back to Geisner's talk on +Love on the garden terrace, in the bright afternoon sunshine. Truly +Geisner's had been the Love that elevated not the Lust that pulled down. +The example nerved him like fresh air. The pain that had dumbed his +thoughts of Nellie passed from him. + +"He is a man!" cried Ned. + +"That wasn't all," went on Connie, taking the case from his hands and +officiously dusting it with her handkerchief. "When she was pining for +him, dying of grief, because she had lost her strength in her illness, +they offered him his liberty if he would deny the Cause, if he would +recant, if he would say he had been fooled and misled and desired to +redeem his position. They let him hear all about her and then they +tempted him. They wanted to disgust the people with their leaders. But it +wasn't right to do that. It was shameful. It makes me wild to think of it +yet. The way it was done! To torture a man so through his love! Oh, the +wretches! The miserable dogs! I'd----" Connie broke off suddenly to put +the handkerchief to her indignant eyes. The thunderstorm of her anger +burst in rain. She was a thorough woman. "I suppose they didn't know any +better, as he always says of everybody that's mean. It's some consolation +to think that they overshot the mark, though," she concluded, tearfully. + +"How?" + +"How! Why if they had let Geisner go and everybody else, there'd be no +martyrs to keep the Cause going. Even Geisner, if his wife had lived, +poor girl, and if children had grown up, could hardly be quite the same, +don't you know. As it is he only lives for the Cause. He has nothing else +to live for. They crushed his weakness out of him and fitted him to turn +round and crush them." + +"It's time he began," remarked Ned, thoughtfully. + +"He has begun." + +"Where?" + +"Everywhere. In you, in me, in Nellie, in men like Ford and George and +Harry, in places you never dream of, in ways nobody knows but himself. He +is moulding the world as a potter moulds clay. It frightens me, +sometimes. I open a new book and there are Geisner's very ideas. I see a +picture, an illustrated paper, and there is Geisner's hand passed to +another. I was at a new opera the other night and I could hardly believe +my ears; it seemed as though Geisner was playing. From some out of the +way corner of the earth comes news of a great strike; then, on top of it, +from another corner, the bubbling of a gathering rising; and I can feel +that Geisner is guiding countless millions to some unseen goal, safe in +his work because none know him. He is a man! He seeks no reward, despises +fame, instils no evil, claims no leadership. Only he burns his thoughts +into men's hearts, the god-like thoughts that in his misery have come to +him, and every true man who hears him from that moment has no way but +Geisner's way. A word from him and the whole world would rock with +Revolution. Only he does not say it. He thinks of the to-morrow. We all +suffer, and he has passed through such suffering that he is branded with +it, body and soul. But he has faced it and conquered it and he +understands that we all must face it and conquer it before those who +follow after us can be freed from it. 'We must first show that Socialism +is possible,' he said to me two years ago. And I think he hoped, Ned, +that some day you would show it." + +"You talk like Geisner," said Ned, watching her animated face. He had +come to her for comfort and upon his sad heart her words were like balm. +Afterwards, they strengthened the life purpose that came to him. + +"Of course. So do you when you think of him. So does everybody. His +wonderful power all lies in his impressing his ideas on everybody he +meets. Strong is a baby beside him when you consider the difference in +their means." + +"I wish Strong was on our side, just the same." + +"Why? The Strongs find the flint on which the Geisners strike the steel. +Do you think for a single moment that the average rich man has courage +enough or brains enough to drive the people to despair as this Strong +will do?" + +"Yes, monopoly will either kill or cure." + +"It will cure. This Strong is annihilating the squatters as fast as he's +trying to annihilate the unions. I hear them talking sometimes, or their +wives, which is the same thing. They fairly hate him. He's doing more +than any man to kill the old employer and to turn the owners of capital +into mere idle butterflies, or, if you like it better, into swine +wallowing in luxury, living on dividends. Not that they hate that," went +on Connie, contemptuously. "They're an idle, vicious set, taken all +round, at the best. But he's ruining a lot of the old landocrats and +naturally they don't like it. Of course, very few of them like his style +or his wife's." + +"Too quiet? Nellie was telling me something of him once." + +"Yes. He's very quiet at home. So is his wife. He reads considerably. She +is musical. They have their own set, quite a pleasant one. And +fashionable society can rave and splutter but is kept carefully outside +their door. They don't razzle-dazzle, at any rate." + +"Don't what?" asked Ned, puzzled. + +"Don't razzle-dazzle!" repeated Connie, laughing. "Don't dance on +champagne, like many of the society gems?" + +"The men, you mean." + +"The men! My dear Ned, you ought to know a little more about high life +and then you'd appreciate the Strongs. I've seen a dozen fashionable +women, young and old, perfectly intoxicated at a single fashionable ball. +As for the men, most of them haven't any higher idea of happiness than a +drunken debauch. While as for fashionable morality the less you say about +it the better. And the worst of the lot are among the canting ones. The +Strongs and their set at least are decent people. Wealth and poverty both +seem to degrade most of us." + +"Ah, well, it can't last so very much longer," remarked Ned. + +"It could if it weren't for the way both sides are being driven," +answered Connie. "These fat wine-soaked capitalists would give in +whenever the workmen showed a bold front if cast-iron capitalists like +Strong didn't force them into the fight and keep them fighting. And you +know yourself that while workmen get a little what they want they never +dream of objecting to greater injustices. And if it weren't for the new +ideas workmen would go on soaking themselves with drink and vice and +become as unable to make a change as the depraved wealthy are to resist a +change. Everything helps to make up the movement." + +"I know I'm inconsistent," she went on. "I talk angrily myself often but +it's not right to feel hard against anybody. These other people can't +help it, any more than a thief can help it or a poor girl on the streets. +They're not happy as they might be, either. And if they were, I think +it's better to suffer for the Cause than to have an easy time by opposing +it. I'd sooner be Geisner than Strong." + +"What a comparison!" cried Ned. + +"Of one thing I'm sure," continued Connie, "that it is noble to go to +prison in resisting injustice, that suffering itself becomes a glory if +one bears it bravely for others. For I have heard Geisner say, often, +that when penalties cease to intimidate and when men generally rise +superior to unjust laws those special injustices are as good as +overthrown. We must all do our best to prevent anything being done which +is unmanly in itself. If we try to do that prison is no disgrace and +death itself isn't very terrible." + +"I know you mean this for me," said Ned, smiling. "I didn't mind much, +you know, before. I was ready for the medicine. But, somehow, since I've +been here, I've got to feel quite eager to be locked up. I shall be +disappointed if it doesn't come off." He laughed cheerfully. + +"Well, you might as well take it that way," laughed Connie. "I can't bear +people who take everything seriously." + +"There was one thing I wanted you to do," said Ned, after a while. +"Nellie promised me years ago to tell me if ever she was hard up. I've +got a few pounds ahead and what my horses are worth. If anything happens +can I have it sent down to you so that you can give it to her if she +needs it?" + +Connie thought for a moment, "You'd better not," she answered. "We'll see +that Nellie's all right. I think she'd starve rather than touch what +you'll need afterwards." + +"Perhaps so," said Ned. "You know best about that. I must go now," +rising. + +"Can't you wait for dinner?" asked Connie. "Harry will be here then and +you'd have time to catch the train." + +"I've a little business to do before," said Ned. "I promised one of our +fellows to see his brother, who lives near the station." + +"Oh! You must have something to eat first," insisted Connie. "You'll miss +your dinner probably. That won't do." So he waited. + +They had finished the hurriedly prepared meal, which she ate with him so +that he might feel at home, when Stratton came in. + +"He's always just in time," explained Connie, when the greetings were +over. "He gives me the cold shivers whenever we're going to catch a +train. Say 'good-bye' to Ned now, and don't delay him! I'll tell you all +he said, all but the secrets. He's going to Queensland to-night and +hasn't a minute to spare." + +"I'm sorry you can't stay overnight," said Harry, heartily. "I'd like to +have a long talk but I suppose my fine society lady here hasn't wasted +time." + +"I've talked enough for two, you may depend upon it," announced Connie, +as they went to the front door together, chatting. + +"Well, good-bye, if you must go," said Harry, holding Ned by both hands. +"And remember, whatever happens, you've got good friends here, not +fair-weather friends either." + +"He must go, Harry," cried Connie. "I've kept him just to see you. You'll +make him miss the next boat. Come, Ned! Good-bye!" + +Ned turned to her, holding out his hand. + +"Bend down!" she said, suddenly, her lips smiling, her eyes filling. +"You're so tall." + +He bent to her mechanically, not understanding. She took his head between +her hands and kissed him on both cheeks. + +"The republican kiss!" she cried, trying to laugh, offering her own cheek +to him as he stood flushed and confused. Something choked him as he +stooped to her again, touching the fair face with his lips, +reverentially. + +"Good-bye!" she exclaimed, her mouth working, grasping his hands. "Our +hearts are with you all up there, but, oh, don't let your good heart +destroy you for no use!" Then she burst into tears and, turning to her +husband, flung herself into the loving arms that opened for her. "It's +beginning again, Harry. It's beginning again. Will it never end, I +wonder? And it's always the best it takes from us, Harry, the bravest and +the best." And she sobbed in his arms, quietly, resignedly, as she had +sobbed, Ned recollected, when Geisner thundered forth that triumphant +Marseillaise. + +Her vivid imagination showed her friends and husband and sons going to +prison and to death as friends and father and brother had gone to prison +and to death in the days gone by. She knew the Cause so well--had it +not suckled her and reared her?--with all the depth of the nature that +her lightness of manner only veiled as the frothy spray of the flooded +Barron veils the swell of the cataract beneath, with all the capacity for +understanding that made her easily the equal of brilliant men. It was a +Moloch, a Juggernaut, a Kronos that devoured its own children, a madness +driving men to fill with their hopes and lives the chasm that lies +between what is and what should be. It had lulled a little around her of +late years, the fight that can only end one way because generation after +generation carries it on, civilisation after civilisation, age after age. +Now its bugle notes were swelling again and those she cared for would be +called, sooner or later, one by one. Husband and children and friends, +all must go as this bushman was going, going with his noble thoughts and +pure instincts and generous manhood and eager brain. At least, it seemed +to her that they must. And so she bewailed them, as women will even when +their hearts are brave and when their devotion is untarnished and +undimmed. She yearned for the dawning of the Day of Peace, of the Reign +of Love, but her courage did not falter. Still amid her tears she clung +to the idea that those whom the Cause calls must obey. + +"Ned'll be late, Harry," she whispered. "He must go." So Ned went, having +grasped Harry's hand again, silently, a great lump in his throat and a +dimness in his eyes but, nevertheless, strangely comforted. + +He was just stepping on board the ferry steamer when Harry raced down, a +little roll of paper in his hand. "Connie forgot to give you this," was +all he had time to say. "It's the only one she has." + +Ned opened the little roll to find it a pot-shot photograph of Nellie, +taken in profile as she stood, with her hands clasped, gazing intently +before her, her face sad and stern and beautiful, her figure full of +womanly strength and grace. He lovered it, overjoyed, until the boat +reached the Circular Quay. He kept taking it out and stealing sly peeps +at it as the bus rolled up George-street, Redfern way. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +NED GOES TO HIS FATE. + +At the station some of the Sydney unionists wore waiting to see Ned off. +As they loaded him with friendly counsel and encouraged him with +fraternal promises of assistance and compared the threats made in Sydney +during the maritime strike with the expected action of the Government in +Queensland, a newspaper boy came up to them, crowded at the carriage +door. + +"Hello, sonny! Whose rose is that?" asked one of the group, for the +little lad carried a rose, red and blowing. + +"It's Mr. Hawkinses rose," answered the boy. + +"For me!" exclaimed Ned, holding out his hand. "Who is it from?" + +"I'm not to say," answered the urchin, slipping away. + +The other men laughed. "There must be a young lady interested in you, +Hawkins," said one jocularly; "our Sydney girls always have good eyes for +the right sort of a man." "I wondered why you stayed over last night, +Hawkins," remarked another. "Trust a Queenslander to make himself at home +everywhere," contributed a third. Ned did not answer. He did not hear +them. He knew who sent it. + +Then the guard's whistle blew; another moment and the train started, +slowly at first, gradually faster, amid a pattering of good-byes. + +"Give him a cheer, lads!" cried one of his friends. "Hip-hip-hurrah!" + +"And one for his red rose!" shouted another. "Hip-hip-hurrah!" + +"And another for the Queensland bush men! Hip-hip-hurrah!" + +Ned leaned over the door as the train drew away, laughing genially at the +cheering and waving his hand to his friends. His eyes, meanwhile, eagerly +searched the platform for a tall, black-clad figure. + +He saw her as he was about to abandon hope; she was half concealed by a +pillar, watching him intently. As his eyes drank her in, with a last fond +look that absorbed every line of her face and figure, every shade of her, +even to the flush that told she had heard the cheer for "his red rose," +she waved her handkerchief to him. With eager hands he tore the fastening +of a fantastically-shaped little nugget that hung on his watch-chain and +flung it towards her. He saw her stoop to pick it up. Then the train +swept on past a switch-house and he saw her no more, save in the picture +gallery of his memory stored with priceless paintings of the face he +loved; and in the little photo that he conned till his fellow-passengers +nudged each other. + +* * * * * + +At Newcastle he left the train to stretch himself and get a cup of tea. +As he stepped from the carriage a man came along who peered inquisitively +at the travellers. He was a medium-sized man, with a trimmed beard, +wearing a peaked cap pulled over his forehead. This inquisitive man +looked at Ned closely, then followed him past the throng to the end of +the platform. There, finding the bushman alone, he stepped up and, +clapping his hand on Ned's shoulder, said quietly in his ear: + +"In the Queen's name!" + +Ned swung round on his heel, his heart palpitating, his nerves shaken, +but his face as serene as ever. It had come, then. After all, what did it +matter? He would have preferred to have reached his comrades but at least +they would know he had tried. And no man should have reason to say that +he had not taken whatever happened like a man. At the time he did not +think it strange that he was not allowed to reach the border. The +squatters could do what they liked he thought. If they wanted to hang men +what was to stop them? So he swung round on his heel, convinced of the +worst, calm outwardly, feverish inwardly, to enquire in a voice that did +not shake: + +"What little game are you up to, mister?" + +The inquisitive man looked at him keenly. + +"Is your name Hawkins?" he asked. + +"Suppose it is! What does that matter to you?" demanded Ned, mechanically +guarding his speech for future contingencies. + +"It's all right, my friend," replied the other, with a chuckle. "I'm no +policeman. If you're Hawkins, I've a message for you. Show me your +credentials and I'll give it." + +"Who're you, anyway?" asked Ned. "How do I know who you are?" + +The inquisitive man stopped a uniformed porter who was passing. "Here, +Tom," he said, "this gentleman wants to know if I'm a union man. Am I?" + +"Go along with your larks!" retorted the man in uniform. "Why don't you +ask me if you're alive?" and he passed on with a laugh as though he had +heard an excellent joke. + +"Hang it!" said the inquisitive man. "That's what it is to be too well +known. Let's see the engine-driver. He'll answer for me." + +"The other's good enough," answered Ned, making up his mind, as was his +habit, from the little things. "Here's my credentials!" He pulled out his +pocket-book and taking out a paper unfolded it for the inquisitive man to +read. + +"That's good enough, too," was the stranger's comment. "You answer the +description but it's best to be sure. Now"--lowering his voice and +moving still further from the peopled part of the platform--"here's the +message. 'Dangerous to try going through Brisbane. Police expecting him +that way. Must go overland from Downs.' Do you understand it?" + +"I understand," said Ned, arranging his plans quickly. "It means they're +after me and I'm to dodge them. I suppose I can leave my portmanteau with +you?" + +"I'm here to help you," answered the man. + +"Well, I'll take my blankets and leave everything else. I'm a Darling +Downs boy and can easily get a horse there. And when I'm across a horse +in the bush they'll find it tough work to stop me going through." + +"You'd better take some money," remarked the man, after Ned had handed +out his portmanteau. "You may have to buy horses." + +"Not when I'm once among the camps," said Ned. "I can get relays there +every few miles. I've got plenty to do me till then. How do you fellows +here feel about things?" + +"Our fellows are as sound as a bell. If everybody does as much as the +miners will you'll have plenty of help. We don't believe everything the +papers say. You seem a cool one and if the others will only keep cool +you'll give the squatters a big wrestle yet." + +So they talked on till the train was about to start again. + +"Take my advice," said the man, drawing back further out of hearing and +putting the portmanteau down between them, "and get a cipher for +messages. We had to arrange one with Sydney during the end of the +maritime strike and that's what they've used to-night to get the tip to +you. If it wasn't for that the other side would know what was said just +as well as we do. Now, good-bye! Take care of yourself! And good luck to +you!" + +"Good-bye, and thanks!" said Ned, shaking hands as he jumped into his +carriage. "You've done us a good turn. We won't forget the South up in +Queensland. You didn't tell me your name," he added, as the train moved. + +The man answered something that was lost in the jarring. Ned saw him wave +his hand and walk away with the portmanteau. The train sped on, past +sheds and side-tracked carriages, past steaming engines and switch-houses +and great banked stacks of coal, out over the bridge into the open +country beyond, speeding ever Queenslandwards. + +Ned, leaning over the window, watched the sheen of the electric lights on +the wharves, watched the shimmering of the river, watched the glower that +hung over the city as if over a great bush fire, watched the glorious +cloudless star-strewn sky and the splendid moon that lit the opening +country as it had lit the water front of Sydney last night, as it would +light for him the backtracks of the mazy bush when he forced his horses +on, from camp to camp, six score miles and more a day. It was a +traveller's moon, he thought with joy; let him once get into the saddle +with relays ahead and let the rain hold off for four or five days more, +then they could arrest him if they liked; at least he would have got back +to his mates. + +Newcastle faded away. He took his precious photo out again and held it in +his hand after studying its outlines for the hundredth time; unobserved +he pressed the red rose to his lips. + +His heart filled with joy as he listened to the rumbling of the wheels, +to the puffing of the engine, to the rubble-double-double of the train. +Every mile it covered was a mile northward; every hour was a good day's +journeying; every post it flew by was a post the less to pass of the +hundred-thousand that lay between him and his goal. He would get back +somehow. Where "the chaps" were he would be, whatever happened. And when +he got back he could tell them, at least, that the South would pour its +willing levies to help them fight in Queensland the common enemy of all. +It never struck him that he was getting further and further from Nellie. +In his innermost soul he knew that he was travelling to her. + +What good fellows they were down South here, he thought, with a gush of +feeling. Wherever he went there were friends, cheering him, watching over +him, caring for him, their purses open to him, because he was a +Queensland bushman and because his union was in sore trouble and because +they would not see brother unionists fall into a trap and perish there +unaided. From the Barrier to Newcastle the brave miners, veterans of the +Labour war, were standing by. In Adelaide and Sydney alike the town +unions were voting aid and sympathy. The southern bushmen, threatened +themselves, were sending to Queensland the hard cash that turns doubtful +battles. If Melbourne was cool yet, it was only because she did not +understand; she would swing in before it was over, he knew it. The +consciousness of a continent throbbing in sympathy, despite the frowns +and lies and evil speakings of governments and press and capitalistic +organisations and of those whom these influence, dawned upon him. All the +world over it was the same, two great ideas were crystallising, two great +parties were forming, the lists were being cleared by combats such as +this for the ultimate death-struggle between two great principles which +could not always exist side by side. The robbed were beginning to +understand the robbery; the workers were beginning to turn upon the +drones; the dominance of the squatter, the mine-owner, the ship-owner, +the land-owner, the shareholder, was being challenged; this was not the +end, but surely it was the beginning of the end. + +"Curse them!" muttered Ned, grinding his teeth, as he gazed out upon the +moonlit country-side. "What's the good of that?" he thought. "As Geisner +says, they don't know any better. A man ought to pity them, for they're +no worse than the rest of us. They're no better and no worse than we'd be +in their places. They can't help it any more than we can." + +A great love for all mankind stole over him, a yearning to be at +fellowship with all. What fools men are to waste Life in making each +other miserable, he thought! Why should not men like Strong and Geisner +join hands? Why should not the republican kiss pass from one to another +till loving kindness reigned all the world round? Men were rough and +hasty and rash of tongue and apt to think ill too readily. But they were +good at heart, the men he knew, and surely the men he did not know were +the same. Perhaps some day----He built divine castles in the air as he +twisted Nellie's rose between his fingers. Suddenly a great wonder seized +him--he realised that he felt happy. + +Happy! When he should be most miserable. Nellie would not be his wife and +his union was in danger and prison gates yawned in front and already he +was being hunted like an outlaw. Yet he was happy. He had never been so +happy before. He was so happy that, he desired no change for himself. He +would not have changed of his free will one step of his allotted path. He +hated nobody. He loved everybody. He understood Life somewhat as he had +never understood before. A great calm was upon him, a lulling between the +tempest that had passed and the tempests that were coming, a forecast of +the serenity to which Humanity is reaching by Pain. + +"What does it matter, after all?" he murmured to himself. "There is +nothing worth worrying over so long as one does one's best. Things are +coming along all right. We may be only stumbling towards the light but +we're getting there just the same. So long as we know that what does the +rest matter?" + +"What am I?" he thought, looking up at the stars, which shone the +brighter because the moon was now hidden behind the train. "I am what I +am, as the, old Jew God was, as we all are. We think we can change +everything and we can change nothing. Our very thoughts and motives and +ideals are only bits of the Eternal Force that holds the stars balanced +in the skies and keeps the earth for a moment solid to our feet. I cannot +move it. I cannot affect it. I cannot shake it. It alone is." + +"No more," he thought on, "can Eternal Force outside of me move me, +affect me, shake me. The force in me is as eternal, as indestructible, as +infinite, as the whole universal force. What it is I am too. The unknown +Law that gives trend to Force is manifest in me as much as it is in the +whole universe beside, yet no more than it is in the smallest atom that +floats in the air, in the smallest living thing that swims in a drop of +water. I am a part of that which is infinite and eternal and which +working through Man has made him conscious and given him a sense of +things and filled him with grand ideals sublime as the universe itself. +None of us can escape the Law even if we would because we are part of the +Law and because every act and every thought and every desire follows +along in us to that which has gone before and to the influences around, +just as the flight of a bullet is according to the weight of the bullet, +and its shape, and the pressure, and the direction it was fired, and the +wind." + +"It is as easy," he dreamed on, "for the stars to rebel and start playing +nine-pins with one another, as it is for any man to swerve one hair's +breadth from that which is natural for him to do, he being what he is and +influences at any given time being what they are. None of us can help +anything. We are all poor devils, within whom the human desire to love +one another struggles with the brute desire to survive one another. And +the brute desire is being beaten down by the very Pain we cry out against +and the human desire is being fostered in us all by the very hatreds that +seem to oppose it. And some day we shall all love one another and till +then, I suppose, we must suffer for the Cause a little so that men may +see by our suffering that, however unworthy we are, the Cause can give us +courage to endure." + +"I must think that out when I have time," he concluded, as the train +slowed down at a stopping-place where his last fellow-passenger got out. +"I'll probably have plenty of time soon," he added, mentally, chuckling +good-humouredly at his grim joke. "It's a pity, though, one doesn't feel +good always. When a fellow gets into the thick of it, he gets hot and +says things that he shouldn't and does things, too, I reckon." + +He had not heeded the other passengers but now that he found himself +alone in the carriage he got down his blankets and made his bed. He took +off his boots and coat as he had done in the park, stretched himself out +on the seat, and slept at once the sleep of contentment. For the first +time in his life the jarring of the train did not make his head ache nor +its perpetual rubble-double irritate and unnerve him. He slept like a +child as the train bore him onward, passing into sleep like a child, full +of tenderness and love, slept dreamlessly and heavily, undisturbed, with +the photo against his heart and the rose in his fingers and about his +hands the hand-clasp of friends and on his cheeks the republican kiss as +though his long-dead mother had pressed her lips there. + +* * * * * + +In Queensland the chain was prepared already whereto he was to be +fastened like a dog, wherewith he was to be driven in gang like a bullock +because his comrades trusted him. Yet he smiled in his sleep as the train +sped on and as the moon stole round and shone in on him. + +Over the wide continent the moon shone, the ever-renewing moon that had +seen Life dawn in the distant Past and had seen Humanity falter up and +had witnessed strange things and would witness stranger. It shone on +towns restless in their slumbering; and on the countryside that dreamed +of what was in the womb of Time; and on the gathering camps of the North; +and on the Old Order bracing itself to stamp out the new thoughts; and on +the New Order uplifting men and women to suffer and be strong. Did it +laugh to think that in Australia men had forgotten how social injustice +broods social wrongs and bow social wrongs breed social conflicts, here +as in all other lands? Did it weep to think that in Australia men are +being crushed and women made weary and little children born to sorrow and +shame because the lesson of the ages is not yet learned, because Humanity +has not yet suffered enough, because we dare not yet to trust each other +and be free? Or did it joy to know that there is no peace and no +contentment so long as the fetters of tyranny and injustice gall our +limbs, that whether we will or not the lash of ill-conditions drives us +ever to struggle up to better things? Or did it simply not know and not +care, but move ever to its unknown destiny as All does, shedding its +glorious light, attracting and repelling, ceaseless obeying the Law that +needs no policeman to maintain it? + +The moon shone down, knowing nothing, and the moon sank down and the sun +rose and still Ned slept. But over him and over the world, in moonlight +and in darkness and in sunlight, sleeping or waking, in town and country, +by land and sea, wherever men suffer and hope, wherever women weep, +wherever little children wonder in dumb anguish, a great Thought +stretched its sheltering folds, brooding godlike, pregnant, inspiring, a +Thought mightier than the Universe, a Thought so sublime that we can +trust like children in the Purpose of the forces that give it birth. + +To you and to me this Thought speaks and pleads, wherever we are, whoever +we are, weakening our will when we do wrong, strengthening our weakness +when we would do right. And while we hear it and listen to it we are +indeed as gods are, knowing good from evil. + +It is ours, this Thought, because sinful men as we all are have shed +their blood for it in their sinfulness, have lived for it in their +earnest weakness, have felt their hearts grow tender despite themselves +and have done unwittingly deeds that have met them in the path, deeds +that shine as brightly to our mental eyes as do the seen and unseen stars +that strew the firmament of heaven. + +The brute-mother who would not be comforted because her young was taken +gave birth in the end to the Christs who have surrendered all because the +world sorrows. And we, in our yearnings and our aspirations, in our +longings and our strugglings and our miseries, may engender even in these +later days a Christ whom the world will not crucify, a Hero Leader whose +genius will humanise the grown strength of this supreme and sublime +Thought. + +Let us not be deceived! It is in ourselves that the weakness is. It is in +ourselves that the real fight must take place between the Old and the +New. It is because we ourselves value our miserable lives, because we +ourselves cling to the old fears and kneel still before the old idols, +that the Thought still remains a thought only, that it does not create +the New Order which will make of this weary world a Paradise indeed. + +Neither ballots nor bullets will avail us unless we strive of ourselves +to be men, to be worthier to be the dwelling houses of this Thought of +which even the dream is filling the world with madness divine. To curb +our own tongues, to soften our own hearts, to be sober ourselves, to be +virtuous ourselves, to trust each other--at least to try--this we +must do before we can justly expect of others that they should do it. +Without hypocrisy, knowing how we all fall far short of the ideal, we +must ourselves first cease to be utterly slaves of our own weaknesses. + + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Workingman's Paradise, by John Miller + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKINGMAN'S PARADISE *** + +***** This file should be named 16366.txt or 16366.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/3/6/16366/ + +Produced by Col Choat + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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