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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56029 ***</div>
<p>This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/cover.jpg">
<img alt=
"Book cover"
title=
"Book cover"
src="images/cover.jpg" />
</a></p>
<h1>“E R B”</h1>
<p style="text-align: center">BY<br />
W. PETT RIDGE</p>
<p style="text-align: center">
<a href="images/logo.jpg">
<img alt=
"Decorative graphic"
title=
"Decorative graphic"
src="images/logo.jpg" />
</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center">NEW YORK<br />
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY<br />
1902</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center"><span
class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1902<br />
<span class="smcap">By</span> D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</p>
<p style="text-align: center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
<p><i>Published October</i>, 1902.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>CHAPTER
I</h2>
<p>“<span class="smcap">But</span> I am reminded,”
shouted the scarlet-faced man on the chair, still keeping his
voice to the high note on which he had started, “I am
reminded that my time is exhausted. Another talented
speaker is ’ere to address you. I refer to our friend
Barnes—better known per’aps to all of you as
Erb.”</p>
<p>The crescent-shaped crowd, growling applause, gave signs of
movement, and a round-faced young man, standing at the side of
the chair, looked up modestly at the sky.</p>
<p>“He, as you all know, ’ails from the district of
Berminsey, where he exercises a certain amount of influence, and,
in spite of his youth, is recognised as a positive power in the
labour world. He is accustomed to hit straight from the
shoulder, and he fears neether friend nor foe. I am going
to tell you some’ing you very like don’t know, and
there’s no necessity for it to go any further; that is that
he stands a vurry good chance of being made the secretary of a
new society. Friends! without further remarks from me, I
call upon Comrade Barnes, better known as Erb, to address
you. Thanks.”</p>
<p><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>The man
stepped down from the chair. “Where’s my hat
been and gone?” he asked. “Someone’s
shifted it.”</p>
<p>The hour being half past twelve, the crowd had no business of
an urgent nature for thirty minutes. A few strolled away to
join other groups, and Herbert Barnes, as he took off his bowler
hat and stepped upon the green chair, watched these
sternly. Southwark Park was being wooed by the morning sun
of spring-time, the green fresh grass covered a space that was
here and there protected by warning boards; the trees, after a
shivering winter, were clothing themselves with a suit of new
leaves. Away to the right, masts of shipping in the Surrey
Commercial Docks showed high and gaunt above the middle-aged
trees that fringed the park: on the other side rows of small
houses pressed closely. A few light-haired Scandinavian
sailors looked on amiably; timber-carrying men, who showed a
horny skin at the back of their necks, as badges of their labour,
made up, with railway men in unaccustomed mufti, the rest of the
group. The new speaker’s features relaxed slightly as
he saw two girls, conspicuous in the presence of so many men,
join his audience, to resume his earlier manner when one
exclaimed disappointedly, “Oh, it’s only
joring!” and both strolled away towards a bed of flaming
tulips. A tall young woman, slightly lame, took their
place.</p>
<p>“Friends,” said Erb, very quietly, “I was
not altogether prepared to be called upon for an address <a
name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>this morning,
but—All right, my lad,” this in reply to an appeal
from the outside of the crescent, “I’ll speak up
presently. I’ll speak up when I’m ready, in a
way that’ll make even you understand me.” The line of
speakers near the chair smiled, and the interjector’s
friends remarked gleefully that this was one in the eye for
him. “I say that I came ’ere to this park this
morning,” he went on, raising his voice defiantly, and
smoothing his obstinate hair with one hand, “more as a
listener than a teacher, more ready to learn from others than to
learn them anything myself.” The tall young person on
the edge of the crowd winced. “But as I have been
called upon, I shall take the liberty of askin’ you one or
two very straight questions. My friend from Camberwell, who
preceded, referred to me as one accustomed to hit straight from
the shoulder; that’s the way I’m going to play the
game this morning. I stand up ’ere,” he said,
commencing to finger the buttons of his waistcoat, “as a
working man addressing his fellow working men. Prouder
titles there can never be, and if they was to offer to make me
Lord Mayor of London at this present moment I should make answer
to the effect that I preferred to be a working man.”
A voice on the outside asked where he worked? “I am a
parcels carman on a railway I am, and I earn twenty-three
shillings and sixpence a week.” A voice said it was a
shame to pay a van-boy the money earned by grown men; Herbert
Barnes flushed at this and went on. The voice, deluded,
threw at him <a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
4</span>another remark. “Was he” (asked the
voice), “was he a half-timer?”</p>
<p>“I’m going to spare one minute with this
chap,” said Erb, turning suddenly. “Bring him
forward! Stand back from him then, if he’s too shy
for that, and let’s see who we’re dealing with.
Oh, it’s you, is it?”</p>
<p>“Yus,” admitted the owner of the voice
resentfully, “it is me.”</p>
<p>“You don’t look ’appy,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“I’ve been listening to you,” explained the
man.</p>
<p>“Take your ’ands out of your pockets and
let’s ’ave a look at them.” The man
turned to go, but the circle declined to permit this.
“Take a sight at his little hansy-pansy.” Order
complied with. “What d’you make of
’em?” “Soft,” retorted the
expert. “I knew he was a loafer,” said
Erb. “Let him go now and prop up his favourite pubs;
I want to talk to genuine working men, not to bits of
touch-wood. My first question is,” here he referred
to the notes on the back of an envelope which he held in his
hand, “my first question is, what is it we working men most
keenly desire at the present moment?”</p>
<p>“Tankard of bitter,” said someone.</p>
<p>“Ah!” Herbert Barnes whirled round, and
pointed a forefinger at the humorist and his friends.
“<i>There’s</i> a man who speaks the truth.
<i>There’s</i> a man what says jest the thing he really
thinks. <i>There’s</i> a man who utters that which is
uppermost in his mind. <i>There’s</i> a man,”
he leaned forward as <a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
5</span>though about to give one last applauding compliment,
“whose ’ighest ambition, whose most elevated thought,
whose one supreme anxiety is for a tankard of bitter.
Friends,” with a whirl of both arms, “we talk about
the tyranny and what not of capital; the enmity of the upper
circles, but <i>there</i>, jest over <i>there</i>, is the class
of man that is our greatest opponent, the man from whom we have
most to fear. A ten-kard of bit-ter!” he repeated
deliberately.</p>
<p>“Well, but,” said the humorist in an injured tone,
“I suppose a chep can open his mouth?”</p>
<p>“You can open your mouth, and when you do, apparently,
it’s generally for the purpose of em’tying down it
a—”</p>
<p>He hesitated. The crowd, glad to find personalities
introduced, gave the words in a muffled chorus.</p>
<p>“Makin’ a bloomin’ song of it,”
grumbled the humorist, going off. “Some people
can’t take a joke.”</p>
<p>“’Aving finished with our friend,” said
Herbert Barnes, loudly, “we will now resume our attention
to our original argument. What is it that the working
man—”</p>
<p>His voice grew so much in volume that people at
Christadelphian and other crowds near the iron gates deserted
these, and came across in the hope of better sport. One of
his arguments created some dissension, and two men, detaching
themselves from the crescent, went off to debate it, and an <a
name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>interested
circle formed around these, listening with almost pained
interest, and seemingly (from the nodding of their heads)
convinced by each argument in turn. The round-faced young
man on the Windsor chair, now aiming the fist of one hand into
the palm of the other as he laboured at an argument, and giving a
tremendous and convincing thump as he made his point, noted the
new crowd with approval: it was good to have said the stimulating
thing. There were no interrupters now, but occasionally a
voice would throw an approving sentence, caught neatly by Herbert
Barnes, and used if he thought it wise or necessary; his best
retorts were given with a glance at the one young woman of the
crowd. He was in the middle of a long sentence decked out
with many a paraphrase, and whole regiments of adjectives
hurrying to the support of a noun, when the hem of his jacket was
pulled, and he stopped. “Surely,” he said, in
an undertone, “the time ain’t up?” The
man next him replied, “Oh, ain’t it though?”
rather caustically.</p>
<p>“Friends,” said Herbert resuming his quiet voice,
“I’m afraid I’ve kept you rather long.
We’ve had opportunities before of meetin’ each other;
we shall ’ave opportunities again. I ’ave only
to add one word.” The man next to him frowned up at
him on hearing this ominous phrase. “It’s my
firm and steadfast opinion that we shall increase our power and
magnify our strength only by sticking close, quite close,
shoulder to shoulder, <a name="page7"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 7</span>in what I may call the march of
progress. Not otherwise shall we see the risin’ sun
salute the dawn—” (a momentary frown from the lame
young woman had disconcerted him)—“of labour’s
triumph: not otherwise shall we—shall we—”</p>
<p>“Gain,” prompted the young man next to him,
sulkily.</p>
<p>“Gain—thank you—gain the respect of future
ages and the admiration of posterity; not otherwise shall we lead
others on in that battle which, to use the language of
metaphor—”</p>
<p>“I say, old man,” whispered his neighbour,
“really! Play the game.”</p>
<p>“I will not pursue the train of thought,” said
Erb, “on which I had, in a manner of speakin’,
embarked. One an’ all, friends—thank
you—kind ’tention—I now give way!”</p>
<p>“Feriends!” shouted the next man, stepping quickly
on the chair, “our comrade from Berminsey has been so far
carried away by his own eloquence as to overstep his time.
In these circs, I will abstain from all preliminary remarks and
come to the point at once. First of all,
’owever—”</p>
<p>The bowler-hatted men, who had spoken, seemed bored now with
the proceedings, and tried to make out the exact time by the
clock on the great biscuit factory; unable to do this, they
appealed to Erb, who, heated with his oratorical efforts, and
gratified to notice that the tall young woman had limped away
directly that he had finished, produced <a name="page8"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 8</span>a smart silver watch and gave the
required information. They spoke in an undertone of the
evening’s engagements: one proud man was to turn on the
gas, as he cheerfully expressed it, at Victoria Park in the
afternoon, another had had a long talk with a member of
Parliament, and the member had shaken hands with him,
“Quite ’omely and affable”; they all presented
to the crowd a very serious and thoughtful and statesmanlike
appearance as they whispered to each other. Flakes of the
crowd began to fall away. The last speaker finished, hoarse
and panting.</p>
<p>“Whose turn is it to carry the chair?”</p>
<p>“Erb’s!” said the others, quickly.</p>
<p>“But I thought—” he began.</p>
<p>“You thought wrong,” said the others.
“Besides you’re going straight ’ome.”</p>
<p>They walked across the grass to the gates near the station,
where men and children, and men with babies perched on their
shoulders, were making way back to the homes from which they had
been temporarily expelled in order to give wives and mothers
opportunity for concentrating minds on the preparation for
dinner.</p>
<p>“No use trying to blister you for ’alf a pint,
Erb?”</p>
<p>“Waste of time,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“What d’you do with all your money?”</p>
<p>“I don’t find no difficulty,” he replied,
“in getting rid of it. Any spare cash goes in
books. I’ve got a reg’lar little library at
’ome. John Stuart <a name="page9"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 9</span>Mill and Professor Wallace and Robert
Owen, and goodness knows what all.”</p>
<p>“The only reely sensible thing you’ve done,
Erb,” remarked one, “is not getting
married.”</p>
<p>“That’s one of ’em,” he admitted.</p>
<p>“You don’t know what it is to be always buying
boots for the kiddies.”</p>
<p>“Don’t want.”</p>
<p>“You single men get it all your own way. Same
time, it’s a selfish life in my opinion. You
don’t live for the sake of anybody.”</p>
<p>“I live for the sake of a good many people,” said
Erb, dodging into the road to evade a square of girls carrying
hymn books, and returning with his chair to the pavement.
“What I’m anxious to do is to see the world better
and brighter, to organise either by word of mouth or
otherwise—”</p>
<p>“Old man!” protested the others indignantly,
“give us a rest. You ain’t in the park
now.”</p>
<p>He gave up the wooden chair to one of the men, who took it
inside the passage of a house in Upper Grange Road. The
others stepped across to a public-house; he nodded and went
on.</p>
<p>“Won’t change your mind and ’ave one,
Erb?”</p>
<p>“My mind,” he called back, “is the one thing
I never ’ardly change.”</p>
<p>He did not relax his seriousness of demeanour until he had
passed the high-walled enclosure of Bricklayers’ Arms Goods
Station and had turned into Page’s Walk. There the
fact was borne on the air that dinner-time was near, for
attractive <a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
10</span>scents of cooking issued out of every doorway; he moved
his lips appreciatively and hurried on with a more cheerful
air. Women slipped along with their aprons hiding plates of
well-baked joints and potatoes: children waited anxiously in
doorways for the signal to approach the one gay, over-satisfying
meal of the week, at which there was always an unusual exhibition
of geniality and good temper that would eventually conciliate the
worried mother, who had devoted the morning to providing the
meal. Men returned from a morning at their clubs, where the
hours had been chased by a third-rate music-hall entertainment;
these walked slowly and hummed or whistled some enticing air with
which they desired better acquaintance. Erb scraped his
boots carefully on the edge of the pavement, and went up the
stone steps of some model dwellings. From No. 17 came a
broad hint of rabbit pie: a veiled suggestion of pickled
pork.</p>
<p>“Well, young six foot,” he said cheerfully,
“is the banquet prepared, and are all our honoured guests
assembled?”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t be you,” remarked his short
sister, quickly, “if you didn’t come ’ome long
before you were wanted.” She stood on tiptoe and
glanced at herself in the glass over the mantelpiece, and rolled
up her sleeves again; her head was covered with steel
hair-curlers, which had held it fiercely since the previous
morning. “And me in me disables.”</p>
<p>“You look all right,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“I shall ’ave to be this afternoon.”</p>
<p><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
11</span>“What’s going to ’appen this
afternoon?</p>
<p>“I told you!” remonstrated his sister.
“My new young man’s going to drop in for a cup of
tea.”</p>
<p>“Which?”</p>
<p>“I never have more than one at a time.”</p>
<p>“You mean the one in the hat place in Southwark
Street.”</p>
<p>“Bah!” said his young sister contemptuously.
“I gave him the sack weeks ago.”</p>
<p>“You’re always a choppin’ and a
changin’,” said Erb tolerantly.</p>
<p>“If you weren’t such a great gawk,” remarked
his sister, bending to peep into the oven, “you’d put
the knives and forks, and not sit there like a—like
a—I don’t know what.”</p>
<p>Erb pulled a drawer underneath the table and complied.</p>
<p>“The other way about, stupid,” said the short girl
wrathfully. “You don’t take your knife in your
left hand, do you? ’Pon me word, I often wonder that
men was ever invented. I s’pose you’ve been
talkin’ yourself ’ungry, as usual?”</p>
<p>“I addressed a large meeting,” said Erb, with a
touch of his important manner, “for upwards of eleven
minutes.”</p>
<p>“Did they aim straight?”</p>
<p>“They were very appreciative,” said Erb.
“One chap that interrupted I went for with ’orse,
foot, and artillery.”</p>
<p>“Did you, though?” asked his short sister with <a
name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>reluctant
admiration. “Make him squirm, eh, Erb? Did ye
call him names, or did you say something about his
nose?”</p>
<p>“I treated him with satire!”</p>
<p>“Weren’t there ladies present, then?”</p>
<p>“There was one, as it happened.”</p>
<p>“<i>She’d</i> been better off at
’ome,” remarked the girl severely. “The
minx.”</p>
<p>“She looked all right.”</p>
<p>“You can’t go by looks nowadays.”</p>
<p>“A tremendous weapon satire in the ’ands of a
clever man,” said Erb exultantly, “takes the starch
out of ’em like drenching with a fire ’ose. Am
I supposed to stay on ’ere whilst this new chap of yours
mops up his tea?”</p>
<p>“Unless me lady comes down from Eaton Square to lord it
over us all.”</p>
<p>“Nice occupation for a man of my—a man of
my—”</p>
<p>“Don’t say ‘intellect,’” begged
his sister. “Spoils me appetite if I laugh much
before dinner.”</p>
<p>A pleasure to watch the sister, her sleeves rolled up to the
elbow, setting right the things on the table, placing, with the
aid of an exact pair of eyes, the china cruet-stand at the very
centre, fabricating some mustard in a teacup, and pouring it
cleanly and carefully into the mustard-pot, glancing at the oven
with an encouraging, “’Urry up there!” to the
pie, and ever a wary look-out on the lid of the saucepan on the
fire; the intervals she filled by <a name="page13"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 13</span>complaining of the price of coals, by
dusting the mantelpiece, by asking questions about the
morning’s speeches, and by explaining with great interest
the trouble that came to a girl in her workshop consequent on
accepting engagement rings from two young men at the same
time. Presently the one right moment arrived, and out came
the rabbit pie, with a crust not to be equalled for lightness and
flakiness in Page’s Walk, where, indeed, experiments in the
higher walks of cookery usually proved so disastrous as to lead
to domestic contention and a review of all the varied grievances
that had accumulated throughout the ages. Erb, at the head
of the table, cut the pie, and his young sister sat at the side,
with one foot on the insecure support, so that the table scarcely
wobbled under this trying operation; there ensued some argument
because Erb wanted to place both of the kidneys on her plate, and
his sister would not hear of this, but a compromise was effected
by sharing these dainties fairly and equally. His sister
said grace.</p>
<p>“For what we are ’bout ’ceive, Lord make us
truly thankful for.”</p>
<p>“Well?” she asked, rather nervously, as Erb took
his first mouthful. Erb tasted with the air of a
connoisseur.</p>
<p>“I’ve tasted worse,” he said.</p>
<p>“I was afraid how it was going to turn out,”
confessed his sister with relief. “It’s long
since I tried my ’and at a pie.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing anyone can’t do in this <a
name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>so-called
life of ours,” said Erb oracularly, “providin’
that we put our best into it. We’ve all been
endowed—”</p>
<p>“Pickle pork all right?”</p>
<p>“The pickle pork isn’t nearly so bad as it might
be,” said Erb. “They couldn’t beat it in
Eaton Square. As I was saying, the human
brain—”</p>
<p>“If Alice comes down from Eaton Square this afternoon in
anything new,” said his young sister definitely, “I
shall simply ignore it. In fact, I shall say, ‘Oh,
you havn’t got anything new for the spring then
yet?’ That,” said the girl gleefully,
“that’ll make her aspirate her aitches.”</p>
<p>“We mustn’t forget that she’s our
sister.”</p>
<p>“She’d like to get it out of her memory.
Being parlourmaid in Eaton Square, and about five foot ten from
top to toe, don’t entitle anybody to come down ’ere
to Page’s Walk and act about as though Bricklayers’
Arms Station belonged to them. After all, she’s only
a servant, Erb; there’s no getting away from that.
She doesn’t get her evenings to herself like I do.
Compared with her, I’m almost independent, mind you.
I may ’ave to work ’ard in the day, I don’t
deny it, but after seven o’clock at night I’m me own
mistress, and I can go out and about jest as I jolly well
like. Tip up the dish, and take some more gravy.”</p>
<p>“As a matter of fact you come ’ome ’ere, and
you work about and get the place ready against me coming
’ome.”</p>
<p>“And why shouldn’t I?” demanded his young <a
name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>sister
warmly, “if I like to? Can’t I please
meself? I’d a jolly sight rather do that than go and
wait at table on a lot of over-dressed or under-dressed people,
and obliged to keep a straight face whatever silly things you
might ’ear them say. Is there a little bit more of
the crust you can spare me?”</p>
<p>“I quite admit,” said Erb, supplying her offered
plate, “that to me there is something
distasteful—”</p>
<p>“I only put the leastest bit of onion in.”</p>
<p>“I’m referrin’ now to the arrangement by
which those who possess riches are able to call upon the working
portion of the population to enable them to live idle, slothful
lives. I may be wrong, but it seems to me—”</p>
<p>“I don’t blame them,” remarked his sister
quickly, with her involuntary twitching of the head.
“I should do the same if I was in their place.
Tapioca pudding, Erb, for after. How does that strike
you?”</p>
<p>“A tapioca and me,” said Erb genially, “have
always been on speaking terms. I can always do with a
tapioca. A tapioca and me are good chums. Don’t
forget your stout.”</p>
<p>“Wish I was.”</p>
<p>“What I mean is, don’t forget to drink it.
My friend Payne, by the way, may call with a message.”</p>
<p>“I’d as lief take doctor’s stuff,”
said his sister with a wry face. “What’s Payne
calling about?”</p>
<p>“Orgenisation,” answered Erb mysteriously.</p>
<p><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
16</span>“Oh,” she said casually, “<i>that</i>
rot.”</p>
<p>“You’ll have a lay down after dinner.”</p>
<p>“I shall be busy,” answered his sister,
“making meself good-looking.”</p>
<p>“You’ll have a lay down,” Erb repeated
firmly. “Besides, you look all right. Your face
is a bit white, but,” with a burst of compliment,
“you’d pass in a crowd. No cheese for me.
<i>You</i> ’ave some.”</p>
<p>“I’ve done, thanks.” She bowed her
head and spoke rapidly in an undertone “F,”
“What we <i>have</i> received the Lord make
us—”</p>
<p>The fact that the tall sister from Eaton Square called before
Louisa had changed and taken her hair out of curlers was
attributed by Louisa to the tall sister’s unvarying desire
to see Page’s Walk at its worst, to find thus excuse for
showering upon it her contempt. Alice, from a lofty height
added to by an astonishing hat from which Louisa could not, in
spite of herself, keep her eyes, complained bitterly to her
sister of the state of Old Kent Road, upbraided Erb for the
impudence of a ’bus conductor who, because she had talked a
little on the way, offered to carry her on to the Deaf and Dumb
Asylum without extra charge. “The vulgar humour of
these poor men,” said Alice, unnecessarily dusting a chair
before sitting down, “appals one.” She
mentioned that the Eaton Square coachman had offered to drive her
anywhere she wanted to go, but that, for various reasons, into
which she preferred not to enter, she had declined.</p>
<p><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
17</span>“I’ve brought you a bottle of Burgundy,
Louisa. You’ll find it in my muff.”</p>
<p>“To put on me ’andkerchief?” asked Louisa
satirically.</p>
<p>The tall sister glanced appealingly first at the stolid Erb,
then at the ceiling.</p>
<p>“I am on good terms with the housekeeper,” she
explained, “for the moment, and there is no difficulty in
obtaining any little thing of this kind. And you’re
not looking well. You want picking up.”</p>
<p>“<i>Your</i> idea seems to be to give me a set
down,” said Louisa. “Going to take your things
off?”</p>
<p>“I’ll just loosen my jacket. I won’t
take it off, thank you.”</p>
<p>“You know the state of the lining better than I
do. Erb, you’re silent all at once.”</p>
<p>“I was thinking,” said Erb, going across the room
and taking the bottle from its resting place. “How
much does a bottle of Burgundy wine like this run into,
Alice?”</p>
<p>An exclamation came from the short girl as the tall sister
took a pair of pince-nez from her breast, and, with great care,
put on these new decorations in order to assist her in giving the
answer.</p>
<p>“A bottle like that would ‘run into,’”
she explained with a short laugh as she quoted Erb, “about,
what shall I say, six or seven shillings.”</p>
<p>“You can take it back,” he said shortly.</p>
<p>“Bra-vo, Erb,” whispered Louisa.</p>
<p>“I’m not going to be indebted,” said Erb,
leaning his fists on the deal table, “to Eaton Square or <a
name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>any other
haunt of the aristocracy for philanthropy of any kind or
description whatever, not even when they are not aware that
they’re giving anything away. I should be stultifying
meself if I did. If Louisa or me wants Burgundy we can buy
it at the grocer’s, and, if necessary, go as far as to
drink it, with the satisfied feeling that we’re not
beholden to any one. Eh, Louisa?”</p>
<p>“You’ve hit it in once,” agreed the short
sister. “Cigar or coker-nut?”</p>
<p>“Therefore, whilst thankin’ you, one and all, for
your doubtless well-meant kindness, perhaps, Alice, you’ll
understand that my principles—”</p>
<p>“You needn’t bang the table about,”
interrupted the tall sister.</p>
<p>“It’s ours,” retorted Louisa.
“We can bang it if we like.”</p>
<p>“My principles,” repeated Erb with relish,
“prevent me from accepting anything whatsoever concerning
which I have reason to believe that it had not been acquired, or
bought, or paid for by the party at whose hands—at whose
hands–”</p>
<p>“That’s right, Erb,” said Louisa
encouragingly.</p>
<p>“At whose hands that gift is, so to speak, attempted to
be bestowed.”</p>
<p>“I shall look pretty,” protested Alice,
“carrying that about all the evening.”</p>
<p>“If it has that effect,” said her short sister,
“I don’t see how you can grumble. Come in the
bedroom and show me how you manage this new way of doing up the
hair.”</p>
<p><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>Erb
read a chapter from Herbert Spencer whilst the girls were out of
the room, well repaid if here and there he understood a sentence,
or now and again caught sight of a view that soon eluded
him. The book had been recommended by a speaker at the
Liberal and Radical Club a few Sundays before, an Honourable
Somebody, whose proud boast it was that he had unsuccessfully
contested more seats at general and at bye-elections than any man
belonging to his party, and who was, indeed, such an
uncompromising bore, that he might well and appropriately have
been subsidized by his very grateful opponents. The
Honourable Somebody had also strongly recommended a book by
Ruskin, and this, too, Erb had procured from the Free Library,
but had given it up after a brief struggle, confessing that it
was a bit too thick even for him. Erb made notes on the
back of parcels’ waybills when he came on something that
seemed to him lucid: smiled to think of the start his companions
would give when they heard him say in a speech, “I am
inclined to go with our friend Spencer and say with
him—” conveying in this way an impression that his
acquaintance with literature was so complete that he had but to
pick and choose from the treasures of his memory in order to give
an illuminating quotation. He had made a bag of five when
his sisters returned to the front room; Louisa without her fierce
hair curlers, her head decked out in a new fashion, and more
amiable in her attitude towards her sister, and, indeed, holding
her arm affectionately. Alice, with <a
name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>her hat off,
slightly less austere, took up Erb’s book with a word of
apology and remarked, “Oh, yes!” in the manner of one
recognising an old companion.</p>
<p>“Read it?”</p>
<p>“Well,” said the tall sister, “I have not
exactly read it, but I have heard of it. Two of our young
ladies talk about it sometimes at meals: Lady Frances declares
she can’t understand half of it.”</p>
<p>“It’s easy enough,” said Erb, “once
you get the hang of the thing.”</p>
<p>“What are the young ladies like, Alice, at your new
place?” asked the short sister at the looking-glass.</p>
<p>“I’ve often been going to tell you, but
you’d never listen,” complained Alice.</p>
<p>“Tell us now!”</p>
<p>They all became much interested in this subject, and even Erb
put some elucidating questions. Louisa looked admiringly at
her tall sister as Alice went from this to the subject of
visitors to Eaton Square: young Lady Frances, it seemed,
occasionally gave mixed dinners, where no one knew anybody else,
and even Lady Frances herself did not insist on previous
acquaintance: the passport to these was notoriety. From
this subject to the servants’ coming party of the following
Thursday week was an easy stage. Thursday had been selected
to fit the convenience of certain visitors whose establishments
on that day closed early.</p>
<p>“Another foot or so,” said Louisa gazing up at her
sister, “and <i>I</i> might ’ave been in your
shoes.”</p>
<p><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
21</span>“Height isn’t the only thing required.
We shall be rather short of gentlemen, by the bye.”</p>
<p>“I can quite understand that.”</p>
<p>“I suppose, Erb,” said Alice to her brother
doubtfully, “you wouldn’t care to come if I got you
an invite? If you did, you’d have to remember that I
told them you were an inspector: you mustn’t make me look
like a story-teller.”</p>
<p>“Not much in my line,” growled Erb.
“Besides, I’ve got a big job coming on that I
mustn’t tell you anything further about jest
now.”</p>
<p>“I’d get you asked, Louisa,” she said
candidly to her short sister, “if you looked better than
you do. I don’t think your work does you any
good.”</p>
<p>“I’m not in it for me health,” retorted the
other, her head giving its involuntary shake.</p>
<p>“I’ve advised her to try something else,”
agreed Erb, walking up and down the room.
“She’s only a bit of a girl, and the circumstances
under which our female workers are compelled to carry on their
duties amount to a species of white slavery which would not be
tolerated in Russia.”</p>
<p>“Loud cheers!” commented Louisa.
“It’s about time my young man was ’ere.
If he can’t keep his appointments I shall have to talk to
him straight.”</p>
<p>As though in answer to this threat a loud single knock came at
the door.</p>
<p>“Let him wait a bit,” said Louisa. “Do
him good.”</p>
<p>Another knock came and the girl went to the <a
name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>door to
upbraid the caller for unmannerly impatience. She withdrew
her head quickly.</p>
<p>“It’s Payne,” she announced to her
brother.</p>
<p>“Deuce it is!” said Erb with excitement.</p>
<p>In the passage stood a man with a stiff, short, red beard, his
upper lip shaven; near to him, a newer arrival, a nervous youth,
with a wired flower in his coat, who asked shyly whether Miss
Barnes happened by any chance to be at home.</p>
<p>“Trot in,” said Erb, jerking his head. The
nervous youth took off his hat and obeyed. “Well,
Payne, old man,” said Erb to the other.</p>
<p>“I’ve won the three old ’uns over,”
whispered the man with the red beard.</p>
<p>“Good on you!”</p>
<p>“They’ll sign to-morrow.”</p>
<p>“And if the answer ain’t satisfactory?”</p>
<p>“Then,” said Payne in an undertone, with his hand
guarding the words at his mouth, “then they’ll follow
our lead.”</p>
<p>“And strike?”</p>
<p>“And strike!” said Payne.</p>
<h2><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
23</span>CHAPTER II</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">London</span> starts its day as freshly as
the country, and in the early hours of a spring morning, before
the scent of the tanning-yards is awake, even Bermondsey seems
pure and bright. The loads of vegetables strolling up Old
Kent Road, the belated pockets of last year’s hops coming,
roped sky high, out of the gates of the goods station; the rapid
barrows returning from Covent Garden with supplies of flowers and
fruit for suburban shops—all these help. At half-past
seven comes a transition period. The day’s work has
begun and it has not begun. Every five minutes increases
the haste of those who come out of the giant model dwellings, and
up from the tributary roads; girls, as they run, stab at their
hats; men, at a trot, endeavour in vain to light their pipes, but
continue trying as they go, because matches are cheap and time is
priceless. The law of compensation asserts itself: those
who were merry last night and stayed out until half-past twelve
to sing their way joyously home are, in the morning, thoughtful
or surly, whilst those who eluded the attractions of the club or
public-house rally them with much enjoyment on their obvious
depression.</p>
<p>Erb, after the exaltation of Sunday night’s meeting in
St. George’s Road, where his unreasonable <a
name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>hope to see
again the tall, lame girl had been disappointed, but where he had
received from one of the leading men in the labour world, grown
white-haired in the service, a gracious compliment (“I was
like my enthusiastic friend Barnes, here, when I was a
lad,” the white-haired man had said), Erb experienced a
slight reaction to find that here was the old matter-of-fact
world and—Monday morning! An independent set, because
of the fact that for so many hours of the day they were their own
masters, with a horse and van to take them about, and a vanboy
for slave or despot, on Monday mornings carmen were specially
curt of speech and unreliable of temper. In the stables was
contentious dispute about horses, about the condition of the
empty vans, about tardily arriving boys, about anything, in fact,
that lent itself to disapproval. Erb’s boy, William
Henry, was prompt as ever, but Erb found annoyance in the
circumstance that his friend Payne, instead of taking up
conversation in regard to an important matter where it had been
left the previous afternoon, now treated this as a subject of
secondary importance, and as they drove up in the direction of
town and the Borough, insisted, with the interruptions that came
when traffic parted their vans, on giving to Erb details of a
domestic quarrel, in which his wife, Payne said, had been wrong
and he had been right; Payne seemed anxious, however, to obtain
confirmation of this view from some impartial outsider. The
boy on each van left his rope at the back to listen.</p>
<p><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
25</span>“Shall we have time to do that,” asked Erb
at St. George’s Church, where there was a stop of traffic,
“before we start out on our first rounds? I should
like to see it under weigh.”</p>
<p>“It isn’t,” said Payne from his van, still
absorbed with his own affairs, “it isn’t as though I
was always nagging. I don’t seepose I’ve lifted
me ’and at her half-a-dozen times this year, and then only
when she’s aggravated me.”</p>
<p>“It ought to have an effect if we can get every name
signed to it.”</p>
<p>“Question is, has a legally married wife got any right
to go throwing a man’s rel’tives in his face jest
because they don’t come to see her? I ain’t
responsible for my Uncle Richard, am I? If he’s gone
and got himself into trouble in his time it ain’t me
that’s got to be punished, is it? Very well, then,
what’s the use of talkin’?”</p>
<p>William Henry, in Erb’s van, made a note. Never
have an Uncle Richard.</p>
<p>“It must be unanimous,” remarked Erb, speaking in
fragments, and endeavouring to entice Payne’s mind to
imperial subjects as the policeman’s hand allowed them to
go on, “or else it might as well not be done at all.
It’s a case of all of us sticking together like glue.
If it don’t have no effect, what I’ve been thinking
of is a deputation to the General Manager.”</p>
<p>“She’s not a going to manage me,” returned
Payne, catching something of the last sentence. “If
I’m treated with proper respect I’m a lamb, <a
name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>but if anyone
attempts to lord it over me, I’m simply a—”</p>
<p>William Henry, ordered back to the tail of his van, made note
number two. Trouble brewing, and, in the case of wholesale
discharges, a fair chance of honest lads gaining promotion.</p>
<p>The van foreman waited at the entrance to the railway arch
where the up parcels office, after many experiments in other
places, had decided to settle; he looked on narrowly as the vans
drove up the side street. The van foreman had been a carman
in his day (to say nothing of a more lowly start in boyhood), and
he openly flattered himself that he knew the whole bag of tricks:
he also sometimes remarked acutely that anyone who had the best
of him had only one other person to get over, and that other
person did not live on this earth. The van foreman was not
really so clever as he judged himself to be (but his case was
neither unprecedented nor without imitators), and his
maxim—which was that in dealing with men you had to keep
hammering away at them—was one that in practice had at
times defective results.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said the van foreman gloomily, as though
replying to a question, “of course, you two are not the
first to arrive. Barnes and Payne—Payne and
Barnes. There ain’t a pin to choose between
you. What’s your excuse?”</p>
<p>“Wh-oh!” said Erb to his horse, assuming that it
had shied. “Wo—ho! my beauty. Don’t
be <a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
27</span>frightened at him. He ain’t pretty, but
he’s quite harmless.”</p>
<p>“I want no sauce,” snapped the van foreman.
“Good manners cost nothing.”</p>
<p>“You might as well replenish your stock, then,”
retorted Erb.</p>
<p>“Re-plenish!” echoed the other disgustedly.
“Why don’t you talk the Queen’s English like
what I do? What’s all this I ’ear about a round
robin to the guy’nor?”</p>
<p>“Fond of game, isn’t he?”</p>
<p>“Look ’ere,” said the van foreman seriously,
“I’m not going to bemean meself by talking to
you. I’ve spoken to some of the others, and
I’ve told them there’s the sack for every man jack of
’em that signs it. I give no such warning to you,
mind: I simply turn me back on you, like this.”</p>
<p>“Your back view’s bad enough,” called Erb as
the other went off; “but your front view’s something
awful.”</p>
<p>“I was a better lookin’ chap than you,”
called the van foreman hotly, “once.”</p>
<p>“Once ain’t often,” said Erb.</p>
<p>He backed his van into position, and was about to cry,
“Chain on!” but William Henry had anticipated the
order, and had, moreover, fetched from the booking-up desk the
long white delivery sheet, with its entries of names and
addresses.</p>
<p>William Henry also assisted in loading up the parcels with
more than usual alacrity, that he might have a few minutes in
which to saunter about with <a name="page28"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 28</span>an air of unconcern and pick up news
concerning possible vacancies. The carmen who had finished
their work of loading, went up to the further end of the arch,
waiting for the hour of twenty to nine, and snatching the
opportunity for discussing a matter of public interest. Erb
followed, watched keenly by the van foreman.</p>
<p>“Got the document, Erb?”</p>
<p>“’Ere it is,” said Erb importantly, drawing
a long envelope from the inside pocket of his uniform
jacket. “All drawn up in due order, I
think.”</p>
<p>“What we’ve got to be careful about,” said a
cautious, elderly carman preparing to listen, “is not to
pitch it too strong, and not to pitch it too weak.”</p>
<p>“The same first-class idea occurred to me,”
remarked Erb.</p>
<p>“Read it out to ’em, Erb,” suggested
Payne.</p>
<p>Pride and a suggestion of Southwark Park was in the young
man’s tones, as, unfolding the sheet of foolscap paper, he
proceeded to recite the terms of the memorial. The style
was, perhaps, slightly too elaborate for the occasion, but this
appeared to be no defect in the eyes and ears of the listening
men.</p>
<p>“‘And your petitioners respectfully submit,
therefore, these facts to your notice,
viz.,’—”</p>
<p>“What does ‘viz.’ mean?” asked the
cautious, elderly carman.</p>
<p>“‘Viz,’” explained Erb, “is
quite a well-known phrase, always used in official
communications. ‘To your notice, viz., the long hours
which we work, the paucity of pay, and the mediocre prospects of
<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
29</span>advancement. Whilst your petitioners are unwilling
to resort to extreme measures, they trust it will be understood
that there exists a general and a unanimous determination to
improve or ameliorate’—”</p>
<p>“He’ll never understand words like that,”
said the elderly carman despairingly. “Why, I can
only guess at their meaning.”</p>
<p>“‘Or ameliorate the present environments under
which they are forced to carry on their duties. Asking the
favour of an early answer, We are, sir, your obedient
servants—’”</p>
<p>“That,” concluded Erb, “that is where we all
sign.”</p>
<p>“Your respectful and obedient servants, <i>I</i> should
say,” suggested the elderly carman.</p>
<p>“Hark!” said Erb authoritatively. “The
terms of this have all been very carefully considered, and once
you begin to interfere with them, you’ll mar the unity of
the whole thing. Payne, got your pen?”</p>
<p>Payne seemed to feel that he was adjusting his quarrel with
domestic events by dipping his penholder into an inkstand and
signing his name fiercely. Erb followed, and the other men
contributed to the irregular circle of names. The elderly
carman hesitated, but one of his colleagues remarked that one
might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and the elderly
carman appeared to derive great encouragement from this, signing
his name carefully and legibly, and looking at it when done with
something like affection.</p>
<p><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
30</span>“I sha’n’t ask you to get away with
your loads many more times,” shouted the van foreman from
the other end of the arch. “Yes, it’s you
I’m talkin’ to. You’re all champion
mikers, every one of you. I wouldn’t give three
’apence a dozen for you, not if I was allowed to pick and
choose.”</p>
<p>The men flushed.</p>
<p>“Chaps,” said Erb quickly, “there’s
only one thing we might add. Shall we recommend that this
old nuisance be done away with? I can easily work it
in.”</p>
<p>“I beg to second that,” growled Payne.</p>
<p>“Thought you wasn’t taking any suggestions?”
remarked the elderly carman.</p>
<p>“This is more than a suggestion,” said Erb
masterfully. “Are we all agreed?” The men
held up their hands, shoulder high. “Much
obliged! Payne, after you with that pen.”</p>
<p>Many of the van boys had snatched the opportunity to have a
furtive game of banker with picture cards, but William Henry
stood precisely at the tail of his mate’s van, responding
in no way to the raillery of his young comrades, who, in their
efforts to move him from the path of good behaviour, exhausted a
limited stock of adjectives, and a generous supply of
nouns. To William Henry, as a safe lad, was entrusted the
duty of taking the long envelope to the Chief’s office, and
his quick ears having gained something of the nature of the
communication, he ran, and meeting the Chief at the door of the
private office, gave it up with the message, “Answer <a
name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>wanted sharp,
sir!” a gratuitous remark, ill-calculated to secure for it
an amiable reception.</p>
<p>The labour member who had given to Erb a golden compliment on
the previous evening had many proud titles; he was accustomed to
say that the one he prized highest was that of “a manager
of men,” and, indeed, the labour member had lost the colour
of his hair and added lines to his face by piloting many a
strike, guiding warily many a lock-out, but he had been rewarded
by the universal acknowledgment that he could induce the men to
do as he wished them to do; having gained this position, any idea
of revolt against his command appeared, on the face of it,
preposterous. It pleased Erb, as he drove his
soberly-behaved horse and his van through the City to commence
deliveries in the Pimlico district, to think that he, too, at the
very outset, had impressed the colleagues with a confident
manner. It was fine to see the wavering minds pin
themselves to his superior direction, and give to him the duty of
leading. He rehearsed to himself, as he drove along the
Embankment, the speech which he would make when they held a
meeting consequent on a refusal of the application; one sentence
that came to his mind made him glow with delight, and he felt
sure it had occurred to no one before. “United we
must succeed; divided we most certainly shall fail!”
He talked himself into such a state of ecstasy (William Henry,
the while, swinging out by the rope, and repelling the
impertinent action of boys driving shop cycles, who desired to <a
name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>economise
labour by holding on at the rear of the van), that when he drove
his thoughtful horse round by the Houses of Parliament it seemed
to him that if the House were sitting he had almost achieved the
right to get down and go in there and vote. At his first
delivery to a contumacious butler, ill-tempered from an impudent
attempt on the part of his master to cut down expenses, recalled
Erb to his actual position in life, and as he went on Grosvenor
Road way he was again a carman at twenty-three shillings and
sixpence a week. Later, at a coffee shop which proclaimed
itself “A Good Pull-up for Carmen,” and added
proudly, “Others Compete, Few Equal, None Excel,” he
stopped for lunch, having by that time nearly finished his first
round of deliveries.</p>
<p>He shouted an order of “Bag on!” to William Henry,
and, stepping down, went inside. Other drivers from other
companies were in the coffee-house, and Erb, taking a seat in one
of the pews, listened with tolerant interest to their confused
arguments. All the variously uniformed men had a grievance,
and all were quite certain that something ought to be done.
The least vague of all the preferred solutions came from a North
Western man, who said that “We must be up and
doing.”</p>
<p>“The great thing is,” went on the North Western
man, encouraged by the absence of contradiction, “to keep
on pegging away.”</p>
<p>“Which way?” asked the carman at the end of the
room.</p>
<p><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
33</span>“<i>That</i>,” said the North Western man
modestly, “<i>that</i> it is not for me to decide. I
leave that to wiser men than me. I candidly confess that
I’m not one of your busybodies.”</p>
<p>“Seems to me,” remarked a Great Western man,
cutting the thick bacon on his bread gloomily, “that every
other department’s getting a look in excepting the
drivers. We’re out of sight part of the day, and out
of mind all the day. Take my own case. I’ve got
children growing up, and I find,” here the Great Western
man rapped the handle end of his knife on the table, “I
find they all want boots.”</p>
<p>“What can I get for you?” said the matronly
waitress, coming down the aisle.</p>
<p>“I didn’t call you, my dear. I was only
arguin’.”</p>
<p>“Man-like!” said the waitress, going back to the
kitchen.</p>
<p>“I find ’em in boots,” went on the man,
“but do I ever ’ave a chance of seeing the kids
’cept Sunday?” A murmur of anticipatory
agreement with the coming answer went round. “My
youngest is about a year old, and takes notice in a manner
that’s simply wonderful—my wife says so, everybody
says so, but he forgets me from one Sunday to another, and
screams like anything when he catches sight of me.”</p>
<p>“P’raps you smile at him, old man?”</p>
<p>“And that’s why I agree,” concluded the
Great Western man earnestly, “that some’ing ought to
<a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>be
done. Has anybody got ’alf a pipe of ’bacca to
spare?”</p>
<p>“What we want,” remarked the North Western man,
“is a chap that’ll persuade us to—”</p>
<p>“Yes, but—after you with the metch, old
sort—but where is he?”</p>
<p>Erb closed the black shiny bag which his sister Louisa had
packed and stood out in the gangway between the pews. He
held his peaked cap in his hand, and fingered at the brass
buttons of his waistcoat.</p>
<p>“I’ve took the liberty of listening,” he
said, speaking slowly, “to the remarks you chaps have been
making, and if there’s two minutes to spare, I should like
to offer my views. I sha’n’t take more’n
two minutes.”</p>
<p>“Fire away,” said the others, leaning out of their
pews.</p>
<p>“Let me first of all preface my observations by telling
you what we have done only this morning at my place. We
have simply—” Erb described the procedure; the men
listened interestedly. “And now let me tell you,
friends, what we propose to do when this round robin of ours gets
the usual sort of answer. We shall fix on a certain
morning—this is in confidence, mind. We shall resolve
upon a certain, definite, and final course of action. Then
it’ll be war, and we shall find out who’s
master.”</p>
<p>“And s’posing they are?”</p>
<p>“They would stand no chance,” cried Erb, “if
<a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>we could
but preserve a united front. But you’re too nervous,
all of you, to do that. You’ve been tied up, hand and
foot, too long to know how to move. It will be for us at
our place to show you a lead, and I can only ’ope for your
sakes that when we prove successful you will ’ave the
common-sense, the energy, and the intelligence to go and do
likewise. Meanwhile, so long!”</p>
<p>He punched at the inside of his peaked cap and strode out of
the doorway, an exit that would have been dignified had not the
stout waitress hurried down after him with a demand for
fourpence-halfpenny. Even in these circumstances, he had
the gratification of hearing inquiries, “Who is he, who is
he?” And one commendatory remark from the North
Western man, “Got his ’ead screwed on the right
way.”</p>
<p>“Now, why ain’t you lookin’ after the van,
William Henry?” asked Erb appealingly.</p>
<p>“I’m very sorry, mate,” said the boy,
“but I never can resist the temptation of listening to
you.”</p>
<p>Erb accepted the explanation. He climbed up to his seat,
and, awakening the well-fed horse, induced him to finish the
deliveries. Eventually he drove back to the station.
There he heard the latest news. The Chief had sent for the
Van Foreman, a cabinet council had been held, the Chief had gone
now to consult the General Manager. So far, good; the
dovecotes had been fluttered. He met five or six of the
carmen as he waited for his second deliveries, and criticised the
writing of the clerk at the <a name="page36"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 36</span>booking-up desk; they were nervous
now that the arrow had been shot, and they impressed upon Erb the
fact that it was he who really pulled the bow. He accepted
this implication of responsibility, his attitude slightly
reassured the nervous. A young horse was brought up from
the stables to take the place of the solemn animal, and its
eccentric and sportive behaviour served to occupy Erb’s
thoughts during the afternoon. He had occasion to deliver a
hamper of vegetables at a house in Eaton Square, and to collect a
basket of laundry, and as he waited he saw his sister Alice on
the steps of her house whistling for a hansom; he would have
offered assistance, only that he remembered that in the eyes of
that house he was an Inspector; when a cab answered the appeal a
very tall, neatly-dressed young woman came down the steps,
preceded by Alice, who ran to guard the muddy wheel with a basket
protector. An attractive face the tall young woman
had. Erb would have thought more of it, but for the fact
that at this period of his career he had determined to wave from
his purview all members of the fair sex, excepting only his
sisters; the work before him would not permit of the interference
that women sometimes gave. He resented the fact that the
lame young woman of Southwark Park would not go from his
memory. Erb reproved him sharply, and ordered him to mind
his own business.</p>
<p>“Carman Barnes. To see me here, on to-day,
certain.”</p>
<p>This was the endorsement in red ink on the <a
name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>sheet of blue
foolscap which had set out the grievances of the carmen, and Erb
flushed with pride to find that he, and he alone, had been
selected to argue the grievances of his colleagues with the Chief
of the department. The men appeared not to grudge him the
honour, and the van foreman held himself austerely in a corner,
declining to open his mouth, as though fearful of disclosing an
important state secret. Erb thought it diplomatic to ask
the others whether they had any suggestions to offer for the
coming debate (this without any intention of accepting advice);
they all declared moodily that it was he who had led them into
trouble, and his, therefore, should be the task of getting them
out. Payne wished him good luck, but appeared to have no
great confidence in his own powers of prophecy. Erb washed
in a zinc pail, parted his obstinate hair carefully with the
doubtful assistance given by a cheap pocket mirror which William
Henry always carried, and, watched by the carmen and chaffed by
the casually interested porters and clerks, he went to endure
that experience of an interview with the Chief, known as
“going on the carpet.” The Chief was engaged
for the moment; would Carman Barnes please wait for a few
moments? It happened that Erb himself was boiling for the
consultation, and this enforced delay of a few moments, which
grew into ten minutes, disconcerted him; when at last a shorthand
clerk came out, and he was admitted into the presence, some of
his warm confidence had cooled. The Chief, a big, <a
name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>polite,
good-tempered man, sat at the table signing letters.</p>
<p>“Shan’t keep you half a second,” he
remarked, looking up.</p>
<p>“Very good, sir.”</p>
<p>“Beautiful weather,” said the Chief absently, as
he read, “for the time of the year.”</p>
<p>“We can’t complain, sir,” said Erb
meaningly, “of the weather.” The clock up high
on the wall of the office ticked on, and Erb endeavoured to
marshal his arguments in his mind afresh.</p>
<p>“That little job is finished,” said the Chief,
dabbing the blotting paper on his last signature. “I
wonder how many times I sign my name in the course of a day; if
only I had as many sovereigns. Let me see, what was it we
wanted to talk to each other about?” Erb produced the
memorial, and stood cap in hand as the Chief read it with an air
that suggested no previous knowledge of the communication.
“Oh, yes,” said the Chief, “of course. I
remember now. Something about the hours of duty.”</p>
<p>“And wages,” said Erb, “et
cetera.”</p>
<p>“I get so much to think of,” went on the Chief,
autobiographically, “that unless I put it all down on a
memo I forget about it. Now when I was your age. What
are you, Barnes?”</p>
<p>“Twenty-one next birthday, sir.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” sighed the Chief, “a fine thing to be
one and twenty, you’ve got all the world before you.
You ought to be as happy as a lord at your age.”</p>
<p><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
39</span>“The ’appiness that a lord would extract
from twenty-three and six a week would go in a waistcoat
pocket.”</p>
<p>“There’s something in that,” admitted the
other, cheerfully. “But, bless my soul, there are
plenty worse off. A man can grub along very well on it so
long as he is not ambitious.”</p>
<p>“And why shouldn’t a man be ambitious?”
demanded Erb. “Some people raise themselves up from
small beginnings”—the Chief took up his paper
cutter—“and all honour to them for it.”
The Chief laid down the paper cutter. “It must be a
great satisfaction to look back when they are getting their three
or four ’undred a year and think of the time when they were
getting only a quid a week. It must make ’em proud of
themselves, and their wife and their women folk must be proud of
’em too.”</p>
<p>“Married, Barnes?”</p>
<p>“No, sir. Live with my sister.”</p>
<p>“Engaged perhaps?”</p>
<p>“Not on twenty-three and six.”</p>
<p>Difficult to use the well-rehearsed arguments and the violent
phrases to a courteous man, who showed so much personal
interest. If he would but raise his voice or show defiant
want of sympathy.</p>
<p>“But some of us <i>are</i> married, sir,” Erb went
on, “and some of us have children, and I tell you straight,
when the rent is paid, and when the children’s clothes are
bought and just the necessaries of life are purchased,
there’s precious little left over. <a
name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>You
can’t realise perhaps, sir, what it means to look at every
penny, and look at it hard, before it’s paid
away.”</p>
<p>“Pick up a bit, don’t you, you carmen?”</p>
<p>“An occasional twopence,” cried Erb, “and
think what a degrading thing it is for some of us to accept
voluntary contributions from those placed in a more fortunate
position in life?”</p>
<p>“Never knew a railway man object to it before,”
mused the Chief.</p>
<p>“You’re thinking of the old school, sir. Men
are beginning to recognise that capital can’t do without
them, and capital must therefore fork out accordingly. This
memorial which you hold at the present time in your ’and,
sir, contains a moderate appeal. If that moderate appeal is
refused, I won’t be answerable for the
consequences.”</p>
<p>“And yet, I take it, you know more about the
consequences than anyone else?”</p>
<p>“Be that as it may, sir,” said Erb, flattered,
“we needn’t go into hypo—hypo—”</p>
<p>“Hypothetical?”</p>
<p>“Thank you, sir. We needn’t go into that
part of the question at present. But it’s only fair
to warn you that when I go back to the men and tell them that
their very reasonable applications have been one and all refused,
and refused, if I may say so, with ignominy, then there’ll
be such an outbreak. Mind you, sir, I’m not blaming
you; I only talk to you in this way, because ’ere’s
me representing labour on this side of the table, and <a
name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>there’s
you on the other side of the table representing
capital.”</p>
<p>“Labour,” remarked the Chief, trying to make a
tent of three pen holders, “is to be
congratulated.”</p>
<p>“Therefore, not wishing to take up your time any longer,
I should like to conclude by remarking in the language of one of
our poets of old, who remarks—”</p>
<p>“No, no,” protested the Chief gently,
“don’t let us drag in the poets. They were all
very well in their way, but really you know, not railway
men. Not one of them. What I want you to tell the
others is that if I had the power of deciding on this matter,
likely enough I should give them everything they ask. But
above me, Barnes, above me is the Superintendent, above the
Superintendent is the General Manager, above the General Manager
are the Directors, and above the Directors are the
Shareholders.”</p>
<p>“And all of you a stamping down on poor us.”</p>
<p>“To a certain extent,” admitted the Chief, in his
friendly way, “but only to a certain extent. What
they want, what I want, is that everything should go on
smoothly.”</p>
<p>“To come to the point,” suggested Erb.
“I take it that you answer this application, sir, in the
negative. I take it that I’m to go back to the men
and say to them, ‘All my efforts on your behalf have been
fruitless.’”</p>
<p>“<i>Your</i> efforts?”</p>
<p><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
42</span>“My efforts,” said Erb proudly.</p>
<p>“You are mainly responsible then?”</p>
<p>“I don’t deny it.”</p>
<p>“I see,” said the Chief, slowly pulling the
feathers from a quill pen. “My information was to
that effect, but it is well to have it confirmed by you.
Now look here, Barnes.” He took up the sheet of blue
foolscap, with a change of manner. “The men ask for
the removal of the van foreman. That suggestion will not be
acted upon. If we were all to be allowed to choose our own
masters we should be playing a nice topsy-turvy game. You
understand?”</p>
<p>“I’ve taken a note of it,” remarked Erb
darkly. He wrote something with a short pencil on the back
of an envelope. “Negative answer also, I
s’pose, to the question of hours?”</p>
<p>“Not so fast. In regard to the question of hours
some concession will be made. They have increased of late
without my knowledge. The men will take it in turns, in
batches of three or four, to go off duty at six o’clock one
week in the month. This will necessitate a couple of extra
carmen.”</p>
<p>“Good!” approved Erb, making a fresh note.
“We now approach the question of wages.”</p>
<p>“The men who have been in the service for five years
will receive an additional two shillings a week.”</p>
<p>“That’s a fair offer.”</p>
<p>“The men who have been with us for more than <a
name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>a year will,
with one exception, receive an increase of one and
six.”</p>
<p>Erb wrote the figures on the back of the envelope.
Already he was composing in his mind the elaborate sentences by
which he would make the satisfactory announcement to his
colleagues. A telephone bell in the corner of the office
stung the ear; the Chief rose, and bidding Erb wait outside for a
few minutes, went to answer it. Erb closed the door after
him in order to avoid any suspicion of overhearing, and, big with
the important news, could not resist the temptation to hurry
through into the arch where the men in a group were waiting; the
van foreman sat on a high stool in the corner, in an attitude
that suggested contrition.</p>
<p>“Well, chaps,” said Payne, when Erb, in one long,
ornate sentence had given the information, “this is a
little bit of all right. I think I’m speaking the
general opinion when I say we’re very much indebted to Erb
for all the trouble he’s took.”</p>
<p>“Hear, hear!” said the men cheerfully.</p>
<p>“I could see from the first,” remarked the eldest
carman, “that he meant to pull it off for us.”</p>
<p>“The occasion being special,” said Payne, bunching
his short, red beard in one hand, “I think we might all of
us treat ourselves to a tonic.”</p>
<p>“Not me,” said Erb. “I’ve got to
get back just to say a few words to the gov’nor. But
don’t let me stop you chaps from ’aving
one.”</p>
<p>“You won’t!” remarked Payne with
candour.</p>
<p>The conversation at the telephone was still going <a
name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>on when Erb
returned to the Chief’s office; some time having been
occupied, apparently, with the usual preliminaries of one party
begging the other to speak up, and the other urging on the first
the advisability of seeking some remedy for increasing
deafness. The Chief rang off presently, and came to the
door and opened it.</p>
<p>“Sorry to keep you waiting, Barnes.”</p>
<p>“Was there anything else you wanted to say,
sir?”</p>
<p>“Only this. I told you there was one exception in
this scheme of increases.”</p>
<p>“Everitt is a bit too fond of the glass, sir, but
p’raps a word of warning from you—”</p>
<p>“Everitt drinks, but Everitt does his work quietly, and
he doesn’t disturb the other men. The one exception,
Barnes, is yourself.”</p>
<p>“Me?” exclaimed Erb.</p>
<p>“It’s like this,” said the Chief, going on
with the work of plucking a quill pen. “You’re
a restless organiser, and no doubt somewhere in the world there
is a place for you. But not here, Barnes, not here!
Of course, we don’t want to sack you, but if you
don’t mind looking out for another berth—No hurry,
you know, next week will do—why—”</p>
<p>The Chief threw down the stark quill pen; intimation that the
conference was at an end.</p>
<p>“I’m not the first martyr that’s suffered in
the cause of right and justice,” said Erb, his face white,
“and I’m probably not the last. I take this as
a distinct encouragement, sir, to go on in the path that <a
name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>Fate has
mapped out for me, ever striving, I trust, not so much to improve
my own personal position, as to better—”</p>
<p>“Shut the door after you,” said the Chief,
“and close it quietly, there’s a good
chap.”</p>
<h2><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
46</span>CHAPTER III</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">Turmoil</span> of the mind that followed
in the next few days was increased by the worry of a Society
engagement. To the servants’ party in Eaton Square,
Erb, having been formally invited, sent answer that he was busy
with meetings of one sort and another, and begged, therefore, to
be excused: this to his sister Louisa’s great
content. Arrived another post card from Alice, saying that
if this meant that he would not come unless Louisa were invited,
then she supposed there was nothing to do but to ask them both;
she would send a few things down by Carter Paterson the day
before the party, that Louisa might adorn herself with something
like distinction, and do as little harm as possible to the repute
of Alice. To this, after an enthusiastic discussion, that
was not a discussion, in that Louisa did all the talking, a reply
was sent, stating that Louisa and himself would arrive by a
series of ’buses on the night mentioned, and that Louisa
begged her sister would not deprive herself of articles of
attire, “me having,” said Louisa’s note,
“ample.” The incident had its fortunate side,
insomuch that it absorbed the whole mind of the delighted young
sister, and prevented her from giving much attention to the
matter of Erb’s forced <a name="page47"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 47</span>resignation. Lady experts
called every evening at the model dwellings to give advice in
regard to costume, and, in the workshop, other white-faced girls
pushed aside the relation of their love affairs in order to give
their minds to this subject: Louisa’s current young man
received stern orders not so much as dare show his face in
Page’s Walk for a good fortnight. It was only on the
evening of the party, when Louisa, gorgeously apparelled, sat in
the living-room, ready a full hour before the time for starting,
and Erb in his bedroom about to start on the work of changing
from a parcels carman to a private gentleman, that the short girl
found leisure and opportunity to review Erb’s affairs.</p>
<p>“And all the rest,” said Louisa severely in
conclusion, “all the rest of these ’umbugs reaping
the fruits of your labours, and you thrown out neck and
crop. I can’t think how you come to be such a
idiot. You don’t see me doing such silly
things. What do you think your poor mother would say if she
were ’ere?”</p>
<p>“You haven’t seen the evening paper, I
s’pose?” asked the voice of Erb, muffled by
soap-suds.</p>
<p>“Evening paper,” echoed the short sister,
fractiously. “Is this a time for bothering about
evening papers? The question is what are you going to do
next, Erb? Been round to any of the other
stations?” A grunt from the bedroom intimated a
negative answer. “You’ll come to rack and ruin,
Erb, that’s what you’ll come to if I don’t look
after you.”</p>
<p><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
48</span>“Catch hold.” A bare arm held out from
the bedroom doorway a pink evening paper.</p>
<p>“What d’you want me to read now? I
don’t want to go botherin’ my ’ead about
murders when I’m full of this party.”</p>
<p>“Where my thumb is,” said Erb’s voice.
A damp mark guided her attention, and she read it, her lips
moving silently as she went through the paragraph, her head
giving its uncontrollable shake.</p>
<p>“We understand that a Society of Railway Carmen has been
formed, and that the first meeting will be held at the
Druid’s Arms, Southwark, on Saturday evening, at half-past
nine o’clock, a late hour fixed in order to secure the
attendance of the men. There are two candidates for the
position of secretary—Messrs. Herbert Barnes and James
Spanswick. The former is losing his situation for taking
part in a labour movement, and his case has excited a great deal
of interest.”</p>
<p>“I say,” cried Louisa, in an awed voice,
“that’s never meant for you, Erb?”</p>
<p>“It ain’t meant for anyone else,” called
Erb. “Seen anything of my stud?”</p>
<p>“Where did you put it last? But, just fancy, in
print too. And underneath is something about
Royalty.” Louisa clicked her tongue amazedly.
“You never said anything about it, either.”</p>
<p>“No use talking too much. Why, here’s the
collar stud in the shirt all the time. No use <a
name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>talking too
much beforehand. Besides, it isn’t what you may call
definitely settled yet. Spanswick’s got very strong
support, and he hates me as much as he likes beer. I said
something rather caustic on one occasion about his
grammar.”</p>
<p>“I shall snip this out,” said Louisa, as Erb
appeared struggling into his coat, “and I shall show it
privately to everybody I come across in Eaton Square
to-night.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know that that’s worth
while,” he said doubtfully.</p>
<p>“It’ll let ’em see,” said Louisa, with
decision, “that they ain’t everybody. When
you’ve done trimming your cuffs with the
scissors—”</p>
<p>No further word of disparagement came from the short girl as
she trotted along proudly by the side of her brother to the
junction where New Kent Road starts for Walworth and town.
Indeed, outside the tram she expressed some surprise at the fact
that so many people were not acquainted with her brother; she
consoled herself by the assurance that once Erb obtained a start
the whole world would join her in an attitude of respect; she
also enjoyed, in anticipation, the reflected glory that would be
hers in the workshop the following morning. Being as
outspoken in praise as in blame, it resulted, as they walked over
Westminster Bridge and took an omnibus, that not only Louisa, but
Erb himself, had attained a glowing state of content, and when
they arrived eventually at the house in Eaton Square (lighted
recklessly below and <a name="page50"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 50</span>sparsely illuminated above) they felt
that the world might possibly contain their equals, but they were
certainly not prepared to look on anybody as a superior.</p>
<p>“Jackson,” said the buttoned boy who opened the
door as they descended the area, “this looks like your
lot.”</p>
<p>“They call her Jackson,” whispered Louisa to her
brother, interrupting his protest. “Parlour-maid here
is always called Jackson.”</p>
<p>Alice came forward. A spray of wild flowers meandered
from the waist of her pale blue dress to her neck; she took her
brother’s hand up high in the air before shaking it.
A few tightly-collared young men stood about the entrance to the
cleared kitchen, encouraging white gloves to cover their hands;
they also had bunches of flowers in buttonholes, and one of them
wore an open dress waistcoat. A Japanese screen masked the
big range; nails in the walls had been relieved of their duties,
a white cloth’d table with refreshments stood at the end
near a pianoforte.</p>
<p>“You’re early,” said Alice, kissing her
sister casually. Louisa took the brown paper parcel from
Erb’s arm.</p>
<p>“Thought you’d like the evening to start
well,” she said. “Any gentlemen
coming?”</p>
<p>“Haven’t you got eyes?” asked Alice, leading
the way upstairs and waving a hand in the direction of the shy
youths.</p>
<p>“Gentlemen, <i>I</i> said,” remarked Louisa.</p>
<p><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
51</span>“I shall begin to wish I hadn’t asked
you,” said Alice pettishly, “if you’re going on
like that all the evening. I believe you only do it to
annoy me.”</p>
<p>“What else could I do it for?” asked the short
sister.</p>
<p>“Erb,” ordered the tall sister from the stairs,
“you leave your hat and coat in that room. Thank
goodness I’ve got a brother who knows how to behave.
Good mind now not to titivate your hair for you.”</p>
<p>“You mustn’t mind me,” said Louisa,
relenting at this threat. “It’s only me
manner.”</p>
<p>They were received on returning downstairs by the housekeeper,
a large important lady in black silk and with so many chains that
she might have been a contented inmate of some amazingly gorgeous
and generous prison; the housekeeper having been informed that
Erb was an official on a South of England railway begged him to
explain why, in travelling through Ireland during the winter, it
was so difficult to obtain foot-warmers, and seemed not
altogether satisfied with the reply that it was probably because
the Irish railways did not keep them in sufficient
quantities. The cook, also stout but short, engaged Erb for
the first two dances, assuring him (this proved indeed to be a
fact) that she was, in spite of appearances, very light on her
toes, and quoting a compliment that had been paid to her by a
perfect stranger, and therefore unbiased, at Holborn Town Hall in
the early eighties.</p>
<p>“And this, Erb, is Jessie,” said Alice, <a
name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>introducing a
large-eyed young woman in pale green. “Jessie is my
<i>very</i> great friend.” She added, “Just at
present.”</p>
<p>“I think you speak, Mr. Barnes?” said the
large-eyed young woman earnestly.</p>
<p>“I open my mouth now and again,” admitted Erb,
“just for the sake of exercising my face.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” she sighed, looking at him in a rapt,
absorbed way. “Somehow you put it all in a
nutshell. I should simply love to be able to say the true,
the right, the inevitable thing. I could
almost—perhaps, I ought not to say it—but I could
almost worship a clever man.”</p>
<p>Erb, reddening, said that there were precious few of them
about.</p>
<p>“Talk to me, please!” she said appealingly.
“Button this glove of mine, and then tell me all about
yourself. I shall be frightfully interested.”</p>
<p>“You don’t want to hear about me,” said Erb,
essaying the task set him.</p>
<p>“If you only knew!” she said.</p>
<p>This was really very gratifying. Erb had wondered
whether the evening would interfere for a time with consideration
of his great crisis: he soon found that the evening was to put
that subject entirely out of his thoughts. This was in
itself a relief, for, despite confidence in himself, he felt
nervous about the result of the forthcoming meeting; to-night he
could dismiss worry and give his mind a holiday. He found
that Jessie’s surname was Luker, and the house called her
Masters; the tall <a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
53</span>young woman declared that she positively hated the name
of Luker, and confessed to a special admiration for the name of
Barnes, strongly contesting Erb’s suggestion that Barnes
was a second-class sort of name, and worthy of but little
esteem. Near the cottage pianoforte that had been fixed in
the corner of the kitchen, a sombre young person in black sat on
a chair that had to be improved and made suitable by an enormous
dictionary, fetched by the pageboy from upstairs, and, receiving
orders to play just what she liked for the first, this lady
struck violently into the prelude of a waltz, choosing a square
in the pattern of the wall-paper before her at which she could
yawn. Couples, standing up, waited impatiently for the real
waltz to commence; young women moving a smartly-slippered foot;
Louisa formulating her first protest against convention by saying
aloud to her partner, a precise footman, “Oh, let me and
you make a start!” The others said,
“S-s-s-h!” and watched the butler. The butler
gave a pull at his yellow waistcoat and advanced solemnly to the
housekeeper.</p>
<p>“Mrs. Margetson,” he said, “I’m not so
handy on me feet as I used to be, but I trust I may have the
honour of opening the dance with you?”</p>
<p>“Mr. Rackham,” replied the housekeeper with a
slight bow, “thank you very much for asking, but, as you
know, the leastest excitement makes my head a torture.
Would you mind,” with a wave of the fan, “asking
Mamselle to take my place?”</p>
<p>“I shall have much plaisure,” said the French <a
name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>lady’s
maid, promptly. “<i>A deux temps</i> or <i>a trois
temps</i>, Meestair R-rackham?”</p>
<p>“Leave it to you, Mamselle,” replied the
butler.</p>
<p>The two went half way round the kitchen before the other
couples ventured to move: a nod from the housekeeper then gave
permission. Erb found himself rather unfortunate at first,
and this was his own fault, for, with his usual manner of taking
charge, he endeavoured to pilot the agreeable Miss Luker and ran
her into rocks and whirlpools and on to the quicksands of
ladies’ trains; it was only after the fourth disaster, when
the fiancé of the upper-housemaid (who was one of the
tightly-collared men and wore his short hair brushed forward in
the manner of grooms) said to him audibly, “Not accustomed
to drive, apparently!” that he permitted Miss Luker to take
up the duty of guidance, and thereafter they went in and out the
swinging dancers with no accident. Miss Luker was quite a
marvellous young woman, for she could dance and talk calmly at
the same time, a trick so impossible to Erb that, when he
attempted it, he found he could only stammer acquiescence to some
contestable theory advanced by his partner, or ejaculate some
words in acceptance of an undeserved compliment.</p>
<p>“It seems like fate,” sighed Miss Luker, as she
saved Erb from sweeping the pianiste from her dictionary and
chair, “but do you know you have exactly my step? It
seems like fate,” repeated Miss Luker, as the music stopped
and couples began to walk around the room, “and it
<i>is</i> fate.”</p>
<p><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
55</span>“I don’t quite follow you,” said Erb,
trying to regain his breath and dodging the long train of
Mamselle. “To my mind, most things depend on us, and
if we want anything to happen we can generally make it
happen. Otherwise, where would ambition, and energy, and
what not come in?”</p>
<p>“You mustn’t talk above my head,” said Miss
Luker, winningly. “You forget how stupid we poor
women are.” An accidental lull came in the clatter of
conversation.</p>
<p>“You’re an exception,” declared Erb.</p>
<p>His sister looked over their shoulders at him with surprise,
and the footman giggled. The others, with an elaborate show
of tact, began to speak hurriedly on the first subject that
occurred to them, and the lady at the pianoforte, checked half
way through a yawn, was ordered by the housekeeper to play a set
of Lancers. Erb, in his life, had many trying moments, but
none seemed so acute as this, when he had been caught paying a
compliment to a lady. It was the first time he had ever
done it, and when his self-control returned, and, taking sides,
he and cook went through the devious ways of the set dance, he
warned himself to use more care in future. Nevertheless,
some excuse could be urged: whenever he glanced at Miss Luker,
now with the gloomy young man for partner, he found that her
large eyes were looking at him, and she turned away quickly with
great show of confusion. When the Lancers had, by gracious
permission of the housekeeper, repeated its last figure, cook, <a
name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>beckoned
aside by the footman, introduced her partner with due
formality. Mr. Danks—the footman bowed.</p>
<p>“We—er—know each other by reputation, Mr.
Barnes.”</p>
<p>“Very kind of you to say so,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“When you feel inclined for a cigarette,” said the
footman, “give me the tip. What I mean to say
is—tip me the wink! They won’t let us smoke
here, but we can go into the pantry, or we can take a whiff round
the square if you prefer it.” Here the footman
giggled, “I often wonder whether ’round the
square’ is a correct expression. Find any trouble,
may I ask, in choosin’ your language?”</p>
<p>“It comes to me pretty free,” said Erb, “if
I’m at all ’eated.”</p>
<p>“Heated,” corrected Mr. Danks,
“heated! Before I went to my uncle’s in
Southampton Street, Camberwell, to take lessons, I used to drop
’em like—like anything.”</p>
<p>“Never trouble about trifles meself.”</p>
<p>“For public men like me and you,” said Mr.
Danks. He stopped a giggle, perceiving that what he had
thought to be a humorous remark did not, judging from Erb’s
expression, really bear that character. “Like me and
you,” he went on, “the letter aitch is one of the
toughest difficulties that we have to encounter. In my
profession, at one time, it was looked on, to use your words, as
a trifle. Those times, Mr. Barnes, are gone and done
with. The ability to aspirate the letter aitch in the right
<a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
57</span>place—in the <i>right</i> place, mind
you—has done more to break down the barriers that separated
class from class than any other mortal thing in this blessed
world.”</p>
<p>“I wonder, now,” said Erb, with some interest,
“whether you’re talking rot, or whether there’s
something in what you say?”</p>
<p>“If you think anything more of it,” said Mr.
Danks, feeling in his waistcoat pocket, “take my
uncle’s card, and go on and chat it over with
him.”</p>
<p>“‘Professor of Elocution. Declamation
Taught!’” read Erb.</p>
<p>“His daughter knows you; heard you speak in Southwark
Park.”</p>
<p>“Not a lame girl?”</p>
<p>“If I hadn’t gone to him,” said Mr. Danks
nodding affirmatively, “I should never have known how to
recite.”</p>
<p>“Nice drawback that would have been. So her
name’s Danks?”</p>
<p>“Rosalind Danks.”</p>
<p>“Rosalind,” repeated Erb thoughtfully.</p>
<p>“As it is,” said the other with a giggle of
satisfaction, “my ‘King Robert of Sicily’ gets
me more invites out than I know what to do with. I suppose
your sister has told you all about it.”</p>
<p>“Talks of nothing else,” declared Erb
inventively.</p>
<p>To his surprise, Mr. Danks shook him very warmly by the hand,
giggling the while with <a name="page58"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 58</span>satisfaction, and, with the remark
that he must now do the amiable to the remaining member of the
family, left Erb and went across to Louisa—Louisa, flushed
and almost attractive looking from the excitement of
dancing. Erb calculated the distance between himself and
the fair Miss Luker, and, with an attempt to imitate the easy
manner of Mr. Danks, lounged across in her direction, but before
he reached her three of the young men had formed up defensively,
and Erb had to lean clumsily against the wall near to his short
sister and her new companion. Mr. Danks had placed a
footstool for Louisa.</p>
<p>“You are rather short,” explained the excellently
mannered footman.</p>
<p>“I stopped growin’ a purpose,” said Louisa,
kicking the footstool aside.</p>
<p>“You don’t resemble your sister at all.”</p>
<p>“Mustn’t let her hear you say that,”
remarked Louisa, “else she’ll be mad.”</p>
<p>“It’s been a very dull season in town,” said
Mr. Danks regretfully.</p>
<p>“Have you been away, then?”</p>
<p>“I suppose you get a good many engagements, Miss
Barnes? What I mean to say is, don’t you find it a
great tax? The demands of society seem to increase year by
year.”</p>
<p>“It’s some’ing awful,” agreed
Louisa. “I shall be out again—let me
see—”</p>
<p>“To-morrow night?”</p>
<p>“In about six weeks’ time, to a cantata at Maze <a
name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>Pond
Chapel. Scarcely gives you time to breathe, does
it?”</p>
<p>Alice perceived that her brother was growing moody in his
solitude, and brought up to him the French lady’s maid,
who, discovering that he had once spent a day at
Boulogne—conveyed to and fro by a free pass—talked to
him vivaciously on the superiority of her native country over all
others. The young woman at the pianoforte, aroused from a
brief nap, was ordered to play a schottische.</p>
<p>At this point the evening suffered a check. It was
Cook’s fault. Cook, fearing that the hours were not
moving with enough rapidity, suggested games; suggested also one
called the Stool of Repentance. Necessary for one person to
leave the room, and Mr. Danks being selected for this honour,
went out, and the others thereupon selected libellous statements,
of which Erb took charge.</p>
<p>“Come in, King Robert of Sicily,” called
Erb. Mr. Danks entered, and was ordered by Cook (hugging
herself with enjoyment) to take a chair in the centre of the
kitchen. “Someone says you’re
conceited.”</p>
<p>“That’s you,” said Mr. Danks pointing to
Alice.</p>
<p>“Wrong!” remarked Erb. “Someone says
all the gels laugh at you.”</p>
<p>“That’s you,” decided Mr. Danks, pointing at
Cook. Cook now convulsed with amusement.</p>
<p>“Wrong again! Someone says you can’t recite
for nuts.”</p>
<p><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
60</span>“I say,” urged Mr. Danks, wriggling on the
chair, “I’m as fond of a joke as anyone, but
really— That sounds like you, miss.” Louisa
shook her head negatively.</p>
<p>“You’re not lucky, old man. Someone says
you’ll never get married in all your life for the simple
reason that no one wants you.”</p>
<p>“That’s you this time, at any rate,” cried
Mr. Danks, with melancholy triumph. And, as Louisa it was,
the short young woman had to go out.</p>
<p>“Come in!” cried Erb, when the accusations had
been decided upon. “Some of ’em have been
making it warm for you, Louiser.”</p>
<p>“I’ll make it hot for them, Erb.”</p>
<p>“Someone says you’d be a fine looking gel if you
were twice as broad and three times as long.”</p>
<p>“Cook!” exclaimed Louisa.</p>
<p>Cook, slightly disappointed at this swift identification, made
her way out with a large sigh of regret at enforced
exercise. It was determined now to show more ingenuity, and
Cook had to knock two or three times ere permission could be
given for her return.</p>
<p>“Someone says,” remarked Erb, “that
you’re the finest woman in Eaton Square, bar
none.”</p>
<p>Cook laughed coquettishly. “That sounds like you,
Mr. Barnes.”</p>
<p>“No fear,” said Erb. “Someone says
that you’ll get engaged some day—”</p>
<p>“What nonsense!” interrupted Cook delightedly.</p>
<p><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
61</span>“If you only wear a thick veil over your
face.”</p>
<p>“Look here!” said Cook definitely.
“That’s enough of it. If I find out who said
that I shall make no bones about it, but I shall go straight
upstairs and complain to Lady Frances, so there now.”</p>
<p>“Someone says,” Erb went on, “that
you’ve got such an uncommon size mouth that it would take
three men and a boy to kiss you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to lose me temper,” said Cook
heatedly, and speaking with no stops, “and I’m not
going to but once I know who dared say that and I’ll go to
the County Court first thing to-morrow morning and take out a
summons against them people shan’t go saying just what they
like about me behind me back without having to prove every
single— No, no, I’m not getting cross nothing
of the kind but once I know who so much as dared—
It’s a silly stupid game and I can’t think why it was
ever suggested.”</p>
<p>They were going back to dancing after this unsuccessful essay,
when a quiet tap came at the door of the kitchen; and the
couples, standing up to begin, suddenly released each other, the
French lady’s maid crying humorously, “Ciel!
c’est mon mari!” Conversation ceased, and Cook
bustled forward and opened the door.</p>
<p>“May I come in, Cook, I wonder?”</p>
<p>“Why,” cried Cook; hysterical with delight,
“as though you need ask, my dear, I mean,
m’lady!”</p>
<p><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>It
seemed to Erb that the West End possessed some exceptional
forcing properties that made all of its young women grow
tall. He stood upright, as though on parade, unconsciously
following the lead given by the tightly collared men and by Mr.
Danks. As the very tall young woman went across the silent
room to the housekeeper his gaze followed her; he would have
given half his savings to have been permitted to assume a light,
unconcerned, and, if possible, a defiant manner.</p>
<p>“Do you know,” she said brightly, “that I
have not been down here since I was ten years old?”</p>
<p>“That’s twelve years ago, Lady Frances,”
said the housekeeper. The housekeeper adjusted a bow at the
white shoulders of the new arrival with an air of privilege.</p>
<p>“You sometimes used to let me bake things, didn’t
you, Cook?”</p>
<p>“I had to take care you didn’t eat
’em,” said Cook, admiring her from the opposite side
of the room. The strain on severe countenances around the
kitchen relaxed slightly. “The others,” added
Cook proudly, “don’t remember. It was before
their time, Lady Frances.”</p>
<p>“And now that I am here,” said Lady Frances,
“it seems that I am to spoil your party.” The
servants and their visitors murmured, “Oh, no!” in an
unconvincing way.</p>
<p>“What I thought was,” she went on brightly,
“that I might play to you.”</p>
<p><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
63</span>“We have taken the liberty,” said the
housekeeper, “of hiring a musical person.”</p>
<p>“But you will be glad of a rest,” said Lady
Frances, touching the pianiste on the hand and stopping her in a
yawn. “When I was at school at Cheltenham I used to
be rather good at dance music.” She turned suddenly
and looked down at Louisa. “Perhaps you
play?”</p>
<p>“Me?” echoed Louisa confusedly.
Louisa’s sister Alice lifted her eyes in silent appeal to
the fates. “I draw the line at a mouth
organ.” Her sister frowned at the ceiling.
“And even that I’m out of practice with.”
Louisa found her handkerchief in a back pocket, and with some
idea of hiding her confusion, rubbed her little nose
vigorously.</p>
<p>“I think you have dropped this,” said Lady
Frances, stooping.</p>
<p>“Oh, that’s only a bit out of this evening’s
newspaper. About my brother,” added the girl.</p>
<p>“Really! May I read it, I wonder.”</p>
<p>“Spell the words you can’t pronounce,” said
Louisa. The room waited. Erb shifted his feet and
endeavoured to look unconcerned.</p>
<p>“Are you— Are you Miss Spanswick,
then?” pleasantly and encouragingly.</p>
<p>“Am I Miss Spanswick?” echoed Louisa with despair
in her voice. “Give it ’old! <i>This</i>
is my brother’s name—Herbert Barnes—and,
consequently, my name is Barnes. Not Spanswick.”</p>
<p>“I see! tell me what can I play?”</p>
<p>“Play something you know,” advised Louisa.</p>
<p><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
64</span>“Rackham! please suggest something.”</p>
<p>“If it wasn’t troubling your ladyship,” said
Mr. Rackham, taking off the dictionary, “and putting you to
a great amount of ill-convenience, I should venture to
suggest—hem!—a set of quadrilles.”</p>
<p>Something in the playing, once the couples had persuaded
themselves to make up sets and to dance to such an august
musician, that had escaped the art of the hired pianiste.
An emphasis at the right place; a marvellous ability for bringing
the music of each figure to an end just as the dancing ceased, so
that there was no longer necessity for clapping of hands to
intimate that further melody was useless, or to go on dancing
with no music at all. For the next, Lady Frances played a
well-marked air for a new dance that had possessed town, and in
this Miss Luker gave up her partner and undertook to teach Erb,
who was not fully informed on the subject. It occurred to
Erb, as he tried to lift his foot at the appointed moment, and
prepared immediately afterwards to swing the agreeable upper
housemaid round by the waist, that although his partner had
modelled her style on that of the young woman seated at the
pianoforte, there existed between them a long interval.
Both had the same interested way of speaking, the same attention
in listening, but, with Miss Luker, there seemed to be nothing at
the back of the eyes. Erb, finding himself possessed with a
hope that Lady Frances might presently speak to him, tried to
compensate for this weakness <a name="page65"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 65</span>by telling Miss Luker, when they were
lifting one foot and swinging round at the far end of the
kitchen, that the title meant nothing to him, and that, for his
part, he preferred to mix with everybody on a common platform, to
which Miss Luker replied, “Ah! that’s because
you’re a railway man.” Presently, in one of
those sudden blanks of general talk that surprise the unwary, his
raised voice was heard to say,—</p>
<p>“—Consequence is that the few revel in luxury,
while the many—” He hesitated, and went on
floundering through the silence. “Whilst the many
’ave not the wherewithal to buy their daily
bread.”</p>
<p>The awkward silence continued, broken only by the music from
the pianoforte and the swishing of skirts.</p>
<p>“Erb,” said his sister Alice, frowning over Mr.
Danks’s shoulder, “remember where you are.”</p>
<p>“Exercise tack, my dear sir,” recommended the
butler. “Exercise tack.”</p>
<p>“Even visitors,” remarked the housekeeper
severely, so that the young woman at the pianoforte should hear,
“even visitors ought to draw the line somewhere. We
can’t help our opinions, but we can all stop ourselves from
expressing them.”</p>
<p>The music stopped, and the household looked rather nervously
towards the chair, with an endeavour to ascertain whether the
occupant had overheard the discordant remarks. To their
relief, she leaned engagingly back, and beckoned to Louisa.
Louisa, her head twitching with pride and agitation, <a
name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>went across
the floor, and stood swinging her programme round and round.</p>
<p>“You <i>can</i> play!” admitted Louisa.
“Where did you pick it up?”</p>
<p>“I want you to bring your brother over to me,”
said Lady Frances.</p>
<p>Quite useless for the kitchen to pretend that it was giving
its entire mind to the subject of refreshments. The
situation demanded their eyes and ears; they ate oblong pieces of
cake in a detached way, rather as though they were feeding
someone else; the housekeeper looked at Alice, and shook her head
desolately.</p>
<p>“I have been reading about you,” said Lady Frances
in her alert, interested way.</p>
<p>“Licker to me how these things get into the
papers,” he mumbled.</p>
<p>“I should be tremendously interested in life,”
said the girl, “if I occupied your position.
There’s something sporting about it.” She
looked at him intently, and he rubbed his nose under a vague
impression that it bore some defect. “I wish you the
best of good luck.”</p>
<p>“Then I shall have it,” said Erb. Alice
looked round the room triumphantly, as who should say, <i>Now</i>
we are scoring. “Not acquainted much with the
working-classes, p’raps, me lady?”</p>
<p>“To my regret, no!”</p>
<p>“They’re made up of all sorts,” went on Erb,
wishing that he dared to look at her white shoulders as she
looked at his face, “and for the most part <a
name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>they are very
easily led. It’s only now and again that you find one
step out of the common ruck.” He hesitated, seeing no
way out of the sentence except by a self-congratulatory exit.</p>
<p>“If I should ever want to see through Bermondsey,”
she said, clasping her knee, her head up attractively,
“will you be my guide?”</p>
<p>“It would be a proud moment,” said Erb. He
added, hastily, “For me, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Cook, shall I play one more, and then go back upstairs
and leave off bothering you?”</p>
<p>“The idea,” said Cook reproachfully; “the
idea, m’lady, of calling it botherin’ us.”</p>
<p>The others murmured polite sympathy with Cook’s view,
but when Lady Frances had played the four figures in a manner
that seemed to Erb quite without flaw, she said good-night,
giving a special word to Louisa that made the short girl redden
with delight; coming back to the doorway after Cook had seen her
out to say to Erb:</p>
<p>“Won’t forget your promise, will you?”</p>
<p>The dance finished at half-past eleven, and the yawning
pianiste went off to another engagement in Eccleston Street that
began at midnight and was to last until the hour of four.
The servants came up the steps of the area to see their visitors
go, Alice now so proud of her brother that she declined to
acknowledge the compliments of Mr. Danks, ignoring that
gentleman’s fervent assurance that she had been, as he
expressed it, the belle of the evening.</p>
<p><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
68</span>“Good-bye, Mr. Barnes,” said Miss Luker
fervently. She walked on a few steps with him.
“This evening will always, always remain in my mind as a
precious memory.”</p>
<p>“<i>I</i> shan’t forget it in a hurry.”</p>
<p>“Oh, thank you for those words,” whispered Miss
Luker.</p>
<p>“Don’t mention it.”</p>
<p>“But promise. You won’t think harshly of me,
will you?”</p>
<p>“As a matter of fact, I don’t suppose I shall
’ave time to think of you at all, ’arshly or
otherwise. To-morrow night there’s an important
meeting on, and—”</p>
<p>“But if you should want to write to me,” went on
Miss Luker, undeterred and looking back at the gossiping bunch of
visitors near the area entrance, “let me know and
I’ll send you some addressed envelopes. We live in a
censorious world, Mr. Barnes, and— Here comes your
young sister. Think of me at four o’clock every
afternoon, and I’ll promise to think of you.”</p>
<p>“Well, but,” protested Erb, “what’s
the use?”</p>
<p>“Bah!” said Miss Luker, with a sudden burst of
undisguised contempt, “I wouldn’t be a dunderheaded
man for anything.”</p>
<h2><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
69</span>CHAPTER IV</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> third round of deliveries was
finished, and, arrived at his last evening, Erb, coat and collar
off, washed away the traces of work in the stable pail with the
aid of some aggressive soft soap that seemed to have its own way
in everything. He had brought with him that morning a
parcel of private clothes, and just before going out with the six
o’clock turn, he had changed, and had handed in the
corduroy uniform. A relief to feel that he no longer wore
the brass buttons of servitude; of late they had seemed to
reproach him. He had driven round the Surrey side with the
air of a sporting gentleman taking out his own horse and trap;
the private clothes helped him to say his good-byes with dignity
to all, and especially to his old enemy, the van foreman.</p>
<p>“You <i>would</i> go on in your own tin-pot way,”
said the van foreman regretfully, “no matter what I
said. Your case ought to act as a warnin’.”</p>
<p>“To <i>you</i>?”</p>
<p>“I <i>should</i> ’ave thought,” said the van
foreman, with a wistful air, “after all that’s passed
between us we might as well part good friends, at any
rate.”</p>
<p>“Look here, old chap,” said Erb <a
name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
70</span>good-temperedly, “<i>I</i> tried to out you, and
<i>you</i> tried to out me; and you’ve got the best of
it. I don’t complain, but I’m not going to
pretend I’m on friendly terms with a man when I
ain’t.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I say,” retorted the van
foreman argumentatively. “You’ve got no
discretion.”</p>
<p>The manners of William Henry had about them a fine blend of
condescension; the lad came forward from the tail of the van and
sat on a hamper, big with news. He had been approached that
afternoon and informed that, consequent on the departure of Erb,
there would be some changes, and would he, William Henry, accept
the position of junior porter at fourteen shillings a week.</p>
<p>“I shall probably work on from that,” said William
Henry, “to some even higher position, and then on
again. See? And if ever you want a friend,
Erb—”</p>
<p>“I don’t let boys call me Erb. Mr. Barnes,
if you please.”</p>
<p>“If I’m a boy,” said William Henry
thoughtfully, “I don’t quite see where you’re
going to find your men. As I was a sayin’, if ever
you should be down in the gutter—and, mind you,
there’s unlikelier things than that—you come to
me. It may be in my power to ’elp you. And I
tell you what you can do for me in exchange. You might take
the van ’ome to the stables by yourself, so that I can run
round to Rotherhithe New Road and tell my young lady.”</p>
<p>“<i>Your</i> young lady!”</p>
<p><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
71</span>“And why not?” demanded William Henry with
some indignation. “We ain’t all like
you.”</p>
<p>It gratified Erb, as he parted his hair with an imperfect
pocket comb, and tried to make the obstinate wisp at the back of
his head remain flat, to think that he had the reputation of one
who exhibited no sort of weakness in regard to women; this came
in well with his profound attitude towards the world. He
had had a letter from the tall upper housemaid at Eaton Square,
to which he had sent no reply; indeed, the communication scarcely
demanded an answer, for it furnished only information in regard
to the weather, and a fervent hope that his health had not been
impaired by his presence at the dance; it would not have remained
in his memory but for one sentence, “Her young ladyship has
spoken of you once or twice.” An incomplete way of
conveying a fact: something, of course, to know that she had
referred to him, but it would have been more interesting to know
the precise terms. He flushed at the appalling thought that
she might have made some humorous comment on his behaviour.</p>
<p>Men balanced themselves on the edge of the kerb outside the
“Druid’s Arms,” and whilst a swollen-faced
cornet blared patriotic tunes at them from the opposite side in a
ferocious way that permitted of no argument, some of the youngest
tried to do a few steps of a dance. Two butchers, affecting
to be rivals, chaffed each other derisively in raucous voices,
one demanding to know how the <a name="page72"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 72</span>widow was, and, on the second man
replying incautiously, “What widder?” the first
explained that he referred to the widow of the man who bought a
joint at the second man’s shop last Saturday week. A
hoarse-voiced man sold cough tablets for the voice; a mild,
sightless old man, with bootlaces, had an eager little girl with
him, who cried shrilly and commandingly and unceasingly,
“Petronise the belind, petronise the belind, petronise
the—” Boys and girls thrust bunches of flowers
against the noses of passers by; a depressed woman cried,
“Twenty-four comic papers for a punny,” with a catch
in her voice that expressed regret at the small demand for
humour. Erb nodded to the uniformed men whom he recognised,
and, going into the bar, found his competitor Spanswick.
Always a short, stout man, Spanswick to-night had every sign of
his insufficient neck covered with white collar; Erb was pleased
to see that Spanswick’s tie had rucked up at the back.</p>
<p>Spanswick stopped suddenly in the remarks he was making to an
interested group who stood leaning over him in the manner of palm
trees, and, coming away, shook hands publicly and elaborately
with Erb, as men in the boxing ring salute their opponents.</p>
<p>“Feeling fit?”</p>
<p>“Never better,” said Erb. “How’s
yourself?”</p>
<p>“Bit of a cold,” said Spanswick with important
reserve; “but otherwise—”</p>
<p>If there is time, one would like to explain here <a
name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
73</span>Spanswick’s position amongst the men. It was
of that assured kind that newcomers do not dare to question, and
contemporaries have agreed to respect. If this ever
exhibited signs of waning, Spanswick would gather an audience
together and beat the bounds of the incident that had made him a
man to be treated with consideration, and the story had been
re-told so many times, and so many improvements and additions had
been made to it, that for the sake of true history the real facts
may as well be set down.</p>
<p>Spanswick had given way to drink. To say this meant
much, for at the time the limits set upon the consumption of beer
by many of the carmen was only that fixed by their own
capabilities. Spanswick’s case must have been
exceptional, and, indeed, he was so inclined, not so much to the
bottle, perhaps, as to the quart, that his appearance on the
morning following these carousals was truly deplorable: his
strong-minded wife taking these opportunities to damage his face,
with the eventual result that his van boy and his horse sneered
at him openly. Wherefore Payne and a man named Kirby and
another called Old Jim, decided, in the best interests of mankind
at large, and of Spanswick in particular, that some steps should
be taken, that it was for them to take these steps, and that the
following Friday evening (being pay day) was the time to be
selected. Payne’s idea was this. They would run
Spanswick to earth in one of his resorts, they would form a ring
(or as much of a ring as <a name="page74"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 74</span>three could make) around him, and by
wise counsel and urgent illustration force upon him a recognition
of the downward career that was his, and its inevitable
end. It took some time to arrive at this decision, because
Old Jim, who was not abreast of the times and of modern methods,
had a remedy that included the dropping of the patient in the
canal; whilst Kirby had another proposal. “Let us set
the teetotal chaps on him,” urged Kirby.
Payne’s scheme was adopted, and, the Friday night arriving,
the three, after they had finished work, had a shave and a wash,
and put on their best clothes (Payne himself wore a silk hat of
adequate age, but of insufficient size), and they set out
solemnly to take up their self-appointed duties.</p>
<p>“Now,” said Old Jim, “the likeliest place is
‘The World Turned Upside Down.’”</p>
<p>“Pardon me,” said Kirby, with the politeness that
comes with the wearing of Sunday clothes, “pardon me, but
‘The Chequers’ is his ’ouse.”</p>
<p>“I thought,” remarked Payne, “the ‘Dun
Cow’ was.”</p>
<p>“I’m prutty sure I’m right,” said Old
Jim.</p>
<p>“I’m jolly well certain you’re both
wrong,” declared Kirby with emphasis.</p>
<p>“Standing here all night arguin’,” decided
Payne, “won’t settle the matter. Let’s
make a start at one of them.”</p>
<p>Spanswick was not in “The World Turned Upside
Down,” but the three had a drink there, because it would be
notoriously a gross breach of <a name="page75"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 75</span>etiquette to go from a public-house
without ordering refreshment; to do this were to deride the
landlord openly, and insinuate libels on his stock. At the
next place the three went into each bar to make sure, and, having
money in their pockets, it seemed like doing the thing well and
completely to have a drink here in every bar, still discussing
the painful case of poor old Spanny, regretting deeply the curse
that liquor brought upon men who could not use it with
discretion.</p>
<p>“It’s good servant,” said Old Jim, raising
his glass and shutting one eye in order to see it clearly,
“but bad mas’er. That’s what I always
says about it. It’s a good mas’r,
but— What I mean to say is it’s a bad
servant—”</p>
<p>“Every man,” declared Kirby, attempting to slap
the counter, but missing it, “ought to know where to draw
line.”</p>
<p>“The chap who don’t,” agreed Payne,
“(You’re upsetting your glass, Jim, old
man)—the chap who don’t is like the beas’s of
field.”</p>
<p>“Worse!” said Old Jim.</p>
<p>“No, not worse!” urged Payne obstinately.</p>
<p>“Fight you for it,” offered Old Jim.</p>
<p>Kirby interfered and made peace, and throughout the evening,
wherever they went in search of Spanswick, it happened that some
two of the three were always quarrelling, whilst the third
endeavoured to appease and conciliate. They were on the
very edge of a triangular dispute in the last house of call when
Payne, sobering himself for a moment, <a name="page76"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 76</span>pointed out to the others that it was
closing time, and they must not go to bed without feeling that
something accomplished, something done, had earned a
night’s repose; necessary that they should proceed now with
as much directness as possible to Spanswick’s house, and
(if they found him) there deliver the calculated words of
warning, the prepared sentences of advice.</p>
<p>“’Ullo, old man,” said Payne, as the door of
Spanswick’s house opened. “Many ’appy
returns day.”</p>
<p>“What’s all this?” demanded Spanswick
coldly. “Brought anything with you in a
bottle?”</p>
<p>“We’ve brought good ’dvice,” said Old
Jim, seating himself on the sill. “How is it we
didn’t see you at any of the places?”</p>
<p>“The wife locked up me boots,” replied Spanswick
surlily. “That’s why. But surely one of
you’s got a bottle about him somewheres.
Search!”</p>
<p>“We want you, old chap,” said Payne, steadying
himself with a hand on either side of the doorway, “to give
up the drink. ‘Oh that man should put an en’my
into his mouth to steal out his brains.’ Chuck it, my
friend, chuck it, before it is too late. Shun the flowing
bowl, and save your money to buy harmonium with.”</p>
<p>“I’ll harmonium you,” said Spanswick
threateningly, “if you don’t all three of you make
yourselves precious scarce. How dare you come round here in
this disgraceful condition to annoy a sober, honest man? Go
to your ’omes and take an <a name="page77"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 77</span>example by me. I never saw such
a painful exhibition in all me life.”</p>
<p>“How was we to know you’d be sober?” asked
Kirby, swaying.</p>
<p>Spanswick emphasised the situation by remaining comparatively
sober for a week; a busy week in other ways, for he lost no
opportunity of reciting the incident of his own pure and heroic
action, establishing thus a concrete foundation for the building
up of a character that had never entirely disappeared.</p>
<p>(This is the story of carman Spanswick.)</p>
<p>One or two men standing at the zinc bar called on Erb to have
a drink, but Erb replied, “Afterwards,” and went up
the wooden staircase to the club room. There, on the
landing, men were consulting in undertones, which they changed
for much louder speech on seeing Erb, commencing to talk noisily
of contests with superiors whom they had, it appeared, worsted in
argument; of fresh young horses that required a somewhat similar
treatment; of trouble in regard to Shuts-up, to water allowances,
to Brought-backs, and other technical matters. A late
colleague of Erb’s introduced him to those who were
strangers, and Erb made quite a considerable effort to exhibit
friendly manners, until a South Western man, mistaking him for
Spanswick, told him some of the things that were being said about
young Barnes, whereupon Erb left and went into the club
room. In the club room tables had been arranged in
something of the shape <a name="page78"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 78</span>of a capital U, and at the base a
wooden hammer had been placed and a decanter and tumbler; sheets
of blue foolscap and scarlet blotting paper gave the room an
official, business-like appearance. Payne was there in
mufti as to coat, in uniform as to waistcoat and corduroy
trousers; he was to be proposed as Chairman, and he stood now
with his face to a Scotch whisky advertisement, his lips moving
silently; he nodded to Erb, and went on with his rehearsal.
Spanswick coming up with his <i>entourage</i>, took one of the
sheets of paper and, with the stump of a pencil, began to make
calculations which were audited, as he went on, by his
friends. A few of the men marked the special nature of the
proceedings by smoking cigars. The alert clock on the
mantelpiece struck the half-hour in a sharp, energetic way and
hurried on.</p>
<p>“I beg to move that Jack Payne do take the
chair.”</p>
<p>“I beg to second.”</p>
<p>“All in favour,” said the first voice.
“On the contrary? Carried unanimously and nem.
con. Jack” (turning to Mr. Payne), “in you
go.”</p>
<p>“In ordinary circs,” said Payne, after he had
taken the chair and had risen to some applause, “I’m
perfectly well aware that the proper course to pursue at an
affair like this is for the chair to call on the secretary to
read the minutes of the last meeting. I know that without
any of you telling me. But we’re in the position
to-night of not ’aving no secretary and not ’aving no
previous meetin’.”</p>
<p><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>The
heads around the table nodded agreement. A gloomy man
seated in the position that a vice-chairman might have occupied
half rose and said, “Mr. Chairman, sir,” and was at
once pulled back into his chair by those near him.</p>
<p>“I was never a man,” went on the Chairman, his
forehead damp with nervousness, “to what you may call force
me opinions on any body of men. ’Cepting once, and
that was at New Cross in ’89. I forget exactly what
it was about, and I forget who was there, and I forget what I
said, but the entire incident is quite fresh in my memory, and,
as I say, that was the only occasion on which—”</p>
<p>“Question, question,” cried the gloomy man at the
other end of the room. His neighbours hushed him into
silence.</p>
<p>“I’m coming to the question as fast as ever I
can. Few know better than me how to conduct a meeting of
this kind, although I say it p’raps as shouldn’t,
because it sounds like flattery, but it ain’t flattery,
it’s only the truth. I’ve had it said to me
over and over again, not once or twice, but many
times—”</p>
<p>“Mr. Chairman, reely,” said the gloomy man,
“I must call you to order. We shall never get the
business done this side of Chris’mas if—”</p>
<p>“Kindly sed down,” ordered Mr. Payne, in tones of
command, “or else resume your seat; one or the other.
It’s me,” tapping his waistcoat, “me, sir, that
calls people to order, not you.”</p>
<p>The gloomy man argued in a loud whisper with <a
name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>his
neighbours, and, on these counselling that he should simmer down,
sat back in his chair, surveying the ceiling, his lips closed
determinedly.</p>
<p>“First thing is shall we, being all of a trade, form a
separate society, or shall we jolly well do the other
thing? That’s the point. Now then, who’s
going to give us a start? You, my friend, of the Great
Eastern, down at the bottom of this left ’and table, you
seem to have a lot to say, p’raps we might give you ten
minutes and see whether or not there’s any sense in
you.”</p>
<p>The gloomy man affected deafness until this had been explained
to him by those sitting near, on which he told them rather
haughtily that he spoke when he liked, and not when he was called
upon.</p>
<p>“Then we must throw the ’andkerchief to somebody
else. Spanswick, you might set the ball a-rolling.
Don’t be longer than you can ’elp.”</p>
<p>Erb watched. The impression that his rival made now
would affect the later decision, and Erb could not help wishing
that Spanswick might prove halting in utterance and clumsy of
speech. Cheers greeted Spanswick; some of the men looked at
Erb, as they slapped the table with the palms of their hands to
see how <i>he</i> took it, and Erb remembered, just in time, to
join in the compliment. He recovered his hopefulness as
soon as Spanswick spoke, for he noted that his opponent started
with great rapidity of utterance, speaking also
overloudly—encouraging facts both. Spanswick was, of
course, urging that they should form a separate society, but <a
name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>he had no
arguments, only hurried expressions of his own opinion.
Erb, with his eyes on a sheet of foolscap paper, noticed that the
room relaxed its attention; the gloomy man had his watch out, and
was clearly preparing to shout at the appropriate moment,
“Time, time!” Spanswick halted and went over
one sentence twice, word for word. Then he stopped
altogether, and the silent room saw him endeavour to recall his
fleeting memory, saw him take from the inside pocket of his coat
the entire speech and laboriously find the place.</p>
<p>“Beg pardon,” cried the gloomy man, starting up,
“but is a member entitled to read—”</p>
<p>Spanswick, with now and again an anxious glance at Erb, read
the remainder of his speech in a shamed undertone. There
was but little cheering when he finished; he was called up again
because he had forgotten to move the resolution. Four men
competed for the honour of seconding this.</p>
<p>“Now then!” said the Chairman, with relish,
“let’s go on in a orderly manner. First thing
is, any amendment? No amendment? Vurry well,
then! Now, is there any further remarks? The subject
hasn’t been, if I may say so, thor’ly threshed out
yet, and if— Thank you! Friend Barnes will now
address the meeting.”</p>
<p>Erb rose with the slight nervousness that he always felt in
commencing a speech. He began slowly and quietly: the Great
Eastern man saw his chance for an interruption, and shouted,
“Let’s ’ear <a name="page82"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 82</span>you,” but Erb took no
notice. They were there, he said, to inaugurate a great
work, a work to which some of them had given a considerable
amount of care, and the scheme was so far advanced that he
thought he could place a few details before them for
consideration. There had been the grave question whether
they should join the general society of London carmen, or whether
they should form an independent society of their own.</p>
<p>“On a point of order, sir—” began the gloomy
man.</p>
<p>“If there is one man,” said Erb, raising his
voice, “in this room who is absolutely ignorant of order it
is our Great Eastern friend at the other end of the room. A
yelping little terrier that runs after a van doesn’t make
the van go faster.”</p>
<p>The room, now very crowded with uniformed men, especially near
the doorway, approved this, and the Great Eastern man first
looked round for support from his own colleagues, and, obtaining
none, began to take desperate notes as Erb went on.</p>
<p>“I can’t waste time over a man who can only
interrupt: I address myself to you. First, let me put my
friend Spanswick right on a small detail. He urged that we
should work quietly and secretly”—(cheers from
Spanswick’s supporters)—“I disagree! I
fail to see the usefulness of that. I think that all we do
should be fair and above board, and I say this because if you
combine, and let the railway companies see that you are
combining, you will be treated with greater respect. See <a
name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>what’s
happened in the case of my own late fellow carmen!
It’s true I was sacrificed, but let that pass; see what
advantages <i>they</i> got, just for the asking. They
got—”</p>
<p>Payne’s watch must have been suddenly affected, for he
allowed Erb to speak for more than the period of ten minutes; no
one complained; they were all too much interested. When
Erb, in a fiery peroration, appealed to them to extend the recent
action and make it general, with a strong reference to
individualism, which they did not understand, and about which Erb
himself was not quite sure, then the supporters of Spanswick
forgot their reticence and cheered with the rest.</p>
<p>“And I trust,” added Erb modestly and finally,
“that I ’aven’t took up too much of your
time.”</p>
<p>The resolution was carried.</p>
<p>“Now,” said the Chair, “if any of you
thought of standing me a drink, or even of ’aving one
yourself, p’raps you’ll seize the opportunity whilst
the waiters are in the room, and then we can shut them out whilst
we go on to the next bisness.”</p>
<p>“Erb!” cried Spanswick along the table,
“what’s yours?”</p>
<p>It was felt that this was a great piece of strategy on
Spanswick’s part, and Erb’s refusal counted nothing
for righteousness; one or two of Erb’s supporters shook
their heads to intimate that this was not diplomacy. The
waiters brought in japanned trays of glasses on their high,
outstretched palms, carrying change everywhere, in their pockets,
in <a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>their
tweed caps, in a knot in their handkerchiefs, in their
mouths. They completed their work in a few minutes and
went, obeying leisurely the Chairman’s imperious wave of
the hammer.</p>
<p>“We come, now,” said Payne loudly, “to what
I venture to term the principal item on the agender. That
is, the appointment of seceretary.” Both Erb and
Spanswick showed signs of puzzled astonishment.
“There’s no less than two suggestions that have been
’anded up: one is that we should ’ave a honery
seceretary, which I may explain for the benefit of some, means
one who will perform his services in a honery way: the other is
that we should ’ave a paid seceretary, which means that we
should have to plank down about a ’undred a year,
otherwise, two quid a week, and that’d cover his slight
travelling expenses. There’s a good deal,”
added the Chair impartially, “to be said on both sides,
and, at this stage of the proceedings, I don’t attempt to
dictate. This room’s a bit warmish, and if you
don’t mind me taking off my coat, why, I shall be more
comfortable than what I am at the present moment.”</p>
<p>The men around the table imitated example, and, hanging their
jackets on the backs of the chairs, addressed themselves to the
new subject.</p>
<p>“What?” said the Chair. “You woke up
again?”</p>
<p>“I should like to ask,” said the gloomy Great
Eastern man, ignoring this remark, “whether there’s
any sense in paying a ’undred pounds a year <a
name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>for a article
that we can get for nothing? That’s all I want to
know.”</p>
<p>“Argue the point, my good sir,” urged the Chair,
“argue in a speech.”</p>
<p>“I’ve said my say,” retorted the other
stubbornly.</p>
<p>“If it was the self-same article,” said the Chair,
shaking his hammer in a friendly way towards the Great Eastern
man, “then I should be with you. But is
it?” The shirt sleeves rested on the tables; the men
began to show renewed interest.</p>
<p>“I asked a plain question, I want a plain
answer!”</p>
<p>“Oh!” said the Chair, disgustedly, “you go
to—well, I won’t say where. You’ve got no
more idea of conducting a meeting than this ’ammer.
Why don’t someone prepose a resolution?”</p>
<p>“Beg—propose,” said a young man desperately,
“my friend Spanswick—honery sec’tary—new
society.”</p>
<p>“Beg second that,” jerked another youth.</p>
<p>“In view of the fac’,” said a South Eastern
man, half rising, “that if you want a thing done well you
ought to pay for it, I think we ought to ’ave a man
who’ll devote his whole energies to the work.
Therefore, I beg to suggest Erb Barnes
as—as—”</p>
<p>“Organisin’ secretary!” whispered a
neighbour.</p>
<p>“I second that vote—mean to say,
resolution.”</p>
<p>“Any other names?” asked the Chair.
“Very good then! Now, I shall ask these two chaps to
<a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>kindly
retire, in other words, to leave the room, so as to leave us free
to discuss—”</p>
<p>“Point of order occurs to me,” interrupted the
gloomy Great Eastern man acutely, “Can they leave the
room?”</p>
<p>The room watched Erb and Spanswick as the two made their way
behind the chairs to the doorway. Erb opened the door, and
motioned to Spanswick to go first, but Spanswick, not to be
outdone in politeness, declined absolutely, insisting that Erb
should take precedence, and when they decided to stop the display
of courtesy, both blundered out at the same moment. As they
closed the door behind them they heard several voices addressing
the chair.</p>
<p>“Ever gone in for scarlet runners?” asked
Spanswick. “I’ve only got a little bit of a
garden, but I suppose there isn’t another man in
Rotherhithe that grows the scarlet runners I do; people come from
far and near to see ’em. There’s a good deal of
art, mind you, in the stickin’ of ’em.
Sunflowers, too! I’ve had tremendous luck with my
sunflowers. I believe I could grow most anything in my
little back place if it wasn’t for the cats. Vurry
good plan of dealin’ with cats—”</p>
<p>Erb allowed his rival to make conversation whilst he himself
considered the importance of these moments that were
passing. He looked hard at a picture on the walls of the
landing, a picture representing a cheerful Swiss valley and
advertising Somebody’s Ginger Beer; the villagers held <a
name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>goblets
containing (presumably) this beverage, and toasted the
snow-topped mountains at the back. He forced himself to
recognise that his chances were small; unless he had made a
particularly good impression by his speech he had no chance at
all; he would have to commence to-morrow morning a round of calls
on master carmen and on contracting firms with the obsequious
inquiry, “You don’t ’appen to want a hand, I
s’pose?” and receiving the negative reply. He
had obtained a clean character from the Railway Company, and the
Chief had wished him good-luck, but the information that he was a
stirabout would fly round in advance of him, and all the best
places would be on the defensive. It might come to driving
a cheap coal van, otherwise known as working in the slate
business. There was an alternative even less agreeable to
think of. He knew one or two men who had just missed being
leaders of labour, who sometimes opened debates at Clubs, and
were paid fairly liberal expenses, who were sometimes approached
by the capitalists to stump through London in an endeavour to
lash working men into a state of indignation in regard to Foreign
Competition, Sugar Bounties, or the tyranny of Trades Unions, or
some other subject for which the capitalists had affection: these
men at times coalesced and, urged by a common jealousy, denounced
some prominent men of their own party, and found their names
mentioned in the opposition journals, the reporters of which
bribed them in order to obtain exclusive information of <a
name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>semi-public
meetings. Erb told the Swiss valley that it would be long
ere he came down to that.</p>
<p>“You take a spade,” exclaimed his companion,
“an ornery spade will do, and you dig it in the garden like
so, and what do you find? Why you find—”</p>
<p>Young Louisa would be disappointed too. Louisa had been
less successful since the servants’ dance at Eaton Square
in cloaking her admiration for her brother, and the last young
man had been dismissed with ignominy because he showed hesitation
in sacrificing his own views on political subjects and accepting
those held by Erb. If he had not already passed from the
memory of Lady Frances, she might perhaps inquire of Alice the
result of the meeting, and, hearing it, would smile agreeably and
push him away from her thoughts. To be shown through
Bermondsey by an official in the labour world would be one thing;
to be conducted by a grimy-faced carman was another. And
there was Rosalind—Rosalind—what was her other
name?</p>
<p>“Now, in regard to meenure,” said Spanswick
dogmatically, “the long and short of the matter is simply
this.”</p>
<p>He had found in Southampton Street, Camberwell, on the
previous day (being on the Surrey side round), a painted board on
a house announcing here, “Elocution and Public Speaking
Taught! Pupils prepared for the Dramatic Stage! Apply
within to Professor Danks!” and it then occurred to him
that this was the address given him by the <a
name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>footman in
Eaton Square. The front garden was filled with monumental
statues belonging to an undertaker next door, and engraved with
names and dates, tombstones which for some inexplicable reason
had not been used. He had gone up the uneven pavement from
the front gate to the door and had knocked there, but the door
being opened by the tall, bright-eyed girl, plainly and
economically dressed, and with a suggestion of care near to her
bright eyes, he had for some extraordinary reason, muttered
“Beg pardon. Wrong number!” and had stumbled
back to the gate, hot-faced with confusion. He knew that
his powers of speech lacked refinement, and one or two finishing
lessons would work miracles: he might perhaps learn how to
aspirate without the show of pain and anxiety that he exhibited
now when he endeavoured to observe the trying rule. The
bright-eyed girl, he remembered, had stood at the doorway looking
after him rather reproachfully.</p>
<p>“Of course,” said the injured voice of Spanswick,
“if it’s too much trouble for you to listen, why it
isn’t any use me talking.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he said absently. “Fact is, I
don’t take very much interest in gardening.”</p>
<p>“I was talking about poultry.”</p>
<p>“They both come under the same head,” remarked
Erb.</p>
<p>“I suppose, as a matter of fact, you’re pretty
keen on this ’ere job?”</p>
<p>“They’re a long time deciding,” said
Erb.</p>
<p><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
90</span>“I’ve been expectin’,” Spanswick
made circles on the landing with his right foot in a hesitating
way, “I’ve been expectin’ that you’d
approach me and ask me to withdraw from the contest.”</p>
<p>“What’d be the use of that?”</p>
<p>“Well,” said Spanswick in a mysterious whisper,
“you know what Shakespeare says?”</p>
<p>“He said a lot.”</p>
<p>“You’re a mere kid in these matters,”
remarked the other contemptuously, walking away to the other end
of the landing. “Haven’t you never ’eard
of buying off the opposition? In the present case, suppose
you was to say, ‘Spanny, old man, is twen’y-five bob
any use to you?’ and I should answer ‘Well, I could
do with it,’ and you paid the money over
’ere.” Spanswick held out one hand.
“And I said, ‘Well, now, come to think of it,
what’s the good of this job to me? I shan’t
make nothing out of it, unless it is a silver teapot for the
missus; I’ll withdraw my nomination and leave you a clear
field.’ See?”</p>
<p>“Upon my word,” exclaimed Erb indignantly,
“upon my word if you ain’t the
biggest—”</p>
<p>“Mind you,” interrupted the other, “I was
only putting a suppositious case.” The door of the
club room opened, and a voice said importantly, “Spanswick
and Barnes, this way, please.” They turned to
obey. “There y’are,” said Spanswick
reproachfully, “you’ve left it too late.”</p>
<p>Looking over the banisters, Erb saw that women-folk had
arrived, charged with the double duty <a name="page91"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 91</span>of listening to the coming concert
and of conveying their male relatives home at a reasonable
hour. Louisa’s white young face glanced up at him
with a twitch, and asked anxiously whether it was all over; Erb
replied that, on the contrary, it was just about to begin.</p>
<p>“Kindly take your former seats,” said the Chairman
importantly. The chattering room became quiet as the two
men entered, and Payne rapped with his hammer for silence.
“The voting has come out,” he went on, looking at
some figures on the sheet of foolscap before him, “the
voting has come out 29 on one side and 14 on the
other.”</p>
<p>The rattle of conversation recommenced.</p>
<p>“Less noise there, less noise!” cried the Chair
urgently. “I can’t ’ear meself
talk.”</p>
<p>“Wish we couldn’t,” remarked the Great
Eastern man from his end of the table.</p>
<p>“Be careful, my friend,” said the Chair
warningly. “Be careful, or else I shall rule you out
of order. I have the pleasure now of calling on my friend
Erb Barnes.” The room cheered. “Order,
please, for Erb Barnes.”</p>
<p>“What have I got to talk about?” demanded Erb.</p>
<p>“Talk about?” echoed the Chair amazedly.
“Talk about? Why, you’ve got to acknowledge in
a few appropriate words your appointment as paid organisin’
secretary of the Railway Carmen’s Society.”</p>
<h2><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
92</span>CHAPTER V</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">Erb</span> entered upon his duties with
appetite. The single office of the new society was a spare
room over a coffee tavern in Grange Road, and the first
disbursement was for the painting on the window in bold white
letters the full title of the society, with the added words,
“Herbert Barnes, secretary.” (Young Louisa went
five minutes out of her way, morning and evening, in order to see
this proclamation of her brother’s name.) To the
office came Erb promptly every morning at an hour when the
attendants at the coffee-room were on their knees scrubbing,
chairs set high on tables, and forms on end against the walls,
and the young women were a good deal annoyed by the fact that
Erb, in these circumstances, bestowed on them none of the chaff
and badinage which were as necessary to their existence as the
very air. When he had gone through the post
letters—the more there were of these the more contented he
was—and had answered them on post-cards, he went out,
fixing a notice on the door, “Back Shortly. Any
messages leave at Bar,” and hurried to some railway depot,
or some point where railway carmen were likely to congregate,
hurrying non-members into becoming members, passing the word
round in regard to public <a name="page93"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 93</span>meetings, hunting for grievances, and
listening always, even when some, with erroneous ideas of his
duties, requested advice in regard to some domestic trouble with
lodgers, or insubordination on the part of babes. All this
meant visits to Paddington, to Willesden, to Dalston, to Poplar,
to Nine Elms: it gave to him a fine sensation of ruling London
and, in some way, the thought that he was repairing errors made
by the Creator of the world. He came in contact with the
white-haired Labour member of Parliament, and watched his manner
closely; the Labour member invited Erb one evening to the House
of Commons, and Erb found that the Labour member had for the
House a style differing entirely from that which he used in other
places, measuring words with care, speaking with deliberation,
and avoiding all the colloquialisms and the jagged sentences that
made him popular when he addressed outdoor meetings. And as
all young men starting the journey through life model themselves
on some one who has arrived, Erb determined to acquire this
admirable alternative manner.</p>
<p>Thus it was that one Thursday evening he took courage by the
hand, and went Camberwell way to call again at the house where on
his previous visit he had made undignified departure because of a
pair of rather bright eyes. He thought of her with some
nervousness as he went down Camberwell New Road, and, putting
aside for a moment the serious matters, gave himself the joy of
reviewing his female acquaintances. He had just come to <a
name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>the sage
decision that different women exacted entirely different
tributes, some demanding reverence, others admiration, and others
something more fervent, when he found himself at the gate and the
uneven path between the monumental statuary that led to the door
of Professor Danks’s house. The street was one
affecting to make a short cut to Queen’s Road, Peckham, but
it did not really make a short cut; within its crescent form it
included new model dwellings of a violent red, elderly houses
with red verandahs, a Liberal Club, and a chapel. A part of
the road had undergone the process of being shopped, which is to
say that the long useless front gardens had been utilised, and
anxious, empty, unsuccessful young establishments came out to the
pavement, expending all their profits on gas, and making
determined efforts either by placard or minatory signs to
persuade the passers-by that business was enormous, and that it
was with difficulty that customers could be checked in their
desire to patronise. One had started with the proud boast,
“Everything at Sixpence-halfpenny,” and had later
altered the six to five, and the five to four; only necessary to
allow time, and there seemed some good prospect that the reckless
shop would eventually give its contents free. Erb pulled at
the bell handle, and it came out obligingly.</p>
<p>“Now you ’ave gone and done it,” said the
small servant who opened the door. “That’s
clever, that is. I suppose you get medals for doing tricks
like that? Well, well,” she continued fractiously, <a
name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>as Erb made
no reply, “don’t stand there like a great gawk with
the knob in your ’and. What d’you
want?”</p>
<p>“Might Professor Danks be in?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>“He might and he might not,” explained the small
servant. “He’s jest sleepin’ it off a bit
on the sofa.”</p>
<p>“Can I see anyone else?”</p>
<p>“Come in,” said the girl with a burst of
friendliness. “Never mind about wipin’ your
boots; it’s getting to the end of the week. You could
see <i>her</i> if you didn’t mind waiting till she’s
finished giving a lesson.”</p>
<p>“Shall I wait here in the passage?”</p>
<p>“Don’t disturb him,” whispered the girl,
“if I let you rest your weary bones in the back
room.” She opened the door of the back room
quietly. “<i>She’s</i> as right as rain,”
whispered the girl confidently, “but
<i>he</i>—” The girl gave an expressive wave of
the hand, signifying that the Professor was not indispensable to
the world’s happiness. Erb went in.
“I’d stay and chat to you,” she said through
the doorway, “only there’s my ironin’.
I’ve got the ’ole ’ouse to look after, mind
you, besides answering the front door.”</p>
<p>“Takes a bit of doing, no doubt.”</p>
<p>“You never said a truer word,” whispered the short
servant. “There’s pictures in that magazine you
can look at. If you want me, ’oller
‘Lizer!’ over the banisters.”</p>
<p>Professor Danks, asleep on the sofa, had the <a
name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span><i>Era</i>
over his face for better detachment from a wakeful world: the
paper was slipping gradually, and Erb, watching him over the top
of the book, knew that the eclipse would be over and the features
fully visible in a few minutes. Meanwhile, he noticed that
the Professor was a large, heavy man, with snowy hair at one end,
and slippers which had walked along muddy pavements at the other;
not a man, apparently, of active habits.</p>
<p>“I fear I shall never make anything of you,” her
decided voice came from the front room. “You
don’t pay attention. You don’t seem to remember
what I tell you.”</p>
<p>“Mustn’t be too harsh with my husband,
miss,” said a voice with the South London whine.
“We all have to make a beginning, don’t forget
that.”</p>
<p>“Now, sir. Once more, please, we’ll go
through this piece of poetry. And when you say the first
lines, ‘Give others the flags of foreign states,’
show some animation; don’t say the words casually, as
though you were talking of the weather.”</p>
<p>“You understand, miss,” interposed the
pupil’s wife, “that he’s made up the words out
of his own head.”</p>
<p>“I am sure of that,” with a touch of sarcasm.</p>
<p>“But, whilst he’s very clever in putting poetry
together, he is not so good—I’m speaking, Albert
dear, for your own benefit—he is not so good in reciting of
them. And we go out into Society a great deal
(there’s two parties on at New Cross only next month that
we’re asked to), and what I <a name="page97"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 97</span>thought was that it would be so nice
any time when an evening began to go a bit slow for me to say
casually, ye know, ‘Albert, what about that piece you made
up yourself?’ Then for him to get up and recite it in
a gentlemanly way.”</p>
<p>“Come now,” said the instructress,
“‘Give others the flags of foreign states, I care not
for them a jot.’”</p>
<p>“Of course,” interposed the wife again, “his
high-pitched voice is against him, but that’s his
misfortune, not his fault. Also you may think that
he’s left it rather late to take up with elocution.
If we’d ever had any children of our own—”</p>
<p>“I really think,” said the girl, “that we
must get on with the lesson. Now, sir, if you please.
‘Give others the flags.’”</p>
<p>The <i>Era</i> had slipped from the Professor’s red
face, and the swollen, poached-egg eyes moved, the heavy eyelids
made one or two reluctant efforts to unclose. The room, Erb
thought, looked as though it were troubled by opposing forces,
one anxious to keep it neat and keep it comfortable, the other
with entirely different views, and baulking these efforts with
some success. Erb saw the household clearly and felt a
desire to range himself on the side of order.</p>
<p>“Good evening,” he said, when the leaden eyelids
had decided to open. “Having your little nap,
sir?”</p>
<p>The Professor sat up, kneading his eyes and then rubbing his
white hair violently.</p>
<p><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
98</span>“I have been,” he said, in a voice that
would have sounded important if it had not been hoarse,
“making a brief excursion into the land of
dreams.” He clicked his tongue. “And a
devil of a mouth I’ve got on me, too.” He rose
heavily and went to a bamboo table where two syphons were
standing, tried them, and found they were empty. “A
curse,” he said, “on both your houses.”</p>
<p>“I’ve called about some lessons.”</p>
<p>“Lessons!” repeated the Professor moodily.
“That I, Reginald Danks, should be reduced to this!
I, who might have been at the Lyceum at the present moment but
for fate and Irving. How many lessons,” he asked with
a change of manner, “do you require, laddie?”</p>
<p>“I thought about six,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“Make it a dozen. We offer thirteen for the price
of twelve.”</p>
<p>“What would that number run me into? I want them
more for public speaking than anything else.”</p>
<p>“We shall do the whole bag of tricks for you,”
said the Professor, placing an enormous hand on Erb’s
shoulder, “for a mere trifle.”</p>
<p>“Who is ‘we?’”</p>
<p>“Rather should you say, ‘To whom is it that you
refer?’ In this self-appointed task of imparting the
principles of voice production and elocution to the—to the
masses,” the Professor seemed to restrain himself forcibly
from using a contumelious adjective, “I have the advantage
of valuable <a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
99</span>assistance from my daughter. Her system is my
system, her methods are my methods, her rules are my rules.
If at any time I should be called away on professional
business,” here the Professor passed his hand over his lip,
“my daughter, Rosalind, takes my place. What is your
age?”</p>
<p>Erb gave the information.</p>
<p>“Ah,” the Professor sighed deeply, “in
’74 I was with Barry Sullivan doing the principal towns in
a repertoire. No, I’m telling you a lie. It was
not in ’74. It was in the autumn of ’73.
I played Rosencrantz and the First Grave-digger—an enormous
success.”</p>
<p>“Which?”</p>
<p>“I went from Barry Sullivan to join the ‘Murderous
Moment’ Company, and that,” said the Professor,
striking his waistcoat, “was perhaps one of the biggest
triumphs ever witnessed on the dramatic stage. From that
hour, sir, from that hour I never looked back.”</p>
<p>The high-voiced pupil in the front room finished his lesson,
and his wife took him off with the congratulatory remark that he
promised well to make her relatives at forthcoming parties sit up
with astonishment. The Professor’s daughter, seeing
them both to the front door, remarked that her pupil would be
able to find his way alone the next time, whereupon the
pupil’s wife answered darkly, “Do you really think I
should let him go out?”</p>
<p>“Shall I settle with you?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>“My daughter Rosalind,” said the Professor <a
name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
100</span>regretfully, “insists, as a general rule, on
taking charge of the business side, but on this
occasion—”</p>
<p>“If that’s the rule,” interrupted Erb,
“don’t let’s break it. I don’t want
any misunderstanding about matters of cash.”</p>
<p>“There have been times in my life, sir, when money has
been as nothing to me. Will you believe that there was a
time in my professional career when I earnt twenty
guineas—twenty of the best—per week?”</p>
<p>“Since you ask me, my answer is
‘No.’”</p>
<p>“You are quite right,” said the Professor, and in
no way disconcerted. “Let us be exact in our
statements or perish. Not twenty guineas, twenty
pounds. But that,” he went on rather hurriedly,
“that was at a time when real acting, sir, was
appreciated. Nowadays they walk in from the streets.
Ee-locution is a lost art; acting, real acting, is not to be seen
on the London boards. If you have a cigarette about you, I
can get a light from the fireplace.”</p>
<p>Erb acted upon this hint, and listened for the girl’s
voice.</p>
<p>“Her mother,” went on the Professor, puffing at
the cigarette, and then looking at it disparagingly, “her
mother before she fell ill—mind, I’m not
complaining—was perhaps, without exception, the most
diversified arteest that ever graced the dramatic stage.
Ingénue, old woman, soubrette, nothing came amiss to
her. That was the difference <a name="page101"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 101</span>between us—she liked
work. And when, just before the end, when I’d been
out of engagement for some time, she had an offer for the pair of
us, two pounds ten the couple, such was her indomitable spirit
that she actually wanted to accept it. But I said
‘No.’ I put my foot down. I admit,”
said the Professor genially, “that I lost my temper with
her. I told her pretty definitely that I had made up my
mind—”</p>
<p>“Your <i>what</i>?” inquired Erb.</p>
<p>“That poverty I could face, dee-privation I could
endure, hunger and thirst I could welcome with o-pen arms, but a
contemptuous proposition such as this I could not, should not,
and would not tolerate. I repeated this,” added the
Professor with a fine roll and a sweep of the left hand,
“at the inquest.”</p>
<p>“You’re a nice one, I don’t think,”
said Erb critically. “How is it they let you live
on?”</p>
<p>“Laddie,” said the Professor, tearfully, “my
life is not an enviable one even now. My own
daughter—Soft!—she comes.”</p>
<p>It occurred to Erb later that in his anxiety to show himself a
careless, self-possessed fellow, he rather overdid it, presenting
himself in the light of one slightly demented. He nodded
his head on formal introduction by the Professor, hummed a
cheerful air, and, taking out a packet of cigarette papers, blew
at one, and recollecting, twisted the detached slip into a
butterfly shape and puffed it to the ceiling. The girl
looked at him, at her father, then again at <a
name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>Erb.
She had a pencil resting between the buttons of her pink blouse,
and but for a slight contraction of the forehead that is the
public sign of private worry, would have been a very
happy-looking young person indeed.</p>
<p>“A would-be student,” said her father with a proud
wave of the hand towards Erb, as though he had just made him,
“a would-be student, my love: one anxious to gain at our
hands the principles of voice pro-duction and
ee-locution.”</p>
<p>“When do you propose to begin, sir?” she asked,
limping slightly as she went to a desk.</p>
<p>“Soon as your father’s ready, miss.”</p>
<p>“I have heard you speak in the park.”</p>
<p>“Most people have!” replied Erb, with a fine
assumption of indifference.</p>
<p>“I’ll just register your name, please.”</p>
<p>“Our sys-tem,” said the Professor oracularly, as
Erb bent over her and gave the information (there was a pleasant
warm scent from her hair), “is to conduct everything in a
perfectly businesslike manner. I remember on one occasion
Mr. Phelps said to me, ‘Danks, my dear young friend, never,
never—’ My dear Rosalind, give me the
word. What was it,” the Professor tapped his large
forehead reprovingly, “what was it I was talking
about?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it matters, father. You pay
in advance, please,” she said to Erb. “Thank
you. I’m not sure that I have sufficient change in
the house.”</p>
<p><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
103</span>“I will step down the road,” suggested the
Professor with a slight excess of eagerness, “and obtain
the necessary—”</p>
<p>“No, father.”</p>
<p>“Think I’ve got just enough silver,” said
Erb.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.”</p>
<p>Good to be called Mister, better still to find it accompanied
by a smile of gratitude that somehow also intimated comradeship
and a defensive alliance against the ingenious Professor.
The Professor, affecting to examine a pimple on his chin at the
mirror, looked at his daughter’s reflection in an appealing
way; but she shook her head quickly. The Professor sighed
and, turning back the cuffs of his shirt, put on an elderly
velvet jacket.</p>
<p>“I have some work to do downstairs,” she said,
with a curt little bow to Erb. “You will excuse
me.”</p>
<p>“Only too pleased, miss,” he said
blunderingly.</p>
<p>“Father, you will give Mr. Barnes an hour, please, in
the front room. I will come up when the time
is—”</p>
<p>“Then I needn’t say good-bye,” remarked Erb
gallantly.</p>
<p>The Professor in the front room declaimed to the new pupil a
passage from the “Merchant of Venice,” from the
centre of the carpet, and then invited him to repeat it, which
Erb did, the Professor arresting him at every line, correcting
the accent with acerbity and calling attention to the aspirates
with something like tears. “Why don’t <a
name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>you speak
naturally, sir?” demanded the Professor, hitting his own
chest with his fist, “as I dew?” At the end of
twenty minutes, when the Professor had furnished some really
valuable rules in regard to the artifices of voice production, he
gave a sudden dramatic start, and begged Erb for pity’s
sake not to tell him that the day was Thursday and the hour
half-past seven. On Erb admitting his inability to give him
other information without stepping beyond the confines of truth,
the Professor strode up and down the worn carpet in a state of
great agitation, declaring that unless he were in the Strand by
eight fifteen, or, at the very latest, eight twenty that evening,
he would, in all probability, lose the chance of a lifetime.</p>
<p>“What am I to do?” he asked imploringly.
“I appeal to you, laddie? Show me where duty
calls?”</p>
<p>On Erb suggesting that perhaps Miss Rosalind would finish the
lesson, the Professor shook him warmly by both hands and ordered
heaven in a dictatorial way to rain down blessings on the head of
his pupil. One difficulty remained. Time pressed, and
every moment was (in all probability) golden. Could Mr.
Barnes, as an old friend, oblige with half a—no, not half a
crown, two shillings. The Professor, in the goodness of his
heart, did not mind four sixpences, and hurrying out into the
passage, struggled into a long brown overcoat of the old
Newmarket shape, took his soft hat, and, having called over the
banisters to his daughter to favour <a name="page105"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 105</span>him with a moment’s
conversation, bustled through the passage whispering to Erb,
“You can explain better than I,” and going out,
closed the door quietly. There were signs of flour on the
girl’s plump arms as she came up; she rolled down the
sleeves of the pink blouse as she entered the front room.
Her forehead contracted as she listened.</p>
<p>“How much did he borrow?” she asked, checking a
sigh.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” replied Erb boldly.</p>
<p>“Two shillings or a half a crown?”</p>
<p>“But I couldn’t possibly think for a
moment—” he began protestingly.</p>
<p>“I wish you had,” she said. “Take it,
please. I don’t want father to run into debt if I can
help it.”</p>
<p>“Makes me feel as though I’m robbing
you.”</p>
<p>“Do you know,” said Miss Rosalind, with not quite
half a smile, “it makes me feel as though I were being
robbed. Let us get on with the lesson, please; I have
another pupil coming at half-past eight.” Erb, for a
hot moment, was consumed with unreasonable jealousy of the next
pupil. “She is always punctual,” added
Rosalind, and Erb became cooler. “Take this book,
please, and read aloud the passage I have marked.”</p>
<p>There were faded photographs on the mantelpiece of ladies with
exuberant smiles, calculated to disarm any criticism in regard to
their eccentric attire, their signatures sprawled across the
lower right hand corner, “Ever yours most
affectionate!” A frame that had seen stormy days
outside provincial <a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
106</span>theatres hung on the wall with the address of its last
exhibition half rubbed off. Erb as he listened to the
girl’s serious corrections and warning, guessed that the
half-dozen portraits it contained were all of Rosalind’s
mother; they ranged from one as Robinson Crusoe with a white muff
to a more matronly representation of (judging from her hat) a
designing Frenchwoman holding a revolver in one hand, and clearly
prepared to use this. In another she was fondling a child,
whose head and face were almost covered by a stage wig, and the
child bore some far-away resemblance to the present
instructress. On Rosalind limping across the room to place
on the fire an economical lump of coal, Erb framed an expression
of sympathy; common-sense most fortunately gagged him.</p>
<p>“You left school when you were very young?” said
the girl, looking over her shoulder from the fireplace.</p>
<p>“Pawsed the sixth standard when I was—”</p>
<p>“Oh, please, please! Don’t say
pawsed.”</p>
<p>“I passed the sixth standard when I was twelve, because
I had to. Father was Kentish born, mother
wasn’t. Both died in the”—Rosalind put
her hands apprehensively to her ears—“in the hospital
in one week, both in one week, and I had to set to and get shot
of the Board School and go out.”</p>
<p>“As?” she asked curiously.</p>
<p>“As chief of the Transport Department to the principal
railway companies,” said Erb glibly, “and <a
name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>personal
friend, and, I may say, adviser to his Royal—”</p>
<p>“We will proceed,” said Rosalind, haughty on the
receipt of sarcasm, “with the lesson, please. There
is much to be done in the way of eradicating errors in your
speech.”</p>
<p>The reliable lady pupil due at eight thirty spoilt her record
by arriving half an hour late. Thus, when Erb’s
lesson was finished and the clock on the mantelpiece gave the
hour in a hurried asthmatic way, there was still time for polite
conversation on a variety of topics; the house, Erb discovered,
was not theirs, they only occupied furnished apartments; they had
lived in many parts of London, because, said Rosalind cautiously,
the Professor liked a change now and again. Erb backed
slowly towards the door as each subject was discussed, anxious to
stay as long as possible, but more anxious still to make his exit
with some clever impressive final remark. He found her book
of notices, and insisted politely on reading the neatly pasted
slips cut from the “Hornsey Express,” the
“South London Journal,” the “Paddington
Magpie,” and other newspapers of repute, which said
“Miss Rosalind Danks in her recitals made the hit of the
evening, and the same may be said of all the other artists on the
programme.” That “Miss R. Danks, as our
advertisement column shows, is to give An Evening with the Poets
and Humorists at our Town Hall on Thursday evening. We wish
her a bumper.” That “Miss Rosalind
Danks’s <i>naïveté</i> of manner and <a
name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>general
<i>chic</i> enabled her in an American contribution to score a
terrific ‘succés d’estime.’ She
narrowly escaped an enthusiastic <i>encore</i>.” That
“Miss Danks lacks some of the charms necessary for a good
platform appearance—”</p>
<p>“I’d like to argue the point with the man who
wrote that,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“They have to fill the paper with something,”
remarked Miss Rosalind.</p>
<p>“For a good platform appearance, but she has a
remarkably distinct enunciation, and some of her lines could be
heard almost distinctly at the back of the hall.”
That “Miss Danks comes of a theatrical stock, and her
father is none other than the celebrated Mr. Reginald Danks,
whose Antonio still remains in the memory of the few privileged
to witness it. Mr. Reginald Danks informs us that he has
had several offers from West End theatres, but that he has some
idea of going in for management himself as soon as a convenient
playhouse can be secured. Of this, more anon.”</p>
<p>It was natural when Erb had looked through these notices that
he should find in his pocket two or three copies of a small
poster advertising a lecture by him on the forthcoming Sunday
evening, at a hall in Walworth Road. “Mr. Herbert
Barnes,” said the poster loudly, adding in a lower voice,
“Organising Secretary Railway Carmen’s Union, will
speak on The Working Man: What Will Become of Him? No
collection. Discussion invited.” Erb gave Miss
Rosalind one of these as <a name="page109"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 109</span>a present, and then said,
“Well now, I must be off,” as though he had been
detained greatly against his will.</p>
<p>And here it was that Erb made one of those mistakes of
commission which the most reliable of us effect at uncertain
intervals. He took up the photograph of a fur-coated young
man, clean-shaven face, thin lips, and not quite enough of
chin.</p>
<p>“And who,” asked Erb pityingly, “who might
this young toff be?”</p>
<p>“He is stage manager,” she said rather proudly,
“to a company touring in the provinces. Plays
too.”</p>
<p>“Relation?”</p>
<p>“Not yet,” said Rosalind.</p>
<p>As Erb blundered through the passage Rosalind warned him to
attend to the home-work she had given him to do, and to come
promptly to his next lesson; she held the door open until Erb
went out of the gate, a new politeness which he acknowledged by
lifting his hat. He had never lifted his hat to a lady
before, and had always smiled contemptuously when he had seen
gallant youths performing this act of respect. To atone for
this retrograde movement he ran against the tardily-arriving lady
pupil, and went on without apology. The lady pupil
ejaculated, “Clown!” and Erb felt that he had righted
himself in his own estimation.</p>
<p>He looked about him as he walked up the crowded pavement
towards the Elephant and Castle, because it was always one of his
duties to recognise <a name="page110"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 110</span>the railway vans.
Disappointment clouded his eyes: he blamed himself for so far
forgetting the principal duty of his life as to waste time on
unremunerative investments. This was why he missed a
Brighton goods van standing with its pair of horses near a large
shop in Newington Causeway; the van boy reported Erb’s
negligence to his mate when he returned, and this coming on the
top of other annoying circumstances, the Brighton man said to
himself, “This shall be chalked up against you, young
Erb.”</p>
<p>Erb reached Page’s Walk, having tried ineffectually to
walk himself into a good humour, and found Louisa with a round
spot of colour high up on either cheek, looking out of the window
of the model dwellings and hailing him excitedly.</p>
<p>“Put that ’ead of yours in,” he
counselled. “You’ll go and catch
cold.”</p>
<p>“You won’t catch much,” retorted Louisa,
“if you don’t arrange to be on ’and when
wanted. ’Urry upstairs, I’ve got something to
tell you that can’t be bawled.”</p>
<p>Erb ran up the stone stairs, and Louisa met him at the door of
the sitting-room, her eyes bigger than ever with the
importance. The room had a slight perfume of violets.</p>
<p>“Who d’you think’s been
’ere?”</p>
<p>“Tell us,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“But guess,” begged Louisa, enjoying the power
that was hers.</p>
<p>“Can’t guess.”</p>
<p><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
111</span>“Lady Frances,” said Louisa, in an
impressive whisper.</p>
<p>“Well,” remarked Erb curtly, “what of
it?”</p>
<p>“What of it? Why, she wanted you to show her over
Bermondsey, and she waited here upwards of a hower, chatting away
to me like anything.”</p>
<p>“Any other news?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Louisa reluctantly, “but nothing
of much importance. Letter from Aunt Emma; she’s
coming up soon. Oh, and a man called to say there was
trouble brewin’ at Willer Walk, and would you see about it
as soon as possible.”</p>
<p>“<i>Now</i>,” remarked Erb elatedly,
“<i>now</i> you’re talking.”</p>
<h2><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
112</span>CHAPTER VI</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> particular blend of trouble
which Willow Walk was occupied in brewing proved highly
attractive to Erb, and one that gave to all the men concerned a
taste of the joys that must have come in the French
Revolution. A few impetuous young spirits who had been
brooding on grievances since the days when they were van boys
were responsible. Erb recognised that here was the first
opportunity of justifying his appointment. Warned, however,
by the example of other organisers within memory, who had
sometimes in similar experiments shown a tendency to excess, Erb
took care. He wrote letters to the General Manager, letters
for which he received a printed form of acknowledgment and no
other, he wrote to the Directors, and received a brief reply to
the effect that they could not recognise Mr. Herbert Barnes in
the matter, and that the grievances of the staff concerned only
the staff and themselves; the men were bitterly annoyed at this,
but Erb, because he had anticipated the reply, showed no
concern. He worked from dawn near to dawn again, sending
letters to members of Parliament, going round to the depots of
other railways, attending meetings, and in many ways devoting
himself to the work of what he called <a name="page113"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 113</span>directing public opinion. In
point of fact, he had first to create it. For a good
fortnight he gave up everything to devote himself to this one
object, gave up everything but his lessons in Camberwell.
One of the halfpenny evening papers said, amongst other things,
“Mr. Herbert Barnes made an impassioned but logical and
excellently delivered speech.” Erb knew the
deplorable looking man with a silk hat of the early seventies who
had reported this, but that did not prevent him from being highly
gratified on seeing the words in print; Louisa spent
eighteenpence on a well-bound manuscript book, and in it
commenced to paste these notices. The point at issue being
that the men demanded better payment of overtime, Erb found here
a subject that lent itself to oratorical argument; the story of
the man who was so seldom at home that one Sunday his little girl
asked the other parent, “Mother, who’s this strange
man?” never failed to prove effective, and Erb felt
justified in leaving out the fact that the carman in question was
one accustomed, when his work finished at night, to go straight
from the stables to a house in Old Kent Road, where he usually
remained until the potman cried “Time! gentlemen,
time!”</p>
<p>The men had sent in their ultimatum to the head office, and
had held their last meeting. The Directors had remained
adamant on the question of receiving Erb as spokesman, and the
men, not having an orator of equal power in their ranks, and
fearful of being worsted in a private interview, had <a
name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>insisted
either that Erb should accompany the deputation or that there
should be no deputation at all, but only a strike on the
following Monday morning. (The advanced party protested
against the idea of giving this formal notice of an unlikely
event but Erb insisted and the moderates supported him.
“If we can get what we want,” argued the moderates,
“by showing a certain amount of what you may call bluff, by
all means let us stop at that.”)</p>
<p>It gave Erb a sensation of power to find that not one of these
uniformed men in their brass-bound caps was strong-minded enough
or sufficiently clear of intellect to carry out any big scheme by
himself; they could only keep of one mind by shoring each other
up, and he felt that he himself was the one steady, upright
person who prevented them all from slipping. He not only
kept them together, but he guided them. A suggestion from
him on some minor point of detail, and they followed as a ship
obeys the helm; if any began a remark with doubting preface of
“Ah, but—” the others hushed them down and
begged them to have some sense. Erb had made all his plans
for the possible stop of work; the other stations and depots were
willing to contribute something infinitesimal every week with
much the same spirit that they would have paid to see a wrestling
match. All the same, Erb showed more confidence than he
felt, and when he left the men, declining their invitation to
drink success to the movement (clear to them that Fortune was a
goddess only to be appeased and gained over by <a
name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>the pouring
out of libations of mild and bitter), he took cheerfulness from
his face, and walked, his collar up, along Bermondsey New Road to
call for his young sister at her workshop. The sellers on
the kerb appealed to him in vain, a shrill-voiced little girl
thrust groundsel in his face, and he took no notice. Gay
bunches of flowers were flourished in front of his eyes, and he
waved them aside. If the men went weak at the knees at the
last moment it would be deplorable, but it would be an incident
for which he could not blame himself; if he himself were to make
some blunder in the conduct of the negotiations it would be fatal
to his career, and all other secretaries of all other
organisations would whisper about it complacently.</p>
<p>“Anxious times, my girl,” said Erb to
Louisa. “Anxious times. We’ll have a
tram-ride down to Greenwich and back, and blow dull care
away.”</p>
<p>“I’ve just finished,” said Louisa in a
whisper. “I’ll pop on me hat, Erb, and be with
you in ’alf a moment.”</p>
<p>“What’s become of your voice?”</p>
<p>“Mislaid it somewhere,” said his young sister
lightly. “Can’t think for the life of me where
I put it last.”</p>
<p>“This work’s beginning to affect your
chest,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“Funny thing,” remarked Louisa, with great good
temper, halfway up the wooden stairs of the workshop, “but
my medical man ordered me carriage exercise. Shan’t
be two ticks.”</p>
<p><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>When
Louisa returned, stabbing her hat in one or two places before
gaining what seemed to be a satisfactory hold, she was
accompanied by giggling young women who had been sent by the rest
as a commission to ascertain whether it was Louisa’s own
brother or some other girl’s brother who had called for
her; Louisa’s own statement appearing too absurd to have
any relationship to truth. Moreover, presuming it were
Louisa’s young man who had called for her, it was something
of a breach of etiquette, as understood by the girls of the
workshop, for one young couple to go out alone, the minimum
number for such an expedition being four, in which case they
talked not so much to their immediate companion as to the other
half of the square party, with whom they communicated by
shouting. Having ascertained, to their surprise, that
Louisa had spoken the exact and literal truth, they saw the
brother and sister off from the doorway, warning Louisa to wrap
up her neck, and begging Erb to smile and think of something
pleasant.</p>
<p>“Never mind their chaff,” said Louisa, in her deep
whisper. “I’d a jolly sight rather be going out
a bit of an excursion with you than I would with—well,
<i>you</i> know.”</p>
<p>“Wish you hadn’t lost your voice,” said Erb,
with concern. “I don’t like the sound of it, at
all.”</p>
<p>“There’s some girls in our place never get it
back, and after about four or five years of it—Don’t
cross over here.”</p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
117</span>“He makes my ’ead ache,” said Louisa
promptly. “I’ve only been going out with him
for a fortnight, and I know all what he’s going to say as
though I’d read it in a printed book. He talks about
the weather first, then about his aunt’s rheumatics, then
about the day he had at Brighton when he was a kid, then about
where he thinks of spendin’ his ’oliday next year,
then about how much his ’oliday cost him last
year—” A mild gust of wind came and struck
Louisa on the mouth; she stopped to cough, holding her hand the
while flat on her blouse.</p>
<p>“Keep your mouth shut, youngster,” advised Erb
kindly, “until you’ve got used to the fresh
air.”</p>
<p>Because both brother and sister felt that in sailing down to
New Cross Gate on the top of a tram, and then along by a line
less straight and decided to Greenwich they were escaping from
worry, they enjoyed the evening’s trip. Going through
Hatcham, Louisa declared that one might be in the country, and
thereupon, in her own way, declared that they were in the
country, that she and her brother had been left a bit of money,
which enabled her to give up work at the factory and wear a fresh
set of cuffs and collars every day: this sudden stroke of good
fortune also permitted Erb to give up his agitating rigmarole
(the phrase was Louisa’s own, and Erb accepted it without
protest), and they had both settled down somewhere near Epping
Forest; Erb, as lord of the manor, with the vicar of the parish
<a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>church
for slave, and Louisa as the generous Lady Bountiful, giving
blankets and home-made jam to all those willing to subscribe to
Conservative principles. They had a stroll up the hill to
Greenwich Park, Lady Louisa forced to go slowly on account of
some aristocratic paucity of breath, and Sir Herbert, her
brother, playing imaginary games of golf with a stick and some
pebbles, and going round the links in eighty-two. At the
Chalet near the Blackheath side of the park they had tea,
Louisa’s insistence on addressing her brother by a full
title astonishing the demure people at other wooden tables,
puzzling them greatly, and causing, after departure, acrimonious
debate between husbands and wives, some deciding that Erb and
Louisa were really superior people and others making reference to
escapes from Colney Hatch. Louisa, delighted with the game
of fooling people, darted down the hill, with Erb following at a
sedate trot; she stopped three parts of the way down, and Erb
found her leaning against a tree panting with tears in her
eyes. These tears she brushed away, declaring that
something had come to her mind that had made her laugh
exhaustedly, and the two went on more sedately through the open
way at the side of the tall iron gates, happier in each
other’s company than in the company of anyone else, and
showing this in the defiant way with which some people hide real
emotions.</p>
<p>“<i>You’re</i> a bright companion,” said
Louisa satirically, as the tram turned with a jerk at the foot <a
name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>of
Blackheath Hill. “You ’aven’t made me
laugh for quite five minutes.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking, White Face.”</p>
<p>“My face isn’t white,” protested his sister,
leaning back to get a reflection of herself in a draper’s
window. “I’ve got quite a colour.
Besides, why don’t you give up thinking for a bit?
You’re always at it. I wonder your brain—or
whatever you like to call it—stands the tax you put on
it.”</p>
<p>“You’d be a rare old nagger,” said Erb,
hooking the tarpaulin covering carefully and affectionately
around his sister, “if ever anybody had the misfortune to
marry you. It’d be jor, jor, jor, from morning, noon,
till night.”</p>
<p>“And if ever you was silly enough to get engaged,
Erb. That’s Deptford Station down there,” said
Louisa, as the tram stopped for a moment’s rest.
“I used to know a boy who’s ticket collector
now. He got so confused the other day when I come down here
to go to a lecture that he forgot to take my ticket.”
She laughed out of sheer exultation at the terrifying powers of
her sex. “Take my advice, Erb, don’t you never
get married, even if you are asked to. Not even if it was
young Lady Frances.”</p>
<p>“Young idiot,” said Erb. “Think I ever
bother my head about such matters? I’ve got much more
important work in life. This business that I’ve got
on now—”</p>
<p>“Our girls are always asking about you,” said
Louisa musingly. “It’s all, ‘Is he
engaged?’ <a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
120</span>‘Does he walk out with anybody?’
‘Is he a woman ’ater?’ and all such
rot.”</p>
<p>Erb looked down at the traffic that was speeding at the side
of the leisurely tram and gave himself up for a while to the
luxury of feeling that he had been the subject of this
discussion. He thought of his young elocution teacher, and
wondered whether he had any right to accept this position of a
misogynist when he knew so well that it was made by adverse
circumstances and the existence of a good-looking youth with an
unreliable chin and his hair in waves. The driver below
whistled aggrievedly at a high load of hops that was coolly
occupying the tram lines; the load of hops seemed to be asleep,
and the tram driver had to pull up and whistle again. In a
side road banners were stretched across with the word
“Welcome,” signifying thus that a church bazaar was
being held, where articles could be bought at quite six times the
amount of their real value. A landau, drawn by a pair of
conceited greys, came out of the side street, with a few children
following and crying, “Ipipooray!” the proud horses
snorted indignantly to find that they were checked by a bucolic
waggon and a plebeian tram. A young woman with a scarlet
parasol in the landau looked out over the door rather
anxiously.</p>
<p>“It’s her ladyship,” cried Louisa, clutching
Erb’s arm.</p>
<p>“Good shot,” agreed Erb.</p>
<p>“If only she’d look up and recognise us,”
said <a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
121</span>Louisa. The other people on the tram began to
take an interest in the encounter, and Louisa’s head
already trembled with pride.</p>
<p>“She wouldn’t recognise us.”</p>
<p>“Go on with you,” contradicted his sister.</p>
<p>Louisa was afflicted with a sudden cough of such eccentric
timbre that some might have declared it to be forced.
People on the pavement looked up at her surprisedly, and Lady
Frances just then closing her scarlet parasol, for the use of
which, indeed, the evening gave but little reason, also glanced
upwards. Erb took off his hat and jerked a bow, and Louisa
noticed that the closed scarlet parasol was being waved
invitingly. She unhooked the tarpaulin cover at once, and,
despite Erb’s protestation that they had paid fares to the
Elephant, hurried him down the steps. To Louisa’s
great delight, the tram, with its absorbedly interested
passengers, did not move until the two had reached the open
landau, and Lady Frances’s neatly-gloved hand had offered
itself in the most friendly way. Louisa declared later that
she would have given all that she had in the Post Office Savings
Bank to have heard the comments of the passengers.</p>
<p>“This,” said Lady Frances pleasantly, “is
the long arm of coincidence. Step in both of you, please,
and let me take you home to your place.”</p>
<p>“If you don’t mind excusing us—” began
Erb.</p>
<p>(“Oh you—you man,” said his sister to
herself. “I can’t call you anything
else.”)</p>
<p>“Please, <i>please</i>,” begged Lady
Frances. They <a name="page122"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 122</span>stepped in. By a great piece
of good luck,’ Erb remembered that amongst the recipes and
axioms and words of advice on the back page of an evening paper
he had a night or two previously read that gentlemen should
always ride with their backs to the horses, and he took his seat
opposite to Lady Frances: that young woman, with a touch on
Louisa’s arm, directed the short girl to be seated at her
side.</p>
<p>“Bricklayers’ Arms Station, Old Kent Road,”
said Lady Frances. Mr. Danks, in livery, and his hair
prematurely whitened, had jumped down to close the door.
Mr. Danks touched his hat, and, without emotion, resumed his seat
at the side of the coachman. “You are keeping well, I
hope?” To Louisa.</p>
<p>“I <i>have</i> been feeling a bit chippy,” said
Erb’s sister, trying to loll back in the seat, but fearful
of losing her foothold.</p>
<p>“So sorry,” said Lady Frances. “And
you?”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” said Erb,
“middlin’. Can’t say more than
that. Been somewhat occupied of late with various
matters.”</p>
<p>“I know, I know,” she remarked briskly.
“It is that that makes it providential I should have met
you. My uncle is a director on one of the railways, and he
was talking about you only last night at dinner.”</p>
<p>“Very kind of the gentleman. What name, may I
ask?” Lady Frances gave the information, gave also an
address, and Erb nodded. “Me and him <a
name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>are
somewhat in opposite camps at the present time.”</p>
<p>“My uncle was anxious to meet you,” said young
Lady Frances, in her agreeable way.</p>
<p>“Just at this moment I scarcely think—”</p>
<p>“Under a flag of truce,” she suggested.
“I was going to write to you, but this will save me from
troubling you with a note.”</p>
<p>“No trouble.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been opening a bazaar down here,” went
on Lady Frances with a determined air of vivacity.
“The oddest thing. Do you ever go to
bazaars?”</p>
<p>“Can’t say,” said Erb cautiously,
“that I make a practice of frequenting them.”</p>
<p>“Then let me tell you about this. When you open a
bazaar you have first to fill your purse with gold, empty it, and
then—”</p>
<p>Louisa sat, bolt upright, her feet just touching the floor of
the carriage, and feeling, as she afterwards intimated,
disinclined to call the Prince of Wales her brother. Her
ears listened to Lady Frances’s conversation, and she made
incoherent replies when an opinion was demanded, but her eyes
were alert on one side of the carriage or the other, sparkling
with anxiety to encounter someone whom she knew. Nearly
everybody turned to look at them, but it was not until they
reached the Dun Cow at the corner of Rotherhithe New Road (the
hour being now eight o’clock), at a moment when Louisa had
begun to tell herself regretfully no one would believe her
account of this gratifying and <a name="page124"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 124</span>epoch-making event, that into Old
Kent Road, chasing each other, came two girls belonging to her
factory. The foremost dodged behind a piano-organ that made
a fruitless effort to make its insistent jangle heard above the
roar and the murmur of traffic; seeing her pursuer stand
transfixed, with a cheerful scream of vengeance half finished,
she turned her head. At the sight of Louisa bowing with a
genteel air of half recognition the first girl staggered back and
sat down helplessly on the handles of the piano-organ, jerking
that instrument of music and causing the Italian lady with open
bodice to remonstrate in the true accents of Clerkenwell.
When near to Bricklayers’ Arms Station Louisa saw again her
current young man morbid with the thought of a wasted evening,
but still waiting hopefully for his <i>fiancée</i>, now
three hours behind time; the young gentleman’s eyesight
being dimmed with resentfulness, it became necessary for her to
wave a handkerchief that might, she knew, have been cleaner, and
thus engage his attention. At the very last possible moment
he signalled astonished acknowledgment.</p>
<p>For Erb, on the other hand, the journey had something less of
exultation. From the moment of starting from St.
James’s Road, Hatcham, the fear possessed him that he might
be seen by some member of his society, who would thereupon
communicate facts to colleagues. Thus would his character
for independence find itself bruised: thus would the jealousy of
the men be aroused; thus would the <a name="page125"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 125</span>Spanswick party be able to whisper
round the damaging report that Erb had been nobbled by the
capitalists. Wherefore Erb, anxious for none of these
eventualities, tipped his hat well over his forehead, and,
leaning forward, with his face down, listened to Lady
Frances’s conversation. The carriage had a scent of
refinement; the young woman opposite in her perfect costume was
something to be worshipped respectfully, and he scarce wondered
when, at one point of the journey up the straight Old Kent Road,
he heard one loafer say to another, “Where’s there an
election on to-day?” Lady Frances, having completed
her account of the bazaar, had information of great importance to
communicate, and this she gave in a confidential undertone that
was pleasant and flattering.</p>
<p>“From what my uncle says, it appears there is a strike
threatening, and—you know all about it perhaps?”</p>
<p>“Heard rumours,” said Erb guardedly.</p>
<p>“He is anxious that you should call upon him at the
earliest possible moment to discuss the affair privately, but he
is most anxious that it should not appear that he has sought the
meeting. You quite see, don’t you? It’s a
question of <i>amour propre</i>.”</p>
<p>“Ho!” said Erb darkly.</p>
<p>“And I should be so glad,” she went on, with the
excitement of a young diplomatist, “if I could bring you
two together. It would be doing so much good.”</p>
<p>“To him?”</p>
<p><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
126</span>“I could drive you on now,” she suggested
hesitatingly, “and we should catch my uncle just after his
dinner; an excellent time.”</p>
<p>“I think,” said Erb stolidly, “that
we’d better let events work out their natural
course.”</p>
<p>“You’re wrong, quite wrong, believe me.
Events left alone work out very clumsily at times.”
Lady Frances touched him lightly on the knee. “Please
do me this very small favour.”</p>
<p>“Since you put it like that then, I don’t mind
going up to see him to-night. Not that anything will come
from it, mind you. Don’t let’s delude ourselves
into thinking <i>that</i>.”</p>
<p>“This,” cried Lady Frances, clapping her hands,
“is excellent. This is just what I like to be
doing.” Erb, still watching fearfully for
acquaintances, glanced at her excited young face, with respectful
admiration. “Now, I shall drive you straight
on—”</p>
<p>“If you don’t mind,” said Erb, “no;
we’ll hop out at the corner of Page’s
Walk.”</p>
<p>“And not drive up to the dwellings?” asked Louisa
disappointed.</p>
<p>“And <i>not</i> drive up to the dwellings,” said
Erb firmly. “I’ll get on somehow to see your
uncle to-night.”</p>
<p>“You won’t break your word?”</p>
<p>“I should break a lot of other things before I did
that.”</p>
<p>Thus it was. Lady Frances shook hands; Erb stepped out,
looking narrowly through the open <a name="page127"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 127</span>gateway of the goods station, and
offering assistance to Louisa absently. As he did so, he
saw William Henry, his old van boy, marching out of the gates in
a violently new suit of corduroys, and with the responsible air
of one controlling all the railways in the world.</p>
<p>“Get better soon,” said Lady Frances to
Louisa. “Mr. Barnes, to-night.” Mr.
Danks, down from his seat and closing the door (Erb and his
sister standing on the pavement, Erb wondering whether he ought
to give the footman threepence for himself, and Louisa coming
down slowly from heaven to earth), Mr. Danks received the order,
“Home, please.”</p>
<p>Erb went half an hour later by tram to Westminster Bridge and
walked across. He perceived the necessity for extreme
caution; reading and natural wisdom told him that many important
schemes had been ruined by the interference of woman. He
looked at the lights that starred the borders of the wide river,
saw the Terrace where a member of Parliament walked up and down,
following the red glow of a cigar, and he knew that if he were
ever to get there it would only be by leaping successfully over
many obstacles similar to the one which at present confronted
him; to allow himself to be distracted from the straight road of
progress would be to court disaster.</p>
<p>“Boy,” said the porter at the Mansions,
“show No. 124<span class="GutSmall">A</span>.”
In a lift that darted to the skies Erb was conveyed and ordered
to wait in a corridor whilst <a name="page128"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 128</span>Boy, who wore as many buttons as
could be crowded on his tight jacket, went and hunted for Lady
Frances’s uncle and presently ran him to earth in the
smoking room, bringing him out triumphantly to the
corridor. Erb found himself greeted with considerable
heartiness, invited to come into the smoking room that looked
down at a height suggesting vertigo at St. James’s Park,
taken to a corner, and furnished with a big cigar. Men in
evening dress, with the self-confidence that comes after an
adequate meal, were telling each other what they would do were
they Prime Minister, and Erb was surprised to hear the drastic
measures proposed for stamping out opposition; some of these
seemed to be scarcely within the limits of reason. And what
had Erb to say? A plain man, said Lady Frances’s
uncle of himself (which, in one respect at any rate, was a
statement bearing the indelible stamp of truth), always of
opinion that it was well to plunge <i>in medias res</i>. On
Erb replying that at present he had no remark to offer, the
purple-faced Director seemed taken aback, and diverted the
conversation for a time to Trichinopolies and how best to keep
them, a subject on which Erb was unable to speak with any
pretence of authority.</p>
<p>“A little whiskey?” suggested the Director, with
his thumb on the electric bell, “just to keep one
alive.”</p>
<p>Lady Frances’s uncle sighed on receiving Erb’s
reply, and proceeded to relate a long and not very interesting
anecdote concerning an attempt that had <a
name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>once been
made to swindle him by an hotel proprietor at Cairo, and the
courageous way in which he had resisted the overcharge. On
Erb looking at his silver watch, the colour of the
Director’s face, from sheer anxiety deepened, and he waved
into the discussion with a “Pall Mall Gazette” a
silent friend who had been sitting in a low easy chair, with
hands clasped over his capacious dress waistcoat, gazing at the
room with the fixed stare of repletion. The silent friend
craned himself into an upright position and lumbered across the
room to the window. The Director, thus usefully reinforced,
proceeded to open the affair of the impending strike, and, having
done this, urged that there never was a difficulty yet that had
not a way out, and demanded that Erb should show this way out
instantly. Erb suggested that the Director’s
colleagues should receive him and the men, listen to their
arguments, and concede their requests, or some of them.
Director, appealing for the support of the silent man, but
receiving none, replied explosively, “That be hanged for a
tale!” On which Erb remarked that he had some
distance to go, and if the Director would excuse him—
Director said, fervently, “For goodness gracious’
sake, let us sit down, and let us thresh this matter
out.” Giving up now his original idea of an exit, he
remarked that a golden bridge must be built. Why should not
Erb simply stand aside, and let the men alone seek consultation
with the Directors? Erb declared that he would do this like
one o’clock (intimating <a name="page130"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 130</span>thus prompt and definite action),
providing there was good likelihood of the men’s requests
being complied with. Director, looking at silent friend,
and trying to catch that gentleman’s lack lustre eye,
inquired how on earth he could pledge his colleagues. Erb,
now interested in the game, suggested that Lady Frances’s
uncle probably had some idea of the feelings entertained by his
fellow directors, and the host, giving up all efforts to get help
from his silent friend, admitted that there was something in
this. Pressed by Erb to speak as man to man, Director gave
the limits of concession that had been decided upon—limits
which would not, however, come within sight unless the men came
alone, and quite alone, to plead their cause. Erb thought
for a few moments, the glare of the silent friend now directed
upon him, and then said that he would take Director’s word
as the word of a gentleman; the men should send a deputation the
following day in their luncheon hour, and he (Erb) would stand
aside to watch the result. Director offered a hand, and
Erb, instinctively rubbing his palm on his trousers, took it, and
the silent friend thereupon suddenly burst into speech (which was
the last thing of which one would have thought him capable)
saying huskily, and with pompous modesty, that he was very
pleased to think that any poor efforts of his should have brought
about such a happy agreement; that it was not the first time, and
probably would not be the last, that he had presided over a
meeting of reconciliation, and that <a name="page131"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 131</span>his methods were always—if he
might say so—tact, impartiality, and a desire to hear both
sides.</p>
<p>“Quite glad to have met you,” said the Director,
also gratified in having accomplished something that would give
him the halo of notoriety at to-morrow’s Board
meeting. “You’ll go far. Your head is
screwed on the right way, my man. Not a liqueur?”</p>
<p>“I take partic’lar care it ain’t screwed in
any other fashion,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“Good-bye,” said the Director.</p>
<p>“Be good,” said Erb.</p>
<h2><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
132</span>CHAPTER VII</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">Erb</span> admitted, at an elocution
lesson in Camberwell, that the settlement of the Willow Walk
affair had given him a good jerk forward. There was always
now a quarter of an hour between the close of his time and the
appearance of the next pupil—a quarter of an hour generally
occupied by a soliloquy from Erb, prefaced by the cue from
Rosalind. “Well now, tell me what you’ve been
doing this week.” She had some of the important
security that comes to an engaged young woman, and Erb, who
looked forward to this weekly exchange of confidences, forced
himself to ask politely after Mr. Lawrence Railton, of the
“Sin’s Reward” Company, and when Rosalind
answered (as she usually did) with a sigh that Mr. Railton had
not written for some time, Erb made excuses for him on various
grounds, such as that he was probably over-occupied with the work
of his profession, that a man in Mr. Railton’s place had to
be here, there and everywhere, that it being sometimes the
gentleman’s affectionate habit to scribble a hurried
postcard to his <i>fiancée</i> on the Sunday journeys,
likely enough there would be a letter next Monday. On this
Rosalind would brighten very much, and sing cheerful words of
praise of Mr. Railton, who <a name="page133"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 133</span>occupied, it seemed, a unique and
delicate position, in that he was much too good for the provinces
and not quite good enough for town; nevertheless,
“Sin’s Reward” had booked a week for the
Surrey, and the young woman’s bright eyes danced at the
thought of seeing him again. Mr. Railton’s real name
was Botts, which was held to be unattractive as a name on the
bills; his father was a silver chaser in Clerkenwell, and it was
generally understood that Mr. Railton had had to cut off his
parents with a shilling on the grounds that they insisted on
calling him Sammy.</p>
<p>Walking home after this fifteen minutes of happiness, Erb
found himself continuing the talk, and affecting that Rosalind
was tripping along at his side: it was in these silent talks that
he dared to call her “dear,” thereupon colouring so
much that passers-by glanced at him curiously; plain-faced ladies
went on gay with the thought that their features had the power to
confuse a stranger. When, in these circumstances, he
encountered men of the society they were sometimes greatly
diverted, and cried, “’Ullo, Erb. Going over a
speech, eh, Erb?”</p>
<p>No doubt at this period of Erb’s popularity. His
unselfish reticence in the Willow Walk affair, the commonsense he
exhibited in one or two minor troubles, the increased polish of
the spoken word: all these things increased the men’s
respect. Also they knew that he worked for them day and
night: he had not developed the swollen head of <a
name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>importance
that in secretaries of other societies was nearly always a
prominent feature. He organised a system of benefits on
three scales, by which, if you paid in twopence a week, you
received fifteen shillings a week in the case of unjust
dismissal; twelve shillings a week for unjust suspension; and ten
shillings a week for strike pay. He arranged with a pushful
solicitor in Camberwell to give legal advice. He had
written one or two articles concerning the society in weekly
penny papers, and in these he had taken care not to obtrude his
own name or his own work. Even Spanswick admitted now that
Erb was turning out better than he had expected, but
Spanswick’s views might have been brightened by the fact
that Erb was organising a ticket benefit at the Surrey on
Spanswick’s behalf: this not so much on account of any
personal misfortune, but because Mrs. Spanswick, always a
thoughtless, inconsiderate woman, had mistakenly chosen a time
when Spanswick was temporarily suspended from duty for
insobriety, to present him with twin babies.
“Three,” grumbled Spanswick, “three, I could
have understood. There’d been a bit of money about
three. But two—” Spanswick’s
friends had promised to rally round him, a feat they performed in
theory only, and Erb had to go elsewhere to find buyers of the
tickets. Lady Frances had taken a box—a fact which
modified and chastened Spanswick’s very extreme views in
regard to what he usually called the slave-owning upper
classes. Lady Frances had done a kinder thing than
this. On one of her visits <a name="page135"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 135</span>to Bermondsey she had met Louisa,
white-faced and twitching as a result of her work, had gone to
Louisa’s employer, and had made him shake in his very shoes
by denouncing him and all his works, had demanded for Louisa a
fortnight’s holiday, which the employer, anxious enough to
conciliate this emphatic young titled person, and fearful of
being sent to the Tower, at once conceded; sent Louisa, with
sister Alice for company, away to the country house at Penshurst
where the better side of Alice’s nature detached itself,
and she became an attentive nurse. Erb’s Aunt Emma
lived at Penshurst: the old lady went up high in the estimation
of the other villagers by reason of her nieces’ visit to
the Court.</p>
<p>The month being July, work well in demand and overtime to be
had without asking, Erb was able to obtain consent to almost any
project that he liked to submit to his committee. The
society was new enough to feel the enthusiasm of youth; the men
were pleased with the sensation of power that it gave to them,
and they assumed there were no limits to its possibilities.
From which causes Erb had several irons heating in the fire, of
which one was a new paper to be called “The Carman,”
to be issued twice a month, and to cost one halfpenny per
copy. The expense of production would be something more
than this, but when Erb, who was to be managing editor, used that
blessed word “propaganda,” there was nothing more to
be said, and the last doubter gave in.</p>
<p><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>It
was at this time that Erb gave up whistling in the streets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The white-haired labour member had taken him to the House on
two occasions, and in the smoking room had introduced him to some
wealthy members of the party; and, whilst the board at the side
showed the names of unattractive speakers, the members chatted so
agreeably that Erb forgot himself occasionally and addressed one
who was in evening dress, and had so much money that he wore
several coins on his watch chain, as “Sir;” lifting
of eyebrows on the part of the labour member told him he had
blundered. Members asked questions of Erb, questions which
betrayed the fact that their knowledge of the real feelings of
the working men was superficial, and thenceforth Erb felt more at
his ease. They gave their names as patrons of the Spanswick
benefit, and the member who wore coins offered Erb a cigarette,
and, seeing him through the outer lobby, begged him to drop a
line should anything important occur; this in a way that
suggested later to Erb, as he crossed Westminster, that the coin
member wanted to find opportunity of becoming attached to some
creditable grievance, not so much for the sake of the grievance
as for the sake of himself.</p>
<p>“Now,” said Erb definitely to the fringe of lights
near St. Thomas’s Hospital, “I’m not going to
be made a cat’s paw, mind you.”</p>
<p>Interest came with the arrangements for Spanswick’s
benefit. This necessitated calls at the theatre <a
name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>near the
Obelisk in the evenings, and speech with excited men who went
about behind the scenes with their hats at the backs of their
heads: men who were for ever mislaying letters and documents, and
complaining of everybody else’s carelessness, and
eventually finding the letters or documents in their own hands;
the while on the stage some lady in black, with her face
whitened, was bewailing to a keenly interested house the perfidy
of man, and assuring the gallery of her determination to track
down one particular individual, though he should have made his
way to the uttermost ends of the earth. The Spanswick night
was to be a ticket benefit (which, being interpreted, meant that
only the tickets sold outside the theatre would add to
Spanswick’s income and assuage his present distress), and
the night selected was a Friday in the week booked by the
“Sin’s Reward” Company—Friday, because
that was near to the men’s pay day, and would hook them at
the fleeting moment when spare cash was on the very point of
burning a hole in their pockets. Because Lawrence Railton
was of the company, and because Erb was responsible for the
success of the evening, Rosalind communicated to the scheme the
keen interest that became her so well; her father, with ponderous
generosity, had promised to ensure a triumphant evening by giving
what he termed the considerable advantage of a somewhat long and
not altogether undistinguished experience. Erb was anxious
to see Lawrence Railton, desirous of seeing what manner of youth
<a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>had
succeeded where he had desired to do so. Matters being as
they were, there was no alternative but to play the friend of the
family, to meet Mr. Railton with the outstretched hand of amity,
to congratulate him, and to save up presently for a wedding
present which should represent nicely a genial interest in the
welfare of the young couple. A plated cruet-stand he
thought, as at present advised, but there were arguments in
favour of an inkstand that looked like a lawn-tennis set—an
inkstand had a suggestion of literary tastes that appealed to the
prospective editor of “The Carman;” it suggested also
a compliment to Rosalind that a cruet-stand with the best
intentions could never convey. He did not quite know how he
would endure it all. Perhaps it would best be remedied by
increased application to the work of the society, and if ever the
day should come when he found himself elected to a seat in that
House at Westminster (the outside of which he went to see very
often, just for self-encouragement), Rosalind would feel that she
might have done better than marry Mr. Lawrence Railton.</p>
<p>“But I don’t quite see,” admitted Erb, as he
wrestled with all this, “I don’t quite see what sort
of help I shall get out of that.”</p>
<h2><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
139</span>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the Obelisk streets radiate, and
the trams going to London have to make their choice. The
theatre in the road that leads to Blackfriars Bridge is a theatre
of middle age, with its own opinion of the many juvenile
competitors that have sprung up during recent years in near and
in distant suburbs: it endeavours to preserve the semblance of
youth and modernity by putting on four white globes of electric
light, but its age is betrayed by a dozen women with aprons full
of oranges, “Two a punny, a punny for two” (oranges
are not eaten in the new theatres), and a tray on high trestles
loaded with pigs’ trotters, which no one ever buys.
Some steps go up to the shilling and the sixpenny seats; early
doors, which exact from the over-anxious an additional
threepence, are in a dark alley at the side, at the end of which
is a door that leads to the box-office by day and the stage
entrance by night. The outside of the house has coloured
posters of grisly scenes that make the passer-by chill with fear:
a yellow woman hurled down a blue precipice; the same lady bound
by cords to a grandfather’s clock, which shows the hour as
three minutes to twelve, and facing her two crape masked men with
pistols; underneath the horrid words, “At <a
name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>midnight,
my lady, you die.” A pleasanter note in the frames of
photographs that hang slightly askew. Here, Mr. Lawrence
Railton as a wicked Italian (at any rate, his moustache turns
upwards, as Gratiano in a third-hand costume of the Louis the
Fifteenth period, as Inspector Beagle in “Tracking the
Criminal,” and in as many more characters as the frame will
carry). In the centre, Mr. Lawrence Railton as the art of
the photographer would have him be in real life, evening dress,
insufficient chin, contemptuous smile—the portrait which
occupied the position of honour on Rosalind’s
mantelpiece.</p>
<p>A conspicuous evening for Erb, by reason of the circumstance
that he had the honour of conveying Rosalind to the theatre; this
because her father, having borrowed individual shillings on
individual days from her on the promise of accompanying her had,
at the last moment, come into a windfall of two and threepence,
and had thereupon remembered an urgent appointment with a
dramatist of note at a public-house just off the Strand.
“Should the fates be kind,” said Rosalind’s
father, “I shall endeavour to honour the performance with
my presence later on.” Louisa, interested in
everything that interested Erb, had organised a raffle at her
factory for a circle ticket, and a chapel-going girl, who had
picked the highest number out of a straw hat accompanied her,
with the full anticipation—this being her first visit to
the play—that she was about to witness scenes that might
well imperil her future <a name="page141"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 141</span>existence; unwilling, all the same,
to give her prize away or to sell. Erb, confronted with the
responsibility of transporting three ladies, had vague ideas of a
four-wheeler, but remembered in time that this would excite
criticism from members ever anxious to detect and crush any
effort he might make to commit the unpardonable sin of
“putting on side;” compensation came in being allowed
to walk by the side of Rosalind, who, near Camberwell Gate,
seemed to be dressed prettily but with restraint, but who, as
they approached the Elephant and Castle, increased in smartness
by contrast with the surroundings of Walworth Road. There
were crossings to be managed, and Erb, in the most artful way,
assisted her here by insinuating his arm underneath her cape,
wondering at his own courage, and rather astonished to find that
he was not reproved. Rosalind’s manner differed from
that of other young women of the district in that she dispensed
with the defiant attitude which they assumed, never to be varied
from the first introduction to the last farewell.</p>
<p>“And now the question is,” said Louisa’s
colleague, “ought I to go in or ought I to stay
outside?”</p>
<p>“Considering you’ve got a ticket,” replied
little Louisa satirically, “it seems a pity to go in.
Why not stay outside and ’ave an orange instead?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” said the chapel-goer recklessly, “now
I’m here I may jest as well go on with it. In for <a
name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>a penny in
for a pound. If the worst comes to the worst, I can shut me
eyes and— Who’s that lifting his cap to
you?”</p>
<p>“’Ullo,” remarked Louisa, “you alive
still?”</p>
<p>The lad threw away the end of his cigarette, and, advancing,
remarked in a bass voice that he had thought it as well to come
up on the off chance of meeting Louisa.</p>
<p>“My present young man,” said Louisa, introducing
the lad.</p>
<p>“Well,” said the chapel young woman resignedly,
“this is the beginning of it.”</p>
<p>Erb, again assisting, took Rosalind up the broad stone
staircase; swing doors permitted them to go into the warm,
talkative theatre. A few shouts of recognition were raised
from various quarters as Erb went in, and he nodded his head in
return, but he looked sternly at the direction whence a cry came
of “Is that the missus, Erb?” and the chaffing
question was not repeated. Down near the stage the
orchestra made discordant sounds, the cornet blew a few notes of
a frivolous air for practice. Erb bought a programme for
Rosalind, and asked if anything else was required; but Rosalind,
from a satin bag which hung from her wrist, produced a pair of
early Victorian opera glasses, bearing an inscription addressed
to her mother, “From a few Gallery Boys,” and said,
“No, thank you,” with a smile that made his head spin
round.</p>
<p>“But would you mind,” she flushed as she leaned
forward to whisper this, “would you mind <a
name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>telling Mr.
Railton that I—I should <i>very</i> much like to see him
after the show?”</p>
<p>At the stage door a postman had just called, and Erb, waiting
for permission to go in whilst the door-keeper sorted the
letters, could not help noticing that a violet envelope, in a
feminine handwriting, was placed under the clip marked R; it was
addressed to Lawrence Railton, Esquire. The doorkeeper gave
permission with a jerk of the head, as though preferring not to
compromise himself by speech, and Erb went up through the narrow
corridor where the office and the dressing-rooms were
situated. Cards were pinned on the door of the latter, and
one of them bore, in eccentric type, the name of the gentleman
for whom Rosalind had given him the message. A lady’s
head came out cautiously from one of the other rooms and called
in a shrill voice, “Mag-gie!” A middle-aged
woman flew from somewhere in reply with a pair of shoes.
Below, the orchestra started the overture of an elderly comic
opera; a boy, in a cap, came along the corridor shouting,
“Beginners, please!”</p>
<p>“She got in everything for the entire week,” said
a triumphant voice inside the room, “settled for my
washing, cashed up for every blessed thing, and I’ve never
paid the old girl a sou from that day to this. Hullo!
what’s blown this in?”</p>
<p>Two young men in the small room, and each making-up in front
of a looking-glass; before them open tin cases, powder puffs,
sticks of grease paint; bits of linen of many colours. On
the walls <a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
144</span>previous occupiers had drawn rough caricatures: here
and there someone had stuck an applauding newspaper notice, or a
butterfly advertisement. Neither of the young men looked
round as Erb came in, but each viewed his reflection in the
looking-glass.</p>
<p>“Name of Railton?” said Erb, inquiringly.</p>
<p>“That’s me,” replied one of the two, still
gazing into his looking-glass.</p>
<p>“My name’s Barnes. I’m secretary to
the R.C.A.S.”</p>
<p>“Any connection with the press?” asked Mr.
Railton, fixing a white whisker at the side of his floridly
made-up face.</p>
<p>“Not at present!”</p>
<p>“Then what the devil do you mean,” demanded the
other hotly, “by forcing your way into the room of two
professional men? What—”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said the man at the other glass, taking up
a hand-mirror to examine the back of his head, “what the
deuce next, I wonder? For two pins I’d take him by
the scruff of his neck and pitch him downstairs.” He
glanced at Erb, and added rather hastily to Mr. Railton:
“If I were you.”</p>
<p>“I shall most certainly complain to the
management,” went on Mr. Railton. “It
isn’t the first time.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said his companion,
“what they think the profession’s made of.
Because we allow ourselves to be treated like a flock of sheep
they seem to think they can do just what they damn well
please.”</p>
<p><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
145</span>“I’ve a precious good mind,” said Mr.
Railton, vehemently, “to hand in my notice. Would,
too, if it wasn’t for the sake of the rest of the
crowd.”</p>
<p>He ceased for a second, whilst he made lines down either side
of his mouth, falling back from the mirror to consider the
effect.</p>
<p>“Quite finished?” asked Erb, good
humouredly. “If so, I should like to tell you, my
fiery-tempered warriors, that I have only called with a message
from Miss Danks—Miss Rosalind Danks.”</p>
<p>“That’s one of yours, Lorrie!”</p>
<p>“You mean,” said Mr. Railton casually, as he toned
down a line with the powder-puff, “a dot and carry one
girl?”</p>
<p>“Miss Danks,” said Erb, “is the leastest bit
lame.” He repeated precisely the message which
Rosalind had given him, and Mr. Railton clicked his tongue to
intimate impatience. “I’ll call in again later
on,” said Erb, “when you’ve finished your
little bit, and then I can take you round to where she’s
sitting.”</p>
<p>“Now, why in the world,” cried Mr. Railton,
throwing a hairbrush on the floor violently, “why in the
world can’t people mind their own business?
There’s a class of persons going about on this earth, my
dear Chippy—”</p>
<p>“I know what you are going to say,” remarked the
other approvingly.</p>
<p>“And if I had my will I’d hang the whole shoot of
them. I would, honestly.”</p>
<p>“I quite believe you would,” said Chippy.</p>
<p><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
146</span>“And I’d draw and quarter them
afterwards.”</p>
<p>“And then burn ’em,” suggested Chippy.</p>
<p>“And then burn ’em.”</p>
<p>“Would you amiable gentlemen like to have the door
closed?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>“Put yourself outside first,” recommended Mr.
Railton.</p>
<p>The stage and its eccentricities attracted Erb as they attract
everyone, and, a licensed person for the evening, he went about
through the feverish atmosphere, meeting people who appeared
ridiculous as they stood at the side of the stage waiting to go
on, but who, as he knew, would look more life-like than life with
the footlights intervening. Pimple-faced men, in tweed
caps, hidden from the audience, held up unreliable trees; kept a
hand on a ladder, which enabled the leading lady to go up and
speak to her lover from the casemented upper window of a cottage;
ran against each other at every fair opportunity, complaining in
hoarse whispers of clumsiness. A boy came holding clusters
of shining pewter cans by the handles, and peace was restored
amongst the stage hands, but for the folk in evening dress, with
unnatural eyes and amazing faces, who stood about ready to go on,
there remained the strain of excitement; some of them
soliloquised in a corner, whilst others talked in extravagant
terms of dispraise concerning the new leading lady, hinting that
no doubt she was a very good girl and kind to her mother, but
that she could not act, my dear old boy, for nuts, or for toffee,
or for apples, or <a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
147</span>other rewards of a moderate nature. These seemed
to be only their private views, for they were discarded when the
leading lady came down the ladder, and they then gathered round
her and told her that she was playing for all she was worth, that
she had managed to extract more from that one scene than her
predecessor had obtained from the entire play, and hinting quite
plainly that it was a dear and a precious privilege to be playing
in the same company with her. Mr. Lawrence Railton brought
for the leading lady a wooden chair; a middle-aged bird (who was
her dresser) hopped forward bringing a woollen shawl, that had
started by being white and still showed some traces of its
original intention, to place around her shoulders.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Mr. Railton, stretching
his arms, when, having been ousted from attendance by others, he
had strolled up towards Erb, “I don’t feel much like
acting to-night!”</p>
<p>“Do you ever?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>“It’s wonderful,” went on the young man,
“simply and absolutely wonderful the different moods that
one goes through, and the effect they have on one’s
performance. I go on giving much the same rendering of a
part for several nights on end, and, suddenly, I seem to get a
flash of inspiration.”</p>
<p>“Better language!” recommended Erb.</p>
<p>“A flash of inspiration,” said the white whiskered
young man with perfect confidence, and keeping his eye on the
stage. “It all comes in a moment <a
name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>as it
were. And then, by Jove! one can fairly electrify an
audience. One sees the house absolutely rise.”</p>
<p>“And go out?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>On the stage the leading man (who was an honest gentleman
farmer, showing the gentleman by wearing patent boots, and the
farmer by carrying a hunting crop), cried aloud demanding of
misfortune whether she had finished her fell conspiracy against
him, and this, it appeared, was the cue for Lawrence Railton in
his white whiskers and frock-coated suit and a brown hand-bag to
go on with the announcement that he had come to foreclose a
mortgage, information which the house, knowing vaguely that it
boded no good to the hero, received with groans and hisses.
Erb, watching from the side, prepared for an exhibition of
superior acting on the part of Mr. Railton, and was somewhat
astonished to find that, instead of playing a part that forwarded
the action of the piece, he was a mere butt sent on in order to
be kicked off, treatment served out to him by an honest labourer,
faithful to his master and with considerable humour in his
disposition. Any expectations that Railton would take a
more serious part in the melodrama were set aside, in a later
scene of Act I., when the hero and the faithful young labourer
had both enlisted in a crack cavalry regiment, he came on with
his brown bag to find them and give information of importance,
and was at once, to the great joy of the pit and gallery, again
kicked off, whilst the regiment, <a name="page149"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 149</span>consisting of eight men and a girl
officer, marched round the stage several times to a military air,
and, after the girl officer had delivered a few sentences of
admirable patriotism, went off to the Royal Albert Docks to take
ship for South Africa. Indeed, throughout the piece it was
Mr. Railton’s privilege to follow the leading man and his
low comedy friend, and whether he encountered them on the quay at
Cape Town, out on the veldt near Modder River, or at the Rhodes
Club at Kimberley, he was ever hailed by the entire theatre with
joyous cries of “Kick him, kick him!” advice upon
which the low comedy man always acted.</p>
<p>“D’you like your job?” asked Erb at the end
of Act II., as he prepared to go round to the front and collect
the men of his committee.</p>
<p>“Someone must hold the piece together,” said young
Railton, wearily making a cigarette. “Take me away,
and the entire show falls to pieces. Even you must have
noticed that.”</p>
<p>“Upon my word,” said Erb, looking at him
wonderingly, “you are a perfect marvel. I never saw
anything like you.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, old chap,” replied the other gratefully,
and shaking his hand. “Meet me after the show and
we’ll have a drink together. I was afraid at first
you were a bit of a bounder. Don’t mind me saying so
now, do you?”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” replied Erb. “You gave
me much the same impression.”</p>
<p>“That’s most extr’ordinary.
There’s an idea for <a name="page150"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 150</span>a curtain-raiser in that. Two
men beginning by hating each other, and later
on—”</p>
<p>“Any message for your young lady?”</p>
<p>“Which?” asked Mr. Railton.</p>
<p>“You know very well who I mean,” said Erb with
some annoyance.</p>
<p>“Oh,” with sudden enlightenment, “you mean
the Danks person. Oh, tell her I’m all
right.”</p>
<p>Erb looked at him rather dangerously, but the young man,
secure in the mailed armour of self-content, did not observe
this. Erb, placing his doubled fists well down into the
pockets of his coat, turned and went off.</p>
<p>“By the bye,” called Mr. Railton, in his affected
voice.</p>
<p>Erb did not trust himself to answer, but went down the narrow
stone passage, and drew a deep breath when he reached the doorway
and the dimly lighted alley; he had work to do, and this, as
always, enabled him to forget his personal grievances. In
the saloon bar of a neighbouring public-house he found two
members of his committee: because they wore their Sunday clothes
they smoked cigars, extinguishing them carefully, and placing the
ends in their waistcoat pockets; they came out on Erb’s
orders to take up position at the stage door. The others
were in front of the house, and Erb, going in and standing by the
swing door of the circle, discovered them one by one and gave
them signal to come out, which they did with great importance,
stepping on toes of mere ordinary people in a lordly way.</p>
<p><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
151</span>“Did he send any message?” asked Rosalind
anxiously.</p>
<p>“Sent his love.” Worth saying this to see
the quick look of relief and happiness that danced across her
face. “Said he was looking forward to seeing
you.”</p>
<p>“Ah!”</p>
<p>Three minutes later, when the leading man had done something
noble that in the proclaimed opinion of the heroine (there, oddly
enough, as a nurse) foreshadowed the inevitable Victoria Cross,
and Mr. Railton had come on in a kilt to be kicked off once more,
and there remained only the affairs of England, home, and beauty
to be arranged in the last act; the curtain went down, and two
minutes later still, the orchestra having disappeared in search
of refreshment and the audience occupied in cracking nuts and
hailing acquaintances with great trouble at distant points, the
curtain went up again on a flapping scene, behind which the
tweed-capped men, it appeared, were setting an elaborate set for
Act IV., doing it with some audible argument and no little open
condemnation of each other’s want of dexterity.
Chairs on the stage stood in a semicircle, and marching on from
the left came the dozen members of the committee in their suits
of black, twirling bowler hats, and glancing nervously across the
footlights in response to the ejaculatory shouting of
names. Spanswick, wearing a look of pained resignation,
received a special shout, but the loudest cheers were reserved
for the secretary, and those <a name="page152"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 152</span>in front who did not know him soon
took up the cry.</p>
<p>“Erberberberb—”</p>
<p>It became certain at once that Payne was not to give an
epoch-making speech. Confused perhaps by the footlights,
uncertain of the attitude of this great crowded theatre,
Payne’s memory ran its head against a brick wall and stayed
there: he made three repetitions of one sentence, and then,
having reversed the positions of the tumbler and the decanter,
started afresh, the audience encouraging him by cries of
“Fetch him out, Towser, fetch him out,” as though Mr.
Payne were an unwilling dog, but the same brick wall stood in his
way, and, concluding weakly with the remark, “Well, you all
know what I mean,” he called upon Erb, and sat down
glancing nervously across to the pit stalls, where was Mrs.
Payne, her head shaking desolately, her lips moving with unspoken
words of derision.</p>
<p>“I’m going to take five minutes,” said Erb,
in his distinct and deliberate way. He took out his watch
and laid it on the table. “Even if I’m in the
middle of a sentence when that time is up, I promise I’ll
go down like a shot. I suppose you know the story of the
man who—”</p>
<p>Good temper smiled and laughed from the front row of the pit
stalls and up to the very topmost row of the gallery at
Erb’s anecdote, and, hoping for another story, they sat
forward and listened. He knew that he held them now, knew
they would cheer anything he liked to say, providing he said it
<a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>with
enough of emphasis. He went on quickly that this advantage
might not be lost, pounding the palm of one hand with the fist of
the other, so that the dullest might know by this gesture when a
point was intended; spoke of the good feeling that was aroused by
the presence of a fellow-man’s misfortune; mentioned the
work of his own society, urged that so long as this feeling of
comradeship existed, so long would their condition improve, not
perhaps by a leap or a bound, but by steady, cautious, and
gradual progression. Up in the circle his young elocution
teacher nodded approvingly, flushing with pride at her
pupil’s careful enunciation, giving a start of pain at a
superfluous aspirate that cleaved the air.</p>
<p>“He can talk,” admitted a man behind her.</p>
<p>“If I’d had the gift of the gab,” said the
man’s neighbour, “I could have made a
fortune.”</p>
<p>Erb stepped out near to the footlights and gave his peroration
in an impassioned manner that had the useful note of
sincerity. Those in the theatre, who were sympathisers,
rose and cheered like a hurricane; the rest, not to be left out
of a gratifying show of emotion, joined in, and Spanswick, the
hero of the evening, as he rose from his chair to say a few
words, might have been a leading politician, a general who had
rescued his country from difficulties, or an exceptionally
popular member of the Royal Family, instead of a railway carman
of third-rate excellence with a notable wife.</p>
<p>Spanswick said this was the proudest moment <a
name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>of his
life. Spanswick would never forget that night: useless for
anybody to ask him to do so. If people should come to
Spanswick and invite him to erase that evening from his
recollection, he would answer definitely and decidedly,
“Never!” So long as memory lasted and held its
sway, so long would he guarantee to keep that evening in mind,
and carry remembrance with him. Thus Spanswick, in a
generous way that suggested he was doing a noble and spontaneous
act, and one for which the audience should be everlastingly
grateful. Payne, as Chairman, rose, and ignoring a
suggestion from the gallery that he should dance a hornpipe, led
the group off, the members looking shyly across at the audience,
and the audience howling indignantly at one of the men who
replaced his hat before getting off.</p>
<p>“Were you nervous, Erb?” asked Louisa
excitedly. “<i>I</i> was. Nearly fainted,
didn’t I?”</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t talk,” whispered her
lady-companion, enchanted by the commencement of Act Four.
“Don’t talk, please, when there’s such
beautiful things going on.”</p>
<p>Mr. Railton had nothing to do in the last act, the dramatist
having apparently felt that the thin vein of humour which had
been struck in the character was by this time exhausted, and
Rosalind looked with anxiety at the curtained doorway of the
circle, but Mr. Railton did not appear during the last act, and
he was not in the vestibule below when the audience poured out
into Blackfriars Road. <a name="page155"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 155</span>She was very silent on this, and
when Erb saw her into a tram she shook hands without a
word. Going back to assist Louisa’s young man in the
task of escorting the two other ladies, he found himself
intercepted by Mr. Lawrence Railton—Railton, in an
astrachan bordered coat, and well wrapped around the throat,
giving altogether the impression that here was some rare and
valuable product of nature that had to be specially
protected.</p>
<p>“I want you!” said the young man.</p>
<p>“You’ll have to want,” said Erb brusquely,
and going on.</p>
<p>“But it concerns the girl you were speaking
of.”</p>
<p>“Where can we go?” asked Erb, stopping.</p>
<p>“Come round to the bar at the back of the circle,”
said Railton, “and you can give me a drink,” he added
generously.</p>
<p>A few members of the company were near the bar, and Railton,
to compensate for the presence of such an ordinary-looking
companion, began to talk loudly and condescendingly. Never
drank till after the show, he explained, some drank during the
performance, but none of the best men did so. One could not
give a good reading of the part unless one observed the
principles of strict abstemiousness. He flattered himself
that he was not one likely to make mistakes, and he held his
future, as it were, well and securely in both hands. If Erb
would promise not to let the matter go any further, he would show
him, in the strictest confidence, a <a name="page156"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 156</span>letter from a West End manager, that
would prove how near one could be to conspicuous success.</p>
<p>“Not that one,” he said, opening a violet
envelope. “That’s from a dear thing at
Skipton. Worships the very ground I walk on.”</p>
<p>The letter in question fell on the floor. Erb picked it
up and, in doing so, could not help noticing that it began:
“Sir, unless you forward two and eight by return, the
parcel of laundry will be sold without—”</p>
<p>“Here it is,” cried Railton.
“‘Mr. So-and-so thanks Mr. Lawrence Railton for his
note, and regrets that the arrangements for the forthcoming
production are complete.’” “Regrets, you
see, mark that! A post earlier, and evidently he would
have—don’t drown it, my dear chap!”</p>
<p>“In regard,” said Erb, putting down the
water-bottle, “to Miss Rosalind Danks.”</p>
<p>“I hadn’t finished what I was saying.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t mean you should. Let’s drop
your personal grievances for a bit. Why didn’t you
come round and see her before she left?”</p>
<p>“Now that,” said Railton, leaning an elbow on the
counter, “goes straight to the very crux of the
question. That’s just where I wanted to carry
you. I hate a man who wastes time on preliminaries.
My idea always is that if you’ve got a thing to say, say
it!”</p>
<p>“Well then, say it!”</p>
<p>“My position,” said Railton, importantly,
“is this. I have, as I think I said, the artistic <a
name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
157</span>temperament. I am all emotion, all sentiment, all
heart! It may be a virtue, it may be a defect; I
won’t go into that. The point is that little Rosie is
the exact opposite. I confess that I thought at one time
that we might be well suited to each other, but I see now that I
made a mistake. Doesn’t often happen, but I did make
a mistake there, and the unfortunate part of the business is that
I—in a kind of way, don’t you know—promised to
marry her.”</p>
<p>“So I understood. When does the affair come
off?”</p>
<p>“My dear old chap,” said Railton, with effusive
confidence, “the affair is off. But you know what
women are, and I find it rather difficult—for, mind you, I
am above all things a man of honour—I find it rather
difficult to write to her and tell her so. Some men
wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. Some men have no
delicacy. But what I thought was this: Do you want to earn
a couple of pounds?”</p>
<p>“Go on!” said Erb, quietly.</p>
<p>“Assuming that you <i>do</i> want to earn a couple of
pounds, this is where you come in. You, I gain, have a
certain admiration for her. Now, if you can take her off my
hands so that I can get out of the engagement with dignity, I am
prepared to give you, in writing mind, a promise to
pay—”</p>
<p>Mr. Railton went down swiftly on the floor. The other
people hurried up.</p>
<p>“You dare strike me!” he cried complainingly, as
he rose his handkerchief to his face. “Do it again,
that’s all.”</p>
<p><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>He
went down again with the same unexpectedness as before.
Three men stood round Erb, who looked quietly at his own clenched
fist; the knuckles had a slight abrasion.</p>
<p>“Want any more?” he asked.</p>
<p>Mr. Railton made one or two efforts from his crumpled position
to speak; the three men suggested police, but he waved his hand
negatively.</p>
<p>“Do you want any more, you scoundrel you?”
repeated Erb.</p>
<p>“No,” answered Mr. Lawrence Railton, weakly, from
the linoleum, “I don’t want any more. I always
know my limit.”</p>
<h2><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
159</span>CHAPTER IX</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">This</span> being a period of his life
when Erb could do nothing wrong, the unpremeditated experiment
with fists had a result that seldom attends efforts of the
kind. Railton sent to Erb by post the following day an
elaborate letter of apology, in which he argued that Erb, by a
quite excusable error, had misunderstood what he (Railton) had
intended to convey; that he honoured Mr. Barnes for the attitude
he had taken up (which, under similar circumstances, would have
been his own), that he should of course carry out his engagement
with the young lady whose name it was unnecessary to mention,
that he should ever retain an agreeable memory of Mr. Barnes (to
whose efforts in the cause of labour he begged in passing to
offer his best wishes), he trusted very sincerely that their
friendship would not be impaired by the unfortunate incident of
the preceding night. Thus Mr. Railton, with many an
emphasising underline and note of exclamation, and a flourish
under the signature, intended to convey the impression that here
was a document of value to be preserved for all time. On
Erb discovering his elocution teacher—whose lessons he now
scarce required, but whose services as instructress in the art of
public oratory he continued for the sheer pleasure <a
name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>of
listening to her private speech—on Erb discovering her at
his next visit with traces of recent tears he insisted on knowing
the cause, and was told, first, that father had been borrowing
seventeen shillings and sixpence, which she would have to pay
back, amount required in order, the Professor had explained to
the credulous lender, to enable him to purchase a comedy which
had a part that would fit the Professor like a glove (“I
can see myself in it,” the Professor declared); and on Erb
dismissing this incident as too common for tears, Rosalind
reluctantly showed him a letter from the admirable Railton,
written by that young gentleman at the same time apparently as
the communication he had sent to Erb: in this he regretted time
had not permitted him to call at Camberwell Gate, the loss was
his; but what he particularly wanted to say was that the farce of
their engagement need no longer be allowed to run. On
neither side, wrote Mr. Railton, had there been any real
affection, and he was sure that this formal intimation would be
as great a relief to Rosalind as to himself; he trusted she would
find another good <i>fiancé</i>, and he was, with all
regards, her friend and well-wisher, Lawrence Railton. Erb,
greatly concerned for Rosalind, told her nothing of the incident
of the benefit performance, but tried to comfort her with the
suggestion that Railton had probably written without thought.</p>
<p>“I am beginning to see,” said Rosalind presently,
“I am beginning to see that I have at least one real friend
in the world.”</p>
<p><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
161</span>“One’s ample,” replied Erb
stolidly.</p>
<p>With the men of the society the occurrence gave to Erb
distinct promotion. Something to have a quick mind with
figures, something to be ready of speech, something to be always
at hand wherever in London a railway carman was in trouble, but
better than all these things was it to be able to think of their
secretary as one able to put up his fists. Wherever he
went, for a time, congratulations were shouted from the hood of
parcels carts or the high seat of pair-horse goods vans; boys
hanging by ropes at the tail boards giving a cheer as they went
by. There is nothing quite so dear and precious as the
world’s applause, and if here and there a man should
announce his distaste for it, the world may be quite sure that
this is said only to extort an additional and an undue
share. At the next committee meeting Erb was requested,
with a good deal of importance, by Payne, as chairman, to be good
enough to leave the room for ten minutes: on his return it was
announced to him that, moved by G. Spanswick, and seconded by H.
R. Bates, a resolution had been carried, according to Herbert
Barnes, secretary, an increase in salary of twenty pounds per
annum. Erb announced this to his young white-faced sister,
and added to the announcement an order directing her to leave her
factory and look after the home in Page’s Walk; but Louisa
would not hear of this, declaring that a humdrum life would never
suit her, that she should mope herself into a state of lunacy if
Erb insisted, and that the <a name="page162"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 162</span>money could be laid out much more
usefully on, first, a pianoforte; second, a new suite of chairs
for the sitting room in place of furniture which had been in the
Barnes family for two generations; third, in articles of costume
for Erb, and—if any sum remained—in something for
herself. They argued the point with desperate good humour
from either side of the table, until Erb found that she was
really in earnest, and then he gave in.</p>
<p>“You always have your own way, Louisa.”</p>
<p>“Precious little use having anybody else’s,”
she retorted sharply.</p>
<p>“You’ve got a knack of deciding questions,”
complained her brother, good-temperedly, “that makes you a
little debating society in yourself.”</p>
<p>“There’s something in connection with your
society,” went on Louisa, encouraged, “that you might
arrange if you’d got any gumption.”</p>
<p>“Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that I
have.”</p>
<p>“It’s this. When one of your single chaps
gets engaged let him begin paying into a wedding fund.
You’ve got your strike funds and what not, but you
ain’t got no wedding fund.”</p>
<p>“We haven’t any wedding fund,” corrected
Erb.</p>
<p>“Oh, never mind about grammar,” said his young
sister impetuously, “I’m talking sense. Let
them all pay a bob or so a week, and the one that draws a good
number gets his ten pound and goes off and gets married like a
shot. See what an interest it’d make the girls take
in your society. See <a name="page163"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 163</span>how it’d make your young
carmen sought after. See how fine it’d be for them to
start life on their own, instead of having to go on paying so
much a week for ’ire to the furniture shops. See
how—”</p>
<p>“A reg’lar little orator,” said Erb
approvingly. “It must run in the blood, I
think. Besides, there’s an idea in what you
say.”</p>
<p>“I never speak,” said his sister with confidence,
“without I say something.” She paused for a
moment. “I suppose, Erb, that—that with all
this money coming in, you’ll begin to think about
getting—”</p>
<p>He put his knife and fork down and rose from his chair.</p>
<p>The marriage club was only one of the new features that Erb
introduced to the society, but it was the one which had a tinge
of melancholy, in that it appeared to him that he was almost
alone in not having in hand a successful affair of the
heart. Lady Frances came frequently to Bermondsey, where
she threw herself with great earnestness into the excellent work
of providing amusing hours for children—children who had
never been taught games, and knew no other sport than that of
imperilling their little lives in the street. Erb, being
seen with her one evening as she returned from a Board School,
there ensued at the next committee meeting considerable badinage
of a lumbering type; Payne declared that Erb should join the
wedding club in order that the happy pair should be in a position
to set up a house in Portman Square together; <a
name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>Spanswick
remarked with less of good temper, that some people’s heads
were getting too big for their hats; whilst other members, ever
ready to take part in the fine old London sport of chipping,
offered gibes. Erb retorted with his usual readiness, and
laughed at the suggestion; but afterwards found himself fearing
whether Lady Frances was, in point of fact, lavishing upon him a
hopeless affection. He had almost persuaded himself to
admit that this was the case, when his sister Alice made one of
her condescending calls at Page’s Walk and gave, with other
information, the fact that the sweetheart of Lady Frances, a
lieutenant, the Honourable Somebody, had some time since been
ordered away on a mission to the North-West Coast of Africa; her
young ladyship was, by this desperate interest in the juveniles
of Bermondsey, endeavouring to distract her mind from thoughts of
her absent lover. Erb breathed again and gave assistance in
managing the most trying boys at the “Happy
Evenings.” One night, as he performed the duty of
seeing Lady Frances through the dimly-lighted streets to Spa Road
Station, they met Rosalind and her father. Rosalind flushed
hotly, and Erb wondered why. He demanded of her the reason
at the next elocution lesson, and Rosalind said calmly, that it
was because at that moment she had given her second-best ankle a
twist.</p>
<p>Lady Frances brought to Erb an invitation that flattered
him. Her uncle, of Queen Anne’s Mansions, a man in
most of the money-making schemes <a name="page165"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 165</span>of London, but one never anxious to
obtrude his own name or his own personality, felt desirous of
starting a movement for (to give the full Christian names)
“The Anglicising of Foreign Manufactures.”</p>
<p>This Lady Frances explained to him, with her usual vivacity,
the while both kept an eye on some noisy Bermondsey infants, who
were playing in the hall of the Board School.</p>
<p>“Other countries are getting ahead of us, my uncle says,
and unless something is done at once, British trade (Now,
children, do play without quarrelling, please, to oblige me!),
British trade will go down, and down, and down, and there will be
nothing left.”</p>
<p>“Are things really so bad?”</p>
<p>“Oh, they’re terrible,” declared Lady
Frances, with great cheerfulness. “Apparently the
bed-rock has almost been reached, and it is only by a great and a
unanimous effort that Great Britain will ever again be enabled to
get its head above water. So, at any rate, my uncle tells
me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know—(Young Tommy Gibbons, if I
catch you at that again you know what will happen)—I
don’t know that I’ve ever studied the subject in the
large. My own society takes up nearly all my time, and
other work I leave to other people.”</p>
<p>“Exactly, Mr. Barnes, exactly! I quite understand
your position. But I have such faith in my uncle. Do
you know that nearly everything he touches turns into
money.”</p>
<p><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
166</span>“Very agreeable gift.”</p>
<p>“But the point is this, that nothing can be done unless
capital and labour work in unison for a common end. One is
affected quite as much as the other, and alone neither can do
anything. British trades are being snapped up by America,
by France, by Germany, even by Belgium, the only remedy, my uncle
says, is for us to take some of their manufactures and plant them
here.—(I was sure you’d fall down and hurt your knee,
little boy. Come here and let me kiss the place and make it
well)—I don’t know whether I make myself quite plain
to you, Mr. Barnes?”</p>
<p>“In one sense you do,” said Erb. “Only
thing I can’t see is, where your uncle imagines that I come
in.”</p>
<p>A dispute between two children over a doll necessitated
interference, based on the judgment of Solomon.</p>
<p>“Obviously,” replied the girl, delighted at the
importance of her task, “obviously, your work will be to
organise.”</p>
<p>“Organise what?”</p>
<p>“Meetings of working men to take up the idea, discussion
in the halfpenny papers, argument in workshops. In this
way,” she said, with her engaging frankness, “in this
way, you see, you could strengthen my uncle’s
hands.”</p>
<p>“Not sure that that is the one desire of my
life.”</p>
<p>“I am so clumsy,” deplored Lady Frances.</p>
<p>“Not more than most people.”</p>
<p><a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
167</span>“If you would only see my uncle and argue it
out! He, I am sure, would succeed where I,” with a
sigh, “where I so horribly fail.”</p>
<p>“Look here,” said Erb, hastily, “if
it’s any satisfaction to you, I’ll say at once that
I’m with the movement, heart, body, and soul.”</p>
<p>Lady Frances took his big hand and patted it thankfully.</p>
<p>“Can’t tell you how pleased I am,” she
declared. “I’ll send on all the circulars and
figures and things when I reach Eaton Square
to-night—(Children, children, you are tiresome,
really)—and then you can start work directly, can’t
you?”</p>
<p>A busy man always has time to spare; it is only your lazy
person who can never place a minute at anyone’s
disposal. Thus it was that Erb tacked on to his other
duties, the work of making known the Society for Anglicising
Foreign Manufactures, pressing into the service all the young
orators of his acquaintance, and furnishing them with short and
easy arguments. Our import trade was so many millions in
excess of our outgoing trade: why should this be so? Our
villages were becoming deserted, and country manufactories
dwindled day by day: this must be stopped. Vague talk about
technical education; praise for the English working man, and
adulation of his extraordinary, but sometimes dormant brain
power; necessity of providing tasks for the rising generation
that they might not push men of forty out of berths. An
agreeable programme, one that could be promulgated without <a
name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>those
submissive inquiries addressed to the labour leaders in the
House, which always had a suggestion of servility. Erb, the
following Sunday, spoke at Southwark Park in the morning, at
Peckham Rye in the afternoon, and Deptford Broadway in the
evening, and, the subject being new, he found himself invited to
address several working men’s clubs during the week.
Paragraphs, slipped into the newspapers, sometimes contained his
name: Lady Frances wrote that her uncle was delighted, and had
asked to be especially remembered. A later note mentioned
that it was intended to hold a mass meeting at St. James’s
Hall, to bring the subject well before the people of London: her
uncle would not be able to be present, but he had begged her to
request Mr. Barnes to speak on this occasion: there would be a
Duchess of philanthropic tendencies in the chair, and several
members of Parliament had promised to speak.
“Don’t disappoint us!” said the postscript
appealingly. Erb sent an agreeable postcard in reply, and a
friend of his, an assistant-librarian in the Free Library,
promised to devote himself to work of research and ascertain how
one addressed a lady of such distinguished rank as the wife of a
Duke. The assistant-librarian urged that evening-dress was
the correct thing, and offered to lend a suit which he and his
brother wore when they went out into society, patronising dances
at the Surrey Masonic Hall but here Erb’s commonsense
interfered. The meeting was advertised in the daily papers
and on hoardings, his name given as Herbert <a
name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>Barnes,
Esquire, with full qualifications set out: he never saw one of
the posters without stopping to enjoy the sight, and it pained
him extremely to find that on one or two in the neighbourhood of
home some friend had erased the affix. Louisa went boldly
one evening to the offices of the new society, in College Street,
Westminster, and obtained a copy of the poster; this she would
have exhibited in the front window, but compromised by sticking
it at its four corners on the wall of the sitting room.</p>
<p>St. James’s Hall was not over-crowded on the evening,
and a wealthy member of the committee went about telling
everybody that a smaller room would have been cheaper, but it was
full enough to please Erb as he took a view of it from the stairs
leading to the platform. The platform was fringed with
palms; on the walls were hung banners, with quotations from
Shakespeare down to the newest poet; quotations, that appeared to
give vague support to the movement. Lady Frances, hovering
about in the manner of an anxious butterfly, introduced Erb to
the Duchess, and the Duchess, without using her lorgnon, said
beamingly that she had read all of Mr. Barnes’s works, and
felt quite too delighted to meet the author; Erb protested
nervously that he had never written a book, but the Duchess waved
this aside as ineffective badinage, and went on talking the while
she looked away through her glasses at arriving people. So
delighted, said the Duchess absently, to mingle with men of
talent; it took one into another atmosphere. The <a
name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>Duchess,
for her part, claimed to have powers of observation, and trusted
piously that she was not altogether without a sense of humour,
but these exceptional qualities, she said, had never availed her
when she took pen in hand. Erb, perceiving the futility of
contradiction, suggested that she should one day, when a spare
moment arrived, have another dash at it, and the Duchess,
bringing her gaze by a process of exhaustion round to him, stared
at him wonderingly for a moment, and then promised to act upon
his advice. A shy little man of letters being submitted
just then to her consideration, the Duchess dropped Erb, and
engaged in animated monologue on the subject of labour and how to
conciliate it: her own method seemed to be to treat it as an
elephant and give it buns. Erb stood about the room, whilst
well-dressed people flew one to the other with every sign of
gratification; he felt all his usual difficulty of not knowing
what to do with his hands. The people had a manner of
speech that he could understand with difficulty, they talked of
things that for him were a sealed book. Three clergymen who
came in a bunch and seemed similarly out of the movement, gave
him a feeling of companionship. When they all formed in a
line and marched up on the platform to a mild, whispered cheering
from the Hall, Erb’s interest quickened, and the slight
feeling of nervousness came which always affected him when he was
going to speak.</p>
<p>“And I <i>do</i> think,” said the Duchess, with
shrill <a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
171</span>endeavour to make her voice reach the back of the hall,
“I <i>do</i> think that the more we consider such matters
the more likely we are to understand them and to realise what
they mean, and to gain a better and a wider and a truer
knowledge.” The three clergymen said, “Good,
good,” in a burst of respectful approbation, as men
suddenly illuminated by a new thought. “I am tempted
to go further,” said the Duchess, waving her notes
threateningly at the audience, “to go further, and express
myself, if I may so say, that having put our hands to the
plough—” She looked round at the straight line
of folk behind her, and they endeavoured to convey by their looks
that if a Duchess could not be allowed the use of daring
metaphor, then it would have to be denied to everybody.
“Having put our hands to the plough, we shall not turn
back—(slight cheering)—we shall not
falter—(renewed slight cheering)—we shall not loiter
by the roadside, but we shall go steadily on, knowing well
that—that—” Here the Duchess found her
notes and read the last words of her peroration carefully,
“knowing well that our goal is none other than the rising
sun, which symbolises so happily the
renaissance—” Here she looked down at the
reporters’ table, and seemed about to spell the word, but
refraining contented herself by saying it again with great
distinctness. “The renaissance of British Trade and
British Supremacy!”</p>
<p>A service member of Parliament proposed the first resolution,
and did so in a speech that would <a name="page172"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 172</span>have suited any and every occasion
on sea or land, in that it was made up entirely of platitudes,
and included not one argument that could be seized by the most
contentious; the whole brightened by what the member of
Parliament himself described as a most amusing discussion which
he had held with a man of the labouring classes not many years
since (on which occasion the member had travelled second, this
being notoriously the only way of discovering the true
aspirations of the lower classes), and the member had subjected
the man to a rigid cross-examination of the most preposterous and
useless nature which he now repeated with many an “Ah, but
I said—” and “Now listen to me, my good
fellow—” and “Permit me to explain what I mean
in simple words so that even you can understand,” the
labouring man eventually giving in (so, at any rate, the Member
declared), admitting that the gallant Member had won the game at
every point—the probability being that the poor fellow,
bullied and harried by a talkative bore, had done so in the
interests of peace and with a desire to be let alone and allowed
to read his evening paper. The service Member clearly
prided himself not only on the acuteness which he had displayed
in the argument, but also on the wonderful imitative faculty
which enabled him to reproduce the dialect of his opponent, a
dialect which seemed to have been somewhat mixed, for in one
instance he spoke Lancashire with, “Aye, ah niver thowt
o’ that,” and the next broad Somerset, “There
be zummat in what yew <a name="page173"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 173</span>zay, zir,” and anon in a
strange blend of Irish and Scotch.</p>
<p>“‘That this meeting calls upon the working classes
to put aside all differences and to contribute their
indispensable assistance to the new movement, from which they
themselves have so much to gain.’ Will Mr. Herbert
Barnes please second?”</p>
<p>This was written on the slip of paper, and passed along to Erb
at a moment when the grisly fear had begun to possess him that he
might not be called upon at all. He nodded to the
secretary, and felt that the audience, now tired of listening to
spoken words, looked at him doubtfully. One of the three
clergymen being selected to move the resolution, the other two
looked at their shoes with a pained interest, and presently
tugged at their black watch-guards, ascertained the time, and,
just before the chosen man arose, slipped quietly out.
Fortunately for Erb, the remaining clergyman started on a line of
reasoning excellently calculated to annoy and to stimulate.
Began by pointing out that everybody nowadays worked excepting
the working man, doubted whether it was of much use offering to
him help, but declaring himself, in doleful tones, an optimist,
congratulated the new movement on its courage, its altruism, its
high nobility of purpose, and managed, before sitting down, to
intimate very defiantly that unless labour seized this unique
opportunity, then labour must be left to shift for itself and
could no longer expect any assistance from him.</p>
<p><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
174</span>“Ladies and gentlemen!” said Erb
distinctly. The promise of listening to a voice that could
be heard without difficulty aroused the Hall. “I
should be glad if the gentleman who spoke last could spare just
three minutes of his time, and refrain for that space from making
a hurried and somewhat undignified departure from the
Hall.” The clergyman who had adopted the crouching
attitude of those who desire to escape furtively from close
confinement, returned and sat, his back straightened.
“He has spoke—I should say, he has spoken—in a
patronising way of labour, and I want to tell him that we resent
very strongly his condescending and almost contemptuous
words.”</p>
<p>His predecessor rose and said, “May it please
your—”</p>
<p>“No, no, no!” said Erb, with but a slight
modification of his Southwark Park manner, “I didn’t
interrupt the reverend gentleman, and I’m not going to
allow him to interrupt me. Or to assume the duties, your
Grace,” with a nod to the chair, “which you perform
with such conspicuous charm and ability.”</p>
<p>The Duchess, who, fearing a row, had been anxiously consulting
those around her in order to gain hints as to procedure,
recovered confidence on receiving this compliment, and gave a
smile of relief. Men at the table below adjusted their
black leaves of carbonic paper and began to write.</p>
<p>“Now, I’ve been into the details almost as
carefully as the reverend gentleman has, and what I <a
name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>want to
say, in order that this audience should not consider that we are
absolutely silly fools, is, that so far from this movement having
been arranged in order to benefit the workers exclusively, it is
very clear to me that there’s a few behind the scenes who
are going to make a bit out of it.”</p>
<p>One cry of approval came from the distant gallery, but this
scarcely counted, for it was a voice that had applauded contrary
statements with the same decision. Erb knew the owner of
the voice, a queer old crank, who went about to public meetings,
his pockets bursting with newspapers, more than content if in the
Free Library the next day he should find but one of his solitary
cries of “Hear, hear,” reported in the daily
press.</p>
<p>“I’ve no doubt they feel pretty certain of a safe
eight or ten per cent.; if they didn’t, this meeting would
never have been held, and we should have been denied the pleasure
of listening to that lucid and illuminating speech with which
your Grace has favoured us. I say this that the previous
speaker may see and that you all may recognise the fact that if
those I represent give the cause any assistance, we do so with
our eyes wide open, and that we are not blindfolded by the cheap
flannel sort of arguments to which we have just listened.
But let me go on. Because this is going to be a soft thing
for the capitalists, it by no means follows that it is going to
be a hard thing for the worker. On the contrary! I
can see—or I think I can see—that <a
name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>this is
likely to benefit both of us. (Cheers.) And whilst I
repudiate the attitude and the arguments of the last speaker, I
promise you that I am prepared to do all that I can for the
scheme—(cheers)—not in the interests of capital, for
capital can look after itself, but in the interests of labour,
which sometimes wants a lot of looking after. Your Grace, I
beg to second the resolution.”</p>
<p>Not a great speech by any means, but one with the golden
virtue of brevity, and one spoken with obvious earnestness.
The Hall liked it; the subsequent speakers made genial references
to it, and the Duchess, in acknowledging a vote of thanks, repaid
Erb for his compliment to herself by prophesying that Mr. Barnes
would prove a pillar of strength to the cause, declaring
graciously that she should watch his career with interest, and
gave him a fierce smile that seemed to hint that this in itself
was sufficient to ensure success. (Later, when he said
goodbye, the Duchess called him Mr. Blenkinsop, and begged him to
convey her kindest regards to his dear wife.)</p>
<p>“I wonder,” said a gentleman with concave
spectacles, “I wonder, now, whether you have a card about
you?”</p>
<p>“Going to do a trick?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>“Here’s mine. Have you ever thought of
entering the House?”</p>
<p>“Someone would have to provide me with a
latch-key.”</p>
<p>“I take you!” remarked the spectacled <a
name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>gentleman
adroitly. “Don’t happen to be Welsh, I suppose,
by any chance? Ah! a pity!”</p>
<p>For a moment it occurred to Erb that this might be a sample of
aristocratic chaff; he stopped his retort on seeing that the
other was talking with perfect seriousness. “But
something else may happen at any moment. We live in strange
times.”</p>
<p>“We always do,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“I shall keep you in my mind.”</p>
<p>Lady Frances eluded some dowagers who were bearing down upon
her, and came to him; she took an envelope from a pretty hiding
place.</p>
<p>“My uncle particularly begged me to give you this.
You were so good, Mr. Barnes. (Don’t open it until
you get home.) Your speech was just what one wanted.
You quite cleared the air.”</p>
<p>“Afraid I should clear the ’All.” Lady
Frances seemed not to comprehend, and the knowledge came to Erb
that he had missed an aspirate.</p>
<p>“My uncle will be so pleased. I shall be down at
Bermondsey next week, and I can bring any message my uncle wishes
to send. I don’t bother you, Mr. Barnes?”</p>
<p>“Need you ask?” replied Erb.</p>
<p>“You’re not going?” with her gloved hand
held out.</p>
<p>Erb took the hint and made his exit with difficulty, because
several ladies buzzed around him, humming pleasant words.
The spectacled man walked with him along Piccadilly, talking
busily, and expressed a desire to take Erb into the club <a
name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>for
coffee. “Only that my place is so deucedly uncivil to
visitors.” He contented himself with a threat that
Erb should most certainly hear from him again.</p>
<p>“I shan’t lose your address,” said the
spectacled person.</p>
<p>It was not until the Committee Meeting of the R.C.S. had
nearly finished one evening that Erb, in searching for a letter
which some members desired to see, found the note from Lady
Frances’s uncle. He tore the flap casually, and,
recognising it, placed the opened envelope aside, and pursued his
searches for the required document. Spanswick, with a busy
air of giving assistance, looked through the letters, and opened
the communication which Lady Frances had brought.</p>
<p>“Pardon, old man,” whispered Spanswick
confidentially. “Didn’t know I was interfering
with money matters.”</p>
<h2><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
179</span>CHAPTER X</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is the ingenious habit of
Kentish railways directly that hop-picking is over and pay-day is
done, to advertise excursions to London at a fare so cheap that
not to take advantage of it were to discourage Providence in its
attempts to make the world pleasant. Country folk, who make
but one visit a year to town, seize this September opportunity;
some avail themselves not only of this but of the Cattle Show
trip later on; a few also take the pantomime excursion in
February, and these are counted in quiet villages as being, by
frequent contact with town, blades of the finest temper, to whom
(if they would but be candid) no mysteries of the great town are
unknown. Erb’s Aunt Emma, giving herself reward for a
month’s hard work in the hop-garden, came up every year by
the September excursion. It happened on this occasion that
the day could not have made a more awkward attempt to fit in with
Erb’s convenience.</p>
<p>“Well,” said Aunt Emma, in the ’bus,
desolately, “I’m not surprised! It’s what
comes of looking forward to anything. When I heerd as you
may say, you’d left the railway, I said to the party that
comes in on Mondays to help me do my week’s <a
name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>washing,
‘I don’t know,’ I says, ‘what to think
’bout all this.’”</p>
<p>“Any other day, almost,” urged her nephew,
“I could have arranged for the day off, but I’ve got
important work to do that’ll take me up to nine
o’clock.”</p>
<p>“Whenever I find a bit of a lad giving up a honest
living, I always say to Mrs. Turley, I say, ‘Dang it all,
this won’t do!’ And when it ’appened to
my brother’s own boy I turned round at once, I did, and I
said, ‘I don’t know what to—’”</p>
<p>“If Louisa had been quite herself, why, of course,
she—”</p>
<p>“I’ll get back to Lonnon Bridge,” said Aunt
Emma grimly. “Reckon I shall be some’ing like
Mrs. Turley’s eldest. He come up one November, he
did—first time he’d been to Lonnon—and it were
a bit foggy, so he kep’ in the station all day; when he
come home, he says, ‘Mother,’ he says,
‘it’s a fine big place, Lonnon is, but it
dedn’t quite come up to my
expectations.’” The parchment-faced old lady
was pleased by Erb’s reception of this anecdote, and,
gratified also to get a smile from other passengers, she relaxed
in manner; Erb saw the opportunity.</p>
<p>“Tell you what we’ve arranged, Aunt Emma.
Louisa and me talked it over as soon’s ever we made out
your letter—”</p>
<p>“I don’t perfess,” remarked the old lady,
“to be first-class in me spellin’.
’Sides, I got someone else to write it.”</p>
<p><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
181</span>“And we decided that we’d get a friend of
mine—a friend of ours to look after you for the
day.”</p>
<p>“What’s he like?” asked the old lady, with
reluctant show of interest.</p>
<p>“It’s a she!”</p>
<p>“Your young woman?”</p>
<p>“I don’t go in for anything of that kind,”
said Erb, looking round the ’bus apprehensively.
“Too busy for such nonsense.”</p>
<p>“Never knew the man yet,” said Aunt Emma,
“that couldn’t make time to get fond of
somebody.”</p>
<p>Arrived at the office at Grange Road, Erb was showing the aunt
some of his newspaper notices, when he heard on the stairs the
swish of skirts. He lost the remaining half of his
remark.</p>
<p>“And you’ve been fairly walking out, then, as you
may say, with our Lady Frances?”</p>
<p>“You can’t call it that, Aunt. I’ve
only just been paying her polite attention.”</p>
<p>“I know what you mean,” remarked the old lady
acutely. “Her grandmother—I’m speaking
now of forty year ago, mind you—her grandmother ran off
with a—let me see! Forget me own name
next.”</p>
<p>Erb answered the quiet tap at the open door.</p>
<p>“Good girl!” he cried cheerfully.
“Welcome to our baronial hall! Aunt Emma, this is the
young lady that’s going to pilot you round. Almost
makes you seem,” he said to Rosalind, “like one of
the family.”</p>
<p><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
182</span>“I only had to put off three pupils,” said
Rosalind quickly. “How do you do?”</p>
<p>“I’m going downstairs to fetch coffee and scones
for you two,” announced Erb. “Try not to come
to blows whilst I’m away.”</p>
<p>“My sciatica is just beginning to wake up, as you may
say,” replied Aunt Emma.</p>
<p>“So sorry,” said Rosalind sympathetically.
“It must interfere with getting about.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” replied Aunt Emma coldly.
“I’m able to set up and take nourishment.”</p>
<p>“I expect your nephew has a lot of callers,” she
said with determination. “He knows a good many
people.”</p>
<p>“Are you acquainted with our Lady Frances,” asked
the aunt in a mysterious whisper.</p>
<p>“I have just seen her,” flushing a little for some
reason.</p>
<p>“These upper classes, they don’t stand at nothing,
as you may say, when—” Erb returned, and the
aunt, with the wink of a diplomatist, raised her voice.
“They paid eight to the shillin’ this year it ought
to’ve been seven. I said so straight, all through the
hopping, I did, to Mrs. Turley.”</p>
<p>The doors were to open at two for the afternoon’s
entertainment, and the aunt’s idea was that it were well to
get there by noon, and thus ensure the best value in seats for a
shilling; Rosalind gently over-ruled this, and they went first to
Westminster Abbey, at which the aunt sneered, saying it was <a
name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>not her
idea of a place of worship, and to the National Gallery, in
regard to the contents of which the old lady hinted that they
compared badly with a rare set of illuminated almanacks which she
had at home, issued yearly by Deane, the grocer; the almanacks,
it appeared, had the advantage of giving the date of jolly nigh
every month you could think of. Trafalgar Square, looked on
as a square, the aunt thought not much better than middling; the
Embankment, in her opinion, lacked many of the attractions that
she remembered once to have found at Ramsgate. But when,
later, they were seated in the front row of the gallery in a
small hall, and the curtain went up disclosing a crescent of
black-faced men, with instrumentalists behind them, and similarly
coloured gentlemen, with be-frilled shirtfronts, at either end
asked riddles of the gentlemanly man at the centre, riddles of
which the gentlemanly man almost alone in the Hall knew not the
answer, able only to repeat the question in a sonorous manner,
then Aunt Emma relinquished all attempt at criticism, and gave
herself up to pure delight. “Can you tole me, Mithter
Johnthon, how a woman differth from an umbrella?”</p>
<p>“Can I tell you,” repeated the gentlemanly man
very distinctly, “how a woman differs from an
umbrella?”</p>
<p>“Now ’ark for the answer!” whispered Aunt
Emma, nudging her young companion gleefully.</p>
<p>“No, sir,” said the gentlemanly man, “I
cannot tell you how a woman differs from an umbrella.”</p>
<p><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
184</span>“You can’t tole me how a woman differth
from an umbrella? Why,” explained the corner-man,
“you can shut an umbrella up!”</p>
<p>“How in the world they think of all these things!”
said Aunt Emma exhaustedly. “Dang my old eyes if it
’ent a miracle!”</p>
<p>Aunt Emma wept when a thin-voiced youth sang,
“Don’t neglect your mother ’cause her hair is
getting grey,” became hysterical with amusement over,
“I’m a gay old bachelor widow.” Rosalind
found herself enjoying the enjoyment of the old lady, and when
they came out into daylight, and went across the way to a noble
establishment, where they had high tea, the two were on excellent
terms with each other, and information regarding small scandals
of Penshurst was placed freely at Rosalind’s
disposal. The old lady spoke in an awed whisper when she
came to the people at the Court, and arrested a slice of ham on
her fork, as though sensible of the demands of etiquette when
dealing with the upper classes.</p>
<p>“You’re not married, my dear,” said Aunt
Emma, loosening the strings of her bonnet and allowing it to fall
to the back of her head in an elegant way, “or else I could
speak more free, as you may say, on the subject. That
grandmother of hers—” The old lady pursed her
lips, and glanced at her reflection in the mirrored walls with a
pained shake of the head.</p>
<p>“But,” urged Rosalind, perturbed by the
aunt’s confident manner of prophecy, “Lady Frances, I
<a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
185</span>understand, is engaged to a lieutenant out in North
Africa.”</p>
<p>“Then sooner he comes back,” shaking a spoon
threateningly, “sooner he comes back the better. I
don’t want to go opening my old mouth too wide, or else
like enough I shall go and put my foot in it. I’ve
said all I want to say, and I don’t want folk to turn round
arterwards and say to me, ‘Why didn’t you give us
warnin’?’ Strikes me, my dear, we might have
drop more hot water with this yere tea.”</p>
<p>“Do you know her uncle at all?”</p>
<p>“I know <i>of</i> him. I used to be upper
housemaid at the Court.”</p>
<p>“And what—”</p>
<p>“I don’t think no worse of him,” said Aunt
Emma in a slow, careful, and judicial manner, “I
don’t think no worse of him than what he’s thought
worse of.”</p>
<p>“I see,” said Rosalind doubtfully. The girl
was silent for a few moments. She looked at the walnut face
of Erb’s aunt, at the elderly dimple beside the mouth, she
watched the old lady’s cautious way of munching food.</p>
<p>“What you thinking of, my dear?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, nothing,” said Rosalind, arousing
herself.</p>
<p>“You won’t ’spect me to finish up these yere
bits I hope,” said Aunt Emma, looking at the crusts by the
side of her plate. “My teeth ain’t what they
was when I was your age. Ah,” with a sigh,
“that seems long time ago.”</p>
<p><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
186</span>“You have never been married, have
you?”</p>
<p>“Could ha’ been,” said the old lady
shortly. “’Twarnt for want of being
asked.”</p>
<p>“Why, of course not.”</p>
<p>“Only chap I ever wanted,” she said reminiscently,
“I let him go and get snapped up by someone else; silly bit
of a gel that I was. I tell ye what ’tis!”</p>
<p>People at the neighbouring tables were listening, and Rosalind
touched her wrinkled hand gently to call her attention to the
fact.</p>
<p>“Once you’ve made up your mind, as you may say,
about a young man, you’ve got to be jeggerin’ well
careful you don’t go and lose him. Makes all the
difference whether you get the right man or the wrong man, or no
man at all. Now what about this Drury Lane?
We’d bedder be too soon than too late.”</p>
<p>A wonderful old person for her age, and Rosalind, made rather
thoughtful for some reason by the conversation, had much ado to
keep up with her as they walked through Leicester Square and Long
Acre in the direction of Autumn Melodrama. When the doors
opened, Erb’s aunt fought her way in with the best of them,
securing two seats in the second row, and keeping strong men and
insurgent women at bay until Rosalind came up; she ordered a very
tall man in the front row to sit down, and when he replied that
he was a sitting down Aunt Emma suggested that he should lie
down. Then the old lady loosened her <a
name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
187</span>elastic-sided boots slightly, and prepared to meet
enjoyment.</p>
<p>A great evening. Aunt Emma confessed to Rosalind, as
they came out, that, say what you liked, there was no place like
London, and, but for the fact that she wanted to save the bit of
money she had put away, she would willingly bid good-bye to
Penshurst and come up to town, spending every afternoon at Moore
and Burgess’, and every evening at Drury Lane.
Outside the theatre was Erb.</p>
<p>“Nice young woman, if ever there was one,”
whispered Emma to her nephew. “Superior manner, and
all that.”</p>
<p>“Thought you’d get along all right with
her,” remarked Erb.</p>
<p>“I’ve been giving her advice.”</p>
<p>“Trust you.”</p>
<p>“Wonnerful to see such qualities of people about,”
said the old lady, hailing Rosalind into the discussion as they
walked along the crowded Strand. “Nothin like this
down where I live.”</p>
<p>“Have you far to walk at the other end?” asked the
girl solicitously.</p>
<p>“Not fur,” replied the wonderful old lady.
“Ony ’bout four mile and h’af.”</p>
<p>The excursion train was nearly ready to start, and Erb,
finding an old acquaintance in the guard, arranged for
appropriate finish to a great day by placing his aunt in a
first-class compartment. She remarked gleefully that this
would be something to tell Mrs. Turley.</p>
<p><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
188</span>“God bless ye, my dear,” she said, kissing
Rosalind. “And don’t forget what I told
you. Erb, take care of her.”</p>
<p>Rosalind wanted to go into the Strand telegraph office
opposite the station for a moment, if Erb did not mind. Erb
did not mind, and he waited.</p>
<p>“As much as that?” said Rosalind to the
clerk. “Seems a lot of money.”</p>
<p>“Well, you see, miss,” replied the clerk,
apologetically, “people don’t telegraph to these
distant parts unless it’s about something
important.”</p>
<h2><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
189</span>CHAPTER XI</h2>
<p>“<span class="smcap">My</span> dear Mr. Barnes,”
wrote Lady Frances’ uncle in a genial note, dated from a
Pall Mall club, “I am sorry my niece did not make my
intention more apparent; possibly the mistake was my own. I
never dreamt of offering you, as you assume, anything in the
shape of a bribe. What I thought was that, as one who had
the interests both of capital and labour at heart, I might be
allowed to make a small contribution towards any movement in
which you were interested. You mentioned once an idea of
starting a small paper; let my small cheque assist in this
excellent effort.</p>
<p>“I was glad to see your admirable speech so fully
reported in the newspapers. The new movement owes much to
your influential voice. I think we shall want you to run
down to Birmingham next week, but the secretary will write you,
and he also will see to the expenses. If you will not
accept payment for your services, at any rate there is no reason
why you should be out of pocket over the business.—Yours
with great regard.”</p>
<p>“Reads fair enough,” commented Erb. “I
may have worded my letter a bit too harsh.”</p>
<p>From Birmingham the party went to Stafford and to Coventry,
all somewhat in the manner of a <a name="page190"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 190</span>travelling theatrical company, the
party including, indeed, some eccentrics which emphasised the
resemblance. There was an Irish barrister, who had hitherto
pleaded mainly at Cogers’ Hall, and had a change in
temperament for every glass of whiskey that he drank, going up
and up the hill of cheerfulness until a certain number was
reached, whereupon each succeeding glass made him descend slowly
to the tableland of contempt for the world; a young Oxford man
eager to make some alteration in the world without delay; and one
or two safe men, who could always be relied upon to say a few
appropriate words. Erb sent to Rosalind from each town
press notices, with crosses near to the references to himself,
until it suddenly occurred to him that these signs might have two
meanings; afterwards he drew a rather clumsy hand to draw
attention to the only item in the papers worthy of
Rosalind’s notice.</p>
<p>Erb was now so much in the movement of life that he
experienced a kind of restless fever unless he had some new
project in hand. He felt ashamed to confess himself hurt on
his journey back to town when he found names of other labour
leaders endowed with the importance of print, and a newspaper
which did not contain his name appeared to him to have been
scarce worth the trouble of setting up; this was emphasised by
the fact that the Irish barrister, on seeing him off, had given
him a generous compliment; patting him on the back, he had
assured Erb that the name of Barnes was one that would be
engraven in imperishable letters <a name="page191"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 191</span>of gold on the temple of Fame, and
that he, for his part, would never, never forget him. Small
wonder, with this feeling of self-importance, that Erb should
give but little attention to the fact that Louisa was at home in
Page’s Walk, looking paler than usual. Louisa
remarked that she was really only playing truant, having made up
her mind not to work so hard in future. “They think
all the more of you,” said Louisa acutely.</p>
<p>A storm seldom occurs without some premonitory signs, and it
was on the tramcar that took him to Camberwell—no reason
why he should go to Camberwell other than his desire to see
Rosalind, and this would make him late for the committee
meeting—it was on the tramcar that the first warnings
appeared. Erb was seated at the back reading the
manuscript, an article commencing, “Brother Workers!”
when two men in railway uniform came up the steps, so keenly
engaged in conversation that they stopped half-way to settle some
disputed point, barring the descent of passengers who wished to
alight. When, at the strenuously-worded request of the
delayed passengers, and the mild appeal of a tame conductor, they
were induced to move, they scampered up, and taking seats
immediately in front of Erb, recommenced their argument.
One was a member of Erb’s society; the other, a man who had
obstinately kept outside. Erb would have spoken to them,
but that he was just then in a state of ecstatic admiration over
what seemed to him a well-turned sentence in the article.</p>
<p><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
192</span>“Tell you what it is, old man,” said the
non-member, slapping his corduroyed knee emphatically.
“You’ve been makin’ a little tin god of the
chap, and, naturally enough, he’s taken advantage of
it. You pass him votes of thanks, and what not, and fill
him up with soft soap, and consequence is, he goes swelling
about, and—”</p>
<p>“He wasn’t far wrong about that South Western
business,” remarked the other with meek determination,
“and chance it.”</p>
<p>“You can’t expect a man not to do right
sometimes. I ain’t arguin’, mind you, that
Erb’s a fool. Far from it! My view of the
matter is, if you must know—”</p>
<p>“I never ast for your opinion!”</p>
<p>“Never mind whether you ast for it or not. My view
of the whole matter is that he’s the only clever man
amongst you. He’s got you all on a bit o’
string. He goes away, as you mentioned, for a week or ten
days together, and never thinks of communicatin’ with you;
he gets his name in the papers; for all you know he may be
playin’ a double game—”</p>
<p>The conductor came up for fares, and the argumentative man
fortified his position by paying for both.</p>
<p>“A double game. No, no! let me finish! And
all the time laughing in his sleeve at the lot of you.
I’ve known that sort before. I’ve met
’em. I’ve come across ’em. I say no
more,” he added mysteriously, and sat back, glaring at the
sky.</p>
<p><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
193</span>“Well, but—” The member seemed
ill-qualified for debate, and Erb was greatly tempted to prompt
him. “What I mean is— What I was about to
say was—”</p>
<p>“He’s a having you,” said the other, smiling
thoughtfully at the sky, “he’s a having you on
toast!”</p>
<p>“But what’s it to do with you?” demanded the
other, not finding the argument for which he had searched.</p>
<p>“Nothing!” retorted the other.</p>
<p>The member, taken aback by this unexpected reply, could not
speak for a few moments. He looked appealingly at the names
on the shops by which they were passing for a suggestion, and
appeared to find one in the word Goodenough.</p>
<p>“After all,” he began, “for our
purpose—”</p>
<p>“Don’t forget this!” interrupted the
other. “Don’t let <i>this</i> fact slip out of
your memory. It was you began this argument. I never
seeked for it. We was having a glass in the Old Kent Road,
and you, or one of the others, began by saying that Erb was
growing a great deal too big for his boots.”</p>
<p>“<i>I</i> never said it,” growled the other
sulkily.</p>
<p>“Did someone pass a remark to that effect, or did
someone not pass a remark to that effect? Am I speaking the
truth, or am I a bloomin’ liar?”</p>
<p>“It’s one or the other,” said the member
cautiously.</p>
<p>“That won’t do for me,” said the non-member,
<a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>now in
the sheer enjoyment of cross-examination. “I ast you
a straightforward question, and if you can’t give me a
straightforward answer, why, I must draw me own
conclusions. That’s all.” And smiled
again mysteriously at the sky.</p>
<p>“Well,” replied the other, goaded, “I
don’t mind going so far as this. Certain things
<i>have</i> been said of late at certain depots that I
needn’t name, and it’s all going to be brought up at
the meeting to-night. Mind you, it mustn’t go any
further.” The other man gave a nod intended to
signify that he had guessed all this. “And being
meself on Erb’s side, and not wanting to be mixed up in
anything like a shindy, why, I’m giving it a miss, and
I’m off down to meet the wife’s brother at his club
in Peckham and spend a nice, quiet, sociable evening.
See?”</p>
<p>“And you,” remarked the other thoughtfully,
“you call yourself a man? Well, well, well!”
with a sigh, “the longer we live the older we
get.”</p>
<p>“What are you snacking at me about now?” demanded
the member heatedly.</p>
<p>Erb slipped down the steps, disturbed by the news which he had
heard, but with also a feeling of elation at the prospect of a
fight. He found the Professor alone in the house in
Southampton Street; Rosalind was out giving lessons at a school
for superior young ladies at Brixton. Professor full of a
kind of stale enthusiasm concerning a new project, which was to
take a theatre or a town hall or a room or something and give
costume recitals, <a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
195</span>grave and gay, and to keep on at it night after night
until people found themselves forced to come in their thousands;
the Professor seemed to have worked this out as though it were a
scheme for winning gold at Monte Carlo, and he had already
decided what he should do with the enormous profits.
Difficulty was to select from the many suburbs of London one
place which should be favoured with the experiment; another
difficulty (but this he seemed to think of less importance)
consisted in the fact that, from inquiries he had caused to be
made, it appeared that those who controlled the letting of public
premises had a distrustful habit of requiring the rent in
advance. Erb, in answer to a question, declared that he had
no sort of influence in the City, a place with which the
Professor seemed imperfectly acquainted in that he regarded it as
a storehouse of valuables, the door of which flew open if you but
knew the one, the indispensable word; the Professor considered
the matter for a while with one hand twirling his hair, and then,
illuminated, announced his intention of taking off his coat to
the work. As a first step, he proposed to take a cab to
Throgmorton Street, and have a thoroughly good look round.
Erb suggested a ’bus and the Professor replied that
undertakings of this kind had to be carried through with a
certain amount of dash and spirit which could not be done under
one and six, or, at the very least, one and three. For this
sum Erb compounded, and the Professor made a note of the amount
on the back <a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
196</span>of an envelope that a treacherous memory should not
play tricks; the message for Rosalind he could trust to his
mind. He was working like a bonded slave, he added, on
behalf of his little girl: she was fortunate, indeed, in having a
father who could keep accounts. Erb restrained an obvious
repartee, and the old gentleman, in his slippers, walked with him
out to Camberwell Gate, where, in the interests of economy, he
proposed to look in at a bar which had in its window a card
bearing the ambiguous announcement, “The
‘Stage’ Taken In.”</p>
<p>Erb found that he had allowed the garrulous old gentleman to
detain him longer than he should have done; when, on reaching the
coffee-shop in Grange Road he ran upstairs to the committee
rooms, he could hear voices raised, and he knew that not only had
the meeting already commenced, but that a contentious subject was
being debated. The rapping of Payne’s hammer failed
to arrest tumultuous speech, and it was only when Erb opened the
door that the argumentative voices stopped.</p>
<p>“Fact of the matter is,” said Payne, in the chair,
rather hurriedly—“good evening, Erb, you’re
lateish—the fact of the matter is this is one of them very
peculiar subjects where there’s something, no doubt, to be
said on both sides. Let’s get on to the next
business.”</p>
<p>Erb went to his chair by the side of Payne and took some
papers from his pocket. He looked up and down the table
nodding; his salutation was not in every case returned, and some
of the men glared <a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
197</span>sternly at the advertisements; Spanswick waved his hand
in the friendliest manner.</p>
<p>“There’s the matter,” said Payne, “the
matter of starting a paper or a organ or something of a
sim’lar nature. I call upon the secretary to make a
statement.”</p>
<p>“I object,” said a voice.</p>
<p>“That you, Lindsay?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mr. Chairman,” announced a hot-faced youth,
rising from his seat, “it <i>is</i> me.”</p>
<p>“Sed down,” advised Spanswick audibly at his
side. “Don’t make a silly young laughing-stock
of yourself.”</p>
<p>This was sufficient for the fiery-faced Mr. Lindsay. He
was from St. Pancras, and an engagement with a lady who kept a
small laundry at Child’s Hill had recently been annulled at
her particular request (a circumstance he had related in
confidence to everybody), the Midland man having been driving
about London for some days boiling up his thoughts, had decided
that the world was managed on some erroneous system; it behoved
him to put it right. Lindsay had come to the meeting with
the vague desire to get satisfaction by opposing something; here
in the discussion concerning Erb appeared a subject which exactly
fitted his requirements.</p>
<p>“I should like to say a few brief words on the matter
which we ’ave jest been discussing.”</p>
<p>“Question!” cried Spanswick.</p>
<p>“I’ll question you,” retorted Lindsay
heatedly, <a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
198</span>“if you can’t leave off
interruptin’. I appeal to the Midland men present,
and I ask whether they’re going to allow themselves to be
sat upon?”</p>
<p>“You’ll be jumped on if you don’t look
out,” said Spanswick. The room began to take
sides.</p>
<p>“You do it,” shouted the other, goaded.
“You do it, that’s all! Try it on! Have a
dash at it, my friend, and see what ’appens. You talk
a lot, but I vurry much doubt whether you can do anything
else.”</p>
<p>Payne in the chair made his hammer heard above the din of
contending voices, and then, standing up, shook the hammer
threateningly. If they did not at once stop their row, said
Payne, he, as Chairman, would have to consider the advisability
of jolly well doing something; having given this vague threat
Payne conferred with Erb in a whisper.</p>
<p>“Tell you what occurs to me,” said Payne, with a
weak pretence of proclaiming an idea of his own.
“Let’s hear what friend Lindsay has to say, and if
there’s anything in it, why no doubt our friend the
secretary will reply.”</p>
<p>“On a point of order—” said Spanswick,
rising.</p>
<p>“I should like to point out—” began a Great
Western man in the corner.</p>
<p>“Seems to me that the proper course to
pursue—” said another.</p>
<p>The Chair hammered away noisily. A half-minute of
strenuous tumult, and the noise subsided. Lindsay, of St.
Pancras, rose, buttoning his jacket; this done he unbuttoned it
again, continuing this <a name="page199"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 199</span>eccentric action during the whole of
his speech. He had some difficulty in finding words at
first, but irritating comments from Spanswick served to encourage
him, and he succeeded in recapitulating charges which it seemed
had been made by certain members, now coy and reserved, against
the secretary during the previous half-hour; these Lindsay
emphasised by a suggestion that friend Barnes was using the
society only for his own personal advancement (at this there was
a shout of protest from most of the members that made Erb, his
gaze fixed on the blank sheet of white foolscap before him,
tingle with satisfaction). When having made his fiercest
rush, Lindsay, of St. Pancras, showed signs of wavering, it was
Spanswick who pricked him again into fury with a banderillo
question to another neighbour: “But what was the real
reason why the gel wouldn’t have him?” asked
Spanswick.</p>
<p>Lindsay from St. Pancras, waving his arms excitedly, cried now
in a scream that they were paying a princely salary to a man who
thought he could twist the society round his little finger; who
went about mixing with the nobs and getting his name into the
papers; who lorded it over everybody, or tried to; who, to put it
briefly, and to put it finally, was trying to push everybody else
off the earth. Lindsay begged to move that the secretary,
Herbert Barnes, be requested to hand in his resignation without
delay.</p>
<p>Lindsay, of St. Pancras, sat down, grumbling to himself in an
undertone, his head still shaking <a name="page200"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 200</span>with excitement. There was
more applause than one would have expected, applause being a
thing that can be created furtively by the stamping of feet
hidden under the table. Erb rose. As he did so,
Spanswick, with his right arm raised, a reminiscence of Board
School manners, rose also, and claimed the attention of Payne in
the chair.</p>
<p>“I consider it an insult,” said Spanswick loudly,
“to allow our friend the secretary to answer the
ridic’lous attack that has been made upon him. I
claim the right to reply on his behalf.” Erb sat
down. “It’s all very well for men to talk
who’ve never been tempted either by the attractions of
’igh society, or—what shall I say—the
allurements and what not that titled parties, be they gentlemen
or be they ladies, can offer, but put them in our friend
Erb’s position, and wouldn’t they make mistakes the
same as he has? Course they would! Besides,
there’s this to be said—”</p>
<p>Spanswick, going on with elaborate replies to attacks that had
never been made, did not look at Erb, preferring to direct his
argument to the contumacious Lindsay and his friends: the cheers
from Erb’s supporters which greeted Spanswick’s start
diminished in volume as he went on.</p>
<p>“Drop it!” whispered somebody to him.
“Drop it, old man, before you spile it.”</p>
<p>When Spanswick came to a finish of his ingenious Mark Antony
speech the room was left with the impression that charges of a
very serious nature had been brought against Erb, and that the <a
name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>principal
defence to be urged was the fact of Erb’s youth and
inexperience. Erb, recognising the damage that
Spanswick’s advocacy had effected, started up to argue the
case from his own point of view, but he was again anticipated by
a supporter, this time by a man on whose loyalty he could depend,
although his stock of discretion had limits.</p>
<p>“I claim the right to say a few words!” shouted
the new man. The room cried, “Erb, Erb, Erb!”
being, it seemed, anxious to see if the case could possibly be
readjusted, and wishful, at any rate, to see the effort made.</p>
<p>“Take five minutes,” ordered the Chair.</p>
<p>“I can do it in under that,” said the other
generously. “If it’s a case of argument by
words, I think I’m equal to it: if it’s case of
argument by fists, I jolly well know I am. Understand that,
my fine friend!” he added, addressing Lindsay.</p>
<p>Lindsay of St. Pancras, at a loss for a good repartee,
suggested rather wearily that the speaker should go home and fry
his face. The room looked on this as wanting in finish, and
to Lindsay’s confusion gave it no applause.</p>
<p>“You come from St. Pancras, I believe? Very well;
I’ll St. Pancras you before I’ve done with
you.”</p>
<p>“Do it!” cried Lindsay, annoyed by the failure of
his retort. “You do it, that’s all!”</p>
<p>Lindsay slipped from his seat, and, evading the efforts made
by neighbours to detain him, went quickly to the side of the
speaker. The Chair half <a name="page202"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 202</span>rose, his hammer uplifted. Erb
stood up with a pained look.</p>
<p>“Here I am,” said Lindsay, offering his scarlet
face to Erb’s supporter. “Now show us what you
can do.”</p>
<p>The invitation was one not to be declined. The loud
smack on the scarlet face made Lindsay stagger; the next moment
he had seized a wooden chair, and the speaker had similarly armed
himself. Voices in the room shouted, Payne hammered on the
table before him, everybody, in an excited way, begged everybody
else to keep calm. Erb made his way, thrusting aside the
intervening arm, to the quarter of the room where the two men
were facing each other. Lindsay swung his chair, and the
other guarded; the two chairs broke noisily, and left the two
disputants holding a single wooden leg. Spanswick remarked
that Lindsay seemed about as successful in undertakings of this
kind as in his love affairs, and the St. Pancras youth, goaded by
this, brought the leg of the chair viciously down on the head of
his opponent. A red line matted the hair; the room filled
with uproar.</p>
<p>“Stop ’em! Keep ’em apart!”</p>
<p>“Let ’em fight it out! Stand back and let
’em finish it!”</p>
<p>“Leave off shoving me then! I’ve got as good
a right to look on as you have. For two
pins—”</p>
<p>“The other one began it. He asked for
it.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, he did nothing of the kind
whatsoever. Keep your elbows out of the way, or <a
name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>else
I’ll serve you like he served him. Yes, and quick
about it, too!”</p>
<p>The sight of blood excited all to the point of
ill-temper. Two, with the best intentions, held Erb firmly,
screaming to him urgent recommendations to keep cool, and as Erb
was the only man in the room capable of exercising any control
over the members, there seemed no reason why the disturbance
should not go on for all time; the arrival of the landlord with a
threat of police caused the two men to loosen their hold of Erb,
and he, with a fierce remark condemning the stupidity of all,
freed himself, and took charge of the proceedings. Ordered
Payne to turn the landlord out and lock the door. Directed
his supporters to resume their seats. Found the decanter,
the contents of which had been only partly upset, and, pouring
water into the palm of his hand, bathed the damaged man’s
head. Commanded Lindsay to stand away at the end of the
room by himself, which that young man did, to his own
astonishment, in the manner of a penitent schoolboy. Gave
orders to members of one or two disputant groups, causing them to
separate and occupy themselves with other duties. Whispered
to Payne. Payne went back to his chair and his hammer.</p>
<p>“Friends,” cried Payne, mopping his forehead,
“this meeting’s going to be adjourned for ’alf
a hower so as to get cool.”</p>
<p>Most of the men went downstairs, and in the bar discussed the
tumultuous event with hushed voices, that outsiders might not
share the <a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
204</span>knowledge; they were not quite certain whether to be
proud of the incident or ashamed. Erb told off two men to
take his damaged advocate to a chemist’s, and, giving no
answer to inquiries concerning his intentions, went out, and
walked up and down Grange Road alone. He saw the whole case
clearly; admitted that his popularity had received a shock;
recognised the true inwardness of Spanswick’s intervention,
and foresaw the difficulties that would obstruct his path if he
should lose his position. Not seeing Rosalind this evening
was, he now felt, an augury of bad luck; he would be glad when
the night was over and done with.</p>
<p>“This ain’t my birthday,” said Erb
grimly.</p>
<p>All the same, something had to be done. Individual men
one could deal with, but with men in a lump you could only safely
count on their unreliability. Erb stopped at a furniture
shop and tried to guess the identity of a young man with hat
tipped back and forehead creased with thought; the face looked
familiar, and it was only on approaching that he discovered it
was his own reflection in a long mirror marked in chalk, “A
Rare Bargain. Late the Property of a Club.” He
laughed and went back.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to make a speech,” he said
quietly. The room had refilled, members conducting
themselves with a studied decorum almost painful to behold; the
smoke had escaped by the open windows, and it was possible to see
everything clearly. “It appears that there’s
some dissatisfaction.”</p>
<p><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
205</span>“No, no!” said voices.</p>
<p>“There’s some dissatisfaction,” repeated Erb
determinedly, “and it doesn’t really matter much
whether it’s grounded or not. No society can go on
like this with success under these circumstances. I started
this society—”</p>
<p>“Earear!”</p>
<p>“And I tell you candidly, I feel much more interested in
the prosperity of this society than I do in the prosperity of
myself. I’m a single man, I regret to— I
mean to say I’m a single man, and as a single man, I can
find something else to do.”</p>
<p>Members looked at each other with concern.</p>
<p>“That is why, Mr. Chairman, I address myself to you,
because you’re an old friend and a—and a good
sort.” Payne blinked at the compliment.
“And I hand to you, old chum, this letter that I’ve
just written out, which contains—”</p>
<p>The room leaned forward to listen.</p>
<p>“Contains my resignation.” Erb sat down.</p>
<p>A murmur started slowly near the Chairman and went down the
table, increased its pace and its volume, and came back to Erb in
the condition of an angry remonstrance. Half a dozen men
rose.</p>
<p>“I give notice,” said Spanswick, “that at
the next meeting I shall move the appointment of a new
secretary.”</p>
<p>“At the next meeting,” said a Cannon Street man,
who had never heard his own voice raised in public speech before,
and seemed himself astonished by the novelty, “at the next
meeting you’ll damn <a name="page206"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 206</span>well do nothing of the
kind.” The room roared its approval. “We
don’t want a new secretary, because we ain’t a going
to get rid of the old one. The position isn’t
vacant. I move, Mr. Chairman, or second, or whatever you
call it, that that letter what you’ve got in your hand be
given back to our friend Erb, and that he be asked or invited or
requested—I don’t know how you put these
things—to tear it up and forget all about it; I will now
conclude my few remarks by asking you to join me in a well-known
song.”</p>
<blockquote><p>“F—or <i>he’s</i> a jolly good
faillow,<br />
For he’s—”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The room sang the refrain with enthusiasm; the man with the
broken head came, bandaged, and joined in. Spanswick,
recognising that the game for the present was over, beat
time.</p>
<p>“That’s all right, then,” said Payne, when
the hurrahing stopped. “Now, let’s get on to
the next business. ‘Proposed starting of a new paper
to be called “The Carman.”’”</p>
<h2><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
207</span>CHAPTER XII</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> incident revealed to Erb the
fact that the men’s support and confidence had something of
a tidal nature. He had watched, sometimes with amusement,
always with interest, the state of other leaders—from high
water, when they could swim luxuriously, to low water, when they
were left stranded ludicrously on the beach; it had not before
occurred to him that he himself might encounter a similar
experience; he determined now to make his position as secure as
possible. In this effort he relied a good deal on the new
journal he was preparing, the first number of which was to bear
on the front page the words, “Edited by Herbert C.
Barnes.” Lady Frances had written on the subject of
labour—</p>
<blockquote><p>“Oh horny-handed sons of toil,<br />
Who spin and weave and dig in
mines.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Erb, summoned to Eaton Square to take charge of this (the risk
of loss in the post being too great to endure), had ventured to
point out to the poetess, with, of course, great respect, that it
would have been more appropriate to introduce something about
kindness to horses and the difficulties occasioned by <a
name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>the stress
and turmoil of traffic; Lady Frances, listening with a slight
frown on her young forehead, answered that she was much obliged,
that she thought she saw her way to another poem to be called
“Sturm and Drang,” but she felt it would be unwise to
touch the first effort; good poetry was always dashed off on the
impulse of the moment.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know that,” remarked Erb, with
deference.</p>
<p>So poem Number One was to go in, please, exactly as she had
written it, and on the day the paper came out would Erb oblige
her very much by coming to dinner at Eaton Square.</p>
<p>“Dinner?” echoed Erb amazedly.</p>
<p>Coming to dinner at Eaton Square, and bringing with him one,
or perhaps more, copies.</p>
<p>“What about an evening suit, Lady Frances?”</p>
<p>The managerial young woman had thought of that; her uncle and
a few more men would be present, and, to make the dinner quite
informal, they would wear morning dress. No, no, please, no
excuses of any kind. Lady Frances was going to see her
tailor in Maddox Street, and she could give Erb a lift so
far. The tall maid (who was Miss Luker of the dance) being
rung for, brought in hat and cloak, and helped her young mistress
with them, giving no glance towards Erb, and the two went
downstairs together. Seated at the side of Lady Frances, he
was watched curiously by the drivers of one or two railway vans,
who, in their <a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
209</span>anxiety to verify what appeared to be a dream, looked
round by the side, allowing thus their blinkered horses to peer
into omnibuses and nibble at conductors’ hats,
necessitating a swift exchange of the kind of repartee in which
the London driver is a past master. When Erb stepped out at
Maddox Street and raising his hat started back to a point whence
he could walk to his office at Bermondsey, Erb noticed that Lady
Frances had a look on her face that might come to one who
advanced the cause of millions and, by an act of her own, had
made a whole world glad. It would be quite unfair to
suggest that at this period Erb was by way of becoming a snob,
but it would be untrue to say that he had any objection to the
soft, pleasant scent, the well-bred air, the gracious manner that
he found with Lady Frances. It is also right to say that
directly he had left her he began to think of Rosalind and of his
work. At this period sometimes one came first, sometimes
the other.</p>
<p>“Dinner!” he said to himself.</p>
<p>“<i>Me</i> at dinner at Eaton Square. ’Pon
my life, this is the funniest world I ever saw.”</p>
<p>He retained his old habit of talking as he went along the
London streets, and people in a hurry stopped on noticing this,
and delivered themselves of an opinion in regard to his
sanity. In this way he often had long talks with Rosalind
of an extremely fervent nature; Rosalind helping him with a few
coy questions, all in a way that had never yet found realisation;
his fluency in these rehearsals <a name="page210"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 210</span>astonished him sometimes as much as
his inexcusable awkwardness when he called at Camberwell.</p>
<p>“I’m a bit of a muddler,” he confessed in
Waterloo Place, “where women are concerned. In other
matters, now— Look where you’re coming,
stupid!”</p>
<p>Spanswick, red faced, short necked, and pimpled, addressed in
this way, was walking backwards in the inconvenient manner
adopted by some on crowded pavements who wish to review scenes
that have passed; it was a silken ankle stepping into a carriage
that had clipped Spanswick’s attention.</p>
<p>“What ho!” cried Spanswick. “Still a
lordin’ it, Erb, old man? Kind of a amphibious
animal, ain’t you?”</p>
<p>“I can swim!” said Erb.</p>
<p>“The best swimmers get drownded sometimes.”</p>
<p>“Not more than once.”</p>
<p>“Talking of which,” said Spanswick cheerily,
“are you going to stand us a drink?”</p>
<p>“No,” replied Erb.</p>
<p>“Ah, well,” said Spanswick with an effort,
“me and you can’t afford to quarrel.
We’ve both got our axes to grind. Whereabouts is Pall
Mall?”</p>
<p>“You’re in it now. It runs up that way to
the bottom of St. James’s Street.”</p>
<p>“That’s the best of ’aving been a parcels
carman,” sighed Spanswick enviously. “I was
never anything but a goods man, and I never had no chances of
getting amongst the aristocracy as you <a
name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>have.
Otherwise I should meet you on equal terms. How’s the
young woman?”</p>
<p>“What young woman?”</p>
<p>“Are there so many of ’em as all that? Seems
to me,” remarked Spanswick thoughtfully, “that some
of you lead a double life. You’ll come a cropper over
it some day, mark my words.”</p>
<p>“I’ll mark your face,” retorted Erb with a
sudden burst of annoyance. “I’ve put up with
just about enough from you. I may be your secretary, but
I’m not your slave.”</p>
<p>“Old man, don’t let’s go kicking up a common
fracass here. You don’t understand my style of
humour. This newspaper, or journal, or organ, or whatever
you like to call it—how’s it going?”</p>
<p>“Well,” said Erb, returning to good temper.
“I find I’m having to do it pretty nigh all
myself. There’s another column to do now before the
first number’s ready.”</p>
<p>“<i>I’m</i> pretty ’andy with me pen,”
remarked the other. “I don’t prefess to be a
literary man, of course, but— I’ll send you in
a few items of news.”</p>
<p>“I shall be ever so much obliged to you. Make
’em smart and readable, mind.”</p>
<p>“<i>I’ll</i> make ’em smart,” said
Spanswick.</p>
<p>It seemed to Erb, on the day “The Carman” was to
appear, that something special of a less selfish character than
the dinner in Eaton Square should be arranged to mark the
event. What he vaguely desired was to give an outing to
Louisa—the short sister <a name="page212"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 212</span>had become too weak to take public
promenade, and the current young man had to shout to her of an
evening, gripping the railings in Page’s Walk. Erb
had some daring thought of inviting Rosalind, and taking them
both up the river. This detail of the plan he accepted and
rejected, and accepted and rejected again; meeting Rosalind
herself one evening in the strenuous fight for trams on the
Surrey side of Blackfriars Bridge, he, after protecting her in
the struggle up the steps, and allowing himself in the carrying
out of his duty to press the plump arm above the elbow, found
himself in the mood of accepting the detail, and he submitted the
proposal in a way meant to be deferential, which, however, came
out quite brusque and defiant. “Ever been to
Battersea Park?” he asked gruffly. Rosalind had never
been to Battersea Park. “Care to go?”
Rosalind was so busy that she feared—
“I’m going to take Louisa.” In that case
(with a flush that went partly over her face and then ran away),
in that case Rosalind would be very pleased. “Must be
Wednesday next,” said Erb shortly. Wednesday was
rather an awkward day, because there was a pupil at half-past
one, who came in her dinner hour, and another at three.
“Put her off,” commanded Erb. Very well, then,
the three o’clock pupil should be off; Rosalind declared
she would be thinking of the afternoon every hour of the day
until it arrived. “So shall I,” said Erb
shortly. Had Erb seen Lady Frances lately? “We
can’t bear to be apart,” said Erb, in a tone meant to
be jocular.</p>
<p><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>There
were times when the one thing certain seemed to be that by no
possible chance could the first number of “The
Carman” come out on the day appointed. The printers
did not place the importance of the undertaking so high as Erb
did; difficult to make them understand the importance of
producing it on the day fixed; the foreman of the noisy, rattling
printing establishment in Southwark said frankly that the world
having done without the journal for so long, no great hurt could
be occasioned if it should be a day or two late.</p>
<p>But on the day, their van drove up to the doorway of the
office where Erb and some of the committee were waiting, and a
minute later each man had a copy in his hands, his eyes fixed on
the gratifying place where his own name appeared. Erb had
taken ingenious care to mention as many names as possible, and,
because of this, railway vans sent, say, from Paddington to
Haverstock Hill, made a slight detour and called at Bermondsey
for copies. There were some misprints, and one man, whose
Christian name was given as John instead of James, cancelled his
subscription instantly, and prophesied a gloomy future for the
paper. Erb demanded opinions, and discovered to his regret,
that nearly every line in the small paper received condemnation
from somebody (personal paragraphs about high officials in the
railway world alone excepted), the fact being that the readers of
“The Carman” misapprehended the question, and
assumed, when asked for an opinion, that they were invited to
give <a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
214</span>adverse judgment; a thing that has happened with other
critics in other circumstances.</p>
<p>But the particular copies presented to Louisa and to Rosalind
extorted from these young women, on their way slowly to Cherry
Garden Pier, unqualified approval. On the pier, where they
waited for the steamer coming up from Greenwich, the two ladies
read again the printed references to themselves.</p>
<p>“Yours,” said Erb importantly, fanning himself
with his straw hat, “yours is what we newspaper people call
a dummy ad.”</p>
<p>“I can pay for mine,” said Rosalind quickly.</p>
<p>“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” retorted
Erb. “Read it out!”</p>
<p>She read it with a flush of gratification on her young face,
Erb looking over her shoulder. The scent of brown Windsor
came to him.</p>
<p>“‘Miss Rosalind Danks,’” she read,
“‘Professor of Elocution, Declamation, Gesture, et
cetera, et cetera. Number so-and-so Southampton Street,
Camberwell, S.E. Schools attended. Private lessons
given. Assisted by Mr. Reginald C. Danks, formerly of the
principal West End theatres. “We shall never forget
his Montgiron.”—Vide Press.’”</p>
<p>“Now yours, Louisa.”</p>
<p>A break in his short sister’s voice betokened
uncontrollable pride.</p>
<p>“‘We are glad to say that Miss L. Barnes, younger
sister of our secretary, is slowly recovering <a
name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>from a
rather serious illness.’ First time,” said
Louisa, waving the journal in the air, “the very first time
my name’s ever been in print.”</p>
<p>“May I suggest, Mr. Editor,” said Rosalind,
leading him to the iron chain that protected the edge of the
pier, “that it is a little clumsy to express satisfaction
at slow recovery? It wasn’t what you
meant.”</p>
<p>“Don’t let on to her about it,” urged Erb
distressed. “I haven’t got quite the hang of
writing. Is there anything else you noticed?”</p>
<p>“Nothing of importance.”</p>
<p>“Tell us,” begged the anxious editor, “and
get it over.”</p>
<p>“These personal paragraphs, headed ‘What we Want
to Know.’”</p>
<p>“The men all liked them.”</p>
<p>“A little spiteful,” she said quietly.
“Calculated to hurt somebody. I shouldn’t, if I
were you. This one, for instance.”</p>
<p>“We’ll drop ’em in number two.
Here’s our boat coming.”</p>
<p>Some particular people complain of the river steamers, but the
“Flying Arrow” that took charge of the three at
London Bridge, and conveyed them up under railway bridges, and
past embankments, and by the terrace of the House of
Commons—Erb waved his straw hat to his friend the
white-haired labour member, and the labour member waved in return
in such a friendly manner that other passengers became at once
interested in Erb, and <a name="page216"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 216</span>whispered (to Louisa’s great
satisfaction), “Who is he? Who is he,
eh?”—by the Tate Gallery, and between unattractive
stores, Nine Elms way, the “Flying Arrow,” I say, for
these three young people might have been a gaily caparisoned
barge lent by Cleopatra; the gramophone that squeaked out songs
in a ghostly, unnatural tone of voice, a selected troupe from the
Royal Italian Opera; and the changes that the atmosphere took
from inexpensive cigars and cheap tobaccos, the choicest perfumes
from Old Bond Street. The top note of satisfaction was
reached when Erb, invited to political debate by the
self-confident captain, worsted that uniformed official with the
greatest possible ease, and sent him back limp to the bridge, to
resume a profession for which he was qualified.
Disappointing, perhaps, to find that people on the steamboat who
studied literature were not applying themselves to “The
Carman,” devoting their minds, instead, to cheap journals,
which offered German pictures (second-hand), with American jokes
underneath, not absolutely new. Erb left two copies of
“The Carman,” one aft and one at the other end, and
the girls watched results; a lad with a bulgy forehead took up a
copy and read it with languid interest; he presently dropped it
on the deck, and a waiter in a bowler hat who came along at that
moment threw it into the river, where it drifted away
helplessly. The other copy seemed likely to taste more of
success, for a woman seized it with every sign of delight; when
she proceeded to wrap up a pair of boots in the new <a
name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>journal Erb
felt annoyed. But it was not easy to remain in this state
with a cheerful young woman like Louisa, or with a more sedate
but equally agreeable person like Rosalind, and they presently
had a great game of pretending that they were royalty on a tour
round the world, so that Nine Elms pier became Gibraltar, and a
few minutes later they were going through the Suez Canal, which
others called Battersea Bridge. On reaching Sydney (which
had no harbour to speak of, but possessed a wobbling pier marked
Battersea Park) they disembarked with most of the other voyagers,
some of whom had decided that the three were either theatrical
people or not quite right in their heads. As they went up
the wooden gangway and entered the Park, Louisa had colour in her
white cheeks, and, declining assistance of her companions,
ordered them to give each other their arms. Which they did
for a moment only.</p>
<p>“Shan’t go to that dinner this evening,”
said Erb.</p>
<p>“I think you will,” remarked Rosalind.</p>
<p>“Catch you,” said Louisa satirically, “catch
you missing a chance like that.”</p>
<p>“I shan’t go. I don’t want anything
better’n this.”</p>
<p>“You’ll have to,” decided Louisa.
“And come back and tell us all about it. I’d
give anything to see Alice’s face when she hears
you’ve been upstairs.”</p>
<p>“I’d forgot about Alice.”</p>
<p>“She’s forgot about us,” retorted
Louisa. <a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
218</span>“That’s the worst of tall people, they
always look down on you. How’d it be if I sat down
here for a bit and let you two walk on and come back for
me?”</p>
<p>“And leave you alone?” asked Rosalind.</p>
<p>“I can set here and laugh at the foreigners,” she
remarked.</p>
<p>Erb and Rosalind made Louisa comfortable on a chair, and left
her applying herself once more to the intellectual delight of
again reading through “The Carman,” with special
attention to the paragraph that concerned herself. Just
before they went out of sight of her, in going round the circle
where bicycles were swishing along, they turned and waved their
hands: she unpinned her straw hat and lifted it in a gentlemanly
way.</p>
<p>“I wonder,” said Erb thoughtfully, “whether
she’s going to make old bones.”</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t let her go again to that work of
hers.”</p>
<p>“If anything serious happened,” he said slowly,
“I’d make such a stir about the business that
they’d have to shut up the factory.”</p>
<p>“That wouldn’t bring her back,” remarked
Rosalind.</p>
<p>“Back?” Erb stopped affrighted. “Why
you don’t think—you don’t fancy for a moment,
do you, that she’s going to—” They walked
on quickly for a while. “My goodness,” he cried
excitedly, “I’d tear the place down for them!
There shouldn’t be a stone left! I’d get
questions asked about the <a name="page219"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 219</span>business in Parliament!
I’d organise meetings. I’d make London get
white hot about it! I’d never let ’em
rest. I’d set every society at ’em.
We’d get up demonstrations in the streets.
We’d—”</p>
<p>“Don’t let’s get cross about
anything,” said Rosalind. “I want to look back
on to-day when I get into my dull moments.”</p>
<p>“<i>You</i> never get dull.”</p>
<p>“I suppose nobody’s life is perfectly
happy.”</p>
<p>“I say,” said Erb, walking nearer to her and
speaking in an undertone. “You never worry about that
chap Railton, do you?”</p>
<p>“Not—not very often.”</p>
<p>“That’s right,” he said. “You
know there’s no man in this world that is worth a single
tear from your eyes.”</p>
<p>“Don’t talk about me as though I were
perfect.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t be perfect,” said Erb,
“if it wasn’t for your faults.”</p>
<p>They talked of Louisa, and reckoned up amusedly her long list
of engagements. From this Erb went on to a short lecture on
the time that some wasted over affairs of the heart, urging that
there were other matters of equal or greater interest in life,
such as the joy of getting on better than other people, and thus
extorting the open envy, the cloaked admiration of
colleagues. He succeeded at last in minimising the value of
love to such a small amount that his companion ceased to give any
consenting words, and, noticing her silence, he recognised that
he was outrunning her approval; <a name="page220"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 220</span>he had to hark back to the point
where her silence had commenced to hint at want of
agreement. They read the wooden labels on
preposterous-looking trees, and invented names of like manner for
themselves: Erb delivered a brief address from the banks of the
lake to the swans on the water, urging them to form a society of
their own and to fight to the last feather for their rights: they
found a long broad avenue under trees that leaned across at the
top, and a perfectly new Rosalind offered, in a sportive way that
amazed Erb and gratified him, to race him as far as a mail-cart,
and Erb starting, took no trouble over what appeared an easy
task, with the result that he reached the winning-post badly
beaten by the limping girl by several yards, and forced to endure
from the baby occupant of a mail-cart a sneer of contempt.
They rested after this, and, whilst Erb fanned her with his copy
of “The Carman,” Rosalind talked of her father, and,
instead of becoming serious as usual when the old Professor
occupied her thoughts, told with great enjoyment the story of a
great week once at Littlehampton when they were playing
“East Lynne” with a fit-up company to such
imperfectly filled houses that it became certain there would be
not only no money with which to pay the excellent landlady on
Sunday morning, but scarce a penny to buy food on Saturday.
Of aforesaid excellent landlady coming in on the Saturday night
and making one of eight people in the pit, and being so affected
by the performance by Rosalind as little <a
name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>Willy, and
moved to such anguish of tears by the scene, that she bustled out
between the last acts, purchased a sheep’s head at the
butcher’s, had a fragrant, gorgeous supper ready for the
Professor and Rosalind on their hungry return, and came in after
the meal, when the two had searched once more for an emergency
exit from the situation, with formal announcement to the effect
that she knew quite well that they hadn’t a shilling to
bless themselves with, that her native town in regard to
appreciation of the dramatic art was past praying for; that
Rosalind was a little dear, and that, for her part, if she
touched a copper of their non-existent money she would never
again know a moment’s peace: the landlady begged two
favours, and two favours only—first, that she might give
the little girl a good hug; second, that she might be permitted
to stay up and bake them a meat and potato pie that would keep
their bodies and souls together on to-morrow’s journey.</p>
<p>They remembered Louisa presently, and went back to the
white-faced girl, who had found company in a penny novelette left
on the seat by someone tired of literature, and who made them go
away again until she ascertained whether the young woman in the
story married the brilliant young journalist or the middle-aged
Peer. When justice had been done by presentation of the
prize to brains, and the House of Lords, resigning itself without
a murmur, had given its blessing and a cheque, she called them
back, and the three held council in <a name="page222"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 222</span>regard to the dinner in Eaton
Square. Erb was still inclined to be obstinate, but the two
young women were equally determined, and they took him across the
bridge into King’s Road, where the committee purchased for
him a new neck-tie, the while they sent him away to wash his face
and hands. They left him presently at Sloane Square, and
went home to Bermondsey, because Louisa was now forced to confess
that she had become tired; Rosalind having the evening free, and
being anxious to hear the report of Erb’s experience in
Eaton Square, offered to read to her in Page’s Walk.</p>
<p>Events progressed in Page’s Walk to the point of a cozy
chat, where Louisa defied sleep in order to recite to Rosalind in
their due order the circumstances of the many engagements from
the respective starts to the individual finishes, with imitations
of the voice of each suitor, and occasionally a parody of the
gait. It was in the middle of a diverting account of Number
Five—who had at least one defect in that he had no roof to
his mouth—that Erb returned. The two surrounded him,
firing questions.</p>
<p>“One at a time,” said Erb, good humoured, because
of the unexpected joy of seeing Rosalind again. “One
at a time. There were small things first, sardines and what
not—”</p>
<p>“Hors d’œuvres,” said Rosalind.</p>
<p>“I daresay. Anyhow, after that, soup.”</p>
<p>“Can’t stand soup,” remarked Louisa.
“There’s no stay in soup. Go on,
Erb.”</p>
<p><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
223</span>“Now comes what I may term,” said Erb,
“the gist or point of this anecdote. The lady with
the shoulders next to me—”</p>
<p>“I should faint if I found myself going out like
that,” declared Louisa, interrupting again.
“How anyone can do it beats me. It’s like being
caught in your disables.”</p>
<p>“The lady with the shoulders next to me turned and asked
me something that I didn’t exactly catch, and I turned
round rather suddenly and said, ‘Beg pardon?’
Knocked the arm of the girl who was serving the fish, and as near
upset the plate that she held in her hand as didn’t
matter. I jumps up, and then for the first time I
recognised it was Alice.”</p>
<p>“Wasn’t she took aback?”</p>
<p>“Not half so much as I was,” said Erb.
“I suppose being rather a large dinner party they’d
laid her on extra. Of course, I shook hands with her and
said, ‘Hullo, Alice, how’s the world using
you?’”</p>
<p>“Well, you are,” said Louisa with horror,
“absolutely the biggest juggins I ever come
across.”</p>
<p>“But what was I to do?”</p>
<p>“Do?” echoed the short sister.
“Do? I could have soon shown you what to do.
All you’d got to do was to take no notice of her.
Ignore her! Look past her! Pretend she wasn’t
there! You’ll never get asked again, that’s a
very sure thing.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care,” answered Erb.
“I’m an awkward chap in these West End circles.
When I’m not in ’em I want to be there, and once
I’m there <a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
224</span>I look round directly for an open door to slip out
of.”</p>
<p>“And what did Miss Alice have to say for herself?”
asked Louisa, coming back to the incident with relish.</p>
<p>“Oh, she kept very cool, and she just whispered,
‘Sit down, Erb, and behave.’”</p>
<p>“That’s her all over.”</p>
<p>“They stared at me naturally enough, and young Lady
Frances seemed a bit upset just for a moment, and nobody spoke
for a bit, but after a while they were all chatting away again,
and the party with the shoulders next to me began asking me what
I thought of the new woman at Covent Garden. Then I put me
foot in it again,” said Erb amusedly. “I
thought she meant the market.”</p>
<p>“How they’d pull you to pieces after you
left,” remarked Louisa sighing. “I can
’ear ’em saying things.”</p>
<p>“I can’t,” said Erb contentedly.
“And if I did I shouldn’t care. What would you
have done,” he appealed to Rosalind, “what would you
have done, now, in similar circumstances?”</p>
<p>Rosalind, as she put on her gloves, considered for a moment
before replying. Then she leaned towards him and touched
Erb’s knee lightly.</p>
<p>“I should have done,” she said, “exactly as
you did.”</p>
<p>There were several reasons why Erb should not take her by the
arms; all these reasons jumped up before him as he rose and made
a step forward. <a name="page225"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 225</span>He stopped himself with an effort,
and preceded her to the door. They went downstairs, and he
walked bareheaded as far as the “Lord Nelson.”</p>
<p>“You were never nearer being kissed,” he said to
her ear, “in all your life.”</p>
<p>“Please, please,” she said reprovingly.</p>
<p>Erb went back to Page’s Walk checked and cooled by this
reproof. The prospect that he had had momentarily in his
mind of the small house close to Wandsworth Common, with a
billiard table lawn at the back, at a time when he, perhaps,
would be in the House, unique among all labour members by reason
of having a wife who could be introduced with confidence, was
dismissed with a caution.</p>
<p>“Letter for you, Erb, on the mantel,” cried Louisa
from her room. “It’s just been sent over.
Good-night!”</p>
<p>A portentous envelope, addressed to the Editor of “The
Carman.” Erb sliced it with his penknife. The
large letter paper was folded in three.</p>
<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p>
<p>“We have been consulted by our client, Sir William
Durmin, with reference to the libellous statement which appears
in No. <span class="GutSmall">I</span> of ‘The
Carman.’</p>
<p>“Our client cannot allow such statements to be made, and
our instructions are to issue a writ without further notice.</p>
<p>“If you wish to avoid personal service, please <a
name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>supply us
by return of post with the name of your solicitor who will accept
service on your behalf.</p>
<p style="text-align: right">“Yours faithfully.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“Now,” said Erb, “the band’s beginning
to play.”</p>
<h2><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
227</span>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">If</span> publicity at any cost be a good
thing for a new journal, then “The Carman” had no
right whatever to complain. The men belonging to the
Society felt exultant at references to the impending
action. It seemed that they were defying Capital as Capital
had never been defied before. They told each other, when
they met at receiving offices and railway stations, that Capital
was going to have a nasty show up. Erb looked forward to
the struggle with eagerness, until he had a meeting with
Spanswick, the writer of the paragraph; that amateur journalist
admitted, at the end of a keen cross-examination, that he had,
perhaps, erred in stating that he knew the statement as a fact of
his own knowledge: he remembered now that it had been related to
him by a chap of his acquaintance, who was either on the Great
Eastern or the South Western, he would not swear which, and he
confessed to the indignant Erb that he could no more place his
hand on this man’s shoulders and produce him at the Law
Courts “than the dead.” Erb told Spanswick
exactly what he thought of him, and Spanswick, penitent, declared
that it would be a warning for the future: he would not have had
this happen for forty thousand pounds. If Erb required him
to go into <a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
228</span>a witness-box he would guarantee to say on oath just
whatever Erb wished him to say. This sporting offer being
declined, Spanswick went with downcast head, and examined the
lining of his cap, as though hopeful that some solution of the
difficulty would be found there. Once clear of the place he
gave on the wooden flags of a cellar in Grange Road a few steps
of a dance, which seemed to intimate that his regret was but a
cloak that could be discarded without much difficulty.</p>
<p>No easy thing to keep up an attitude of hopefulness before the
men whilst searching uselessly for facts to justify the Spanswick
paragraph; but this was a mere diversion compared with the
trouble that came to him the following week. Louisa was at
home again after a few days of work at the factory, and Erb,
going one afternoon to Page’s Walk for some correspondence,
encountered the doctor who had called for a minute to see
her. The doctor was a breathless, energetic man, whose fees
were so small that, added up, they only made a living wage by
reason of the number of his patients.</p>
<p>“Going on all right, doctor?”</p>
<p>“Yes, thanks,” replied the medical man, walking
rapidly through the passage, and brushing his hat the
while. “Busy though! Up to my eyes in
work.”</p>
<p>“I was referring more particularly to my young
sister.”</p>
<p>“Oh! she! Oh! it’s what might be
expected. Hideous occupation, I call it. One of those
<a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
229</span>manufactures that might well be left to
foreigners. Good day!”</p>
<p>“One moment,” said Erb, placing a hand on the
doctor’s arm, and speaking with great anxiety.
“Tell us exactly what you mean in plain language.
Ought she to be sent away again?”</p>
<p>“You don’t want to waste money,” said the
doctor, glancing at his watch.</p>
<p>“If it’s necessary for her health, I’d spend
the last penny I’ve got.”</p>
<p>“Would you really?” The doctor seemed
genuinely surprised. “Well, then, perhaps she might
get away to the country or the seaside or somewhere.”</p>
<p>“May be the means of saving her life?”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” said the doctor cheerfully.
“I wouldn’t go so far as that.”</p>
<p>Erb shook him violently.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me this before?
You—”</p>
<p>“Thought you had the sense to see,” said the
doctor curtly. “Credited you with more intelligence
apparently than you possess. Good day!”</p>
<p>Louisa resting upstairs in the one armchair declared that she
had never felt better. It was only that she was tired, and
had no appetite; but, then, see what a good thing it was to feel
tired, and just imagine what a saving was effected by the absence
of a craving for unlimited food! Erb did not tell his
sister what the doctor had said, but his grave appearance hinted
something, and Louisa declared not only that all doctors were
fools, but went <a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
230</span>further, and asserted that most of them were born
fools. All the same, she consented with some reluctance to
go away. Erb went down to Camberwell, to see Rosalind and
talk it over. At Camberwell, Rosalind, ready dressed for
public promenade, came halfway down the uneven pavement and met
him, with both hands outstretched, just by Minerva. She had
only that moment been speaking of him to the Professor, and the
Professor had said that he, for his part, felt a keen desire to
see Erb again.</p>
<p>“But we won’t see him,” she said, in a
confidential way that was very pleasing, “because he will
only want to borrow, and I am used to his borrowing from most
people; but it hurts when he borrows from you.”</p>
<p>“We’ll talk in the hall,” suggested Erb.</p>
<p>“In a whisper,” said Rosalind.</p>
<p>The rare good point of talking in a whisper was that they were
obliged to place their heads closely together. Erb
explained the difficulty, and Rosalind, after considering for a
moment, announced the decision in her emphatic way. School
holidays would soon be on. She wanted to take a
fortnight’s holiday herself: she would take Louisa away
with her, either to Aunt Emma’s, at Penshurst, or, if the
seaside was ordered, to Worthing.</p>
<p>“Spoiling your own holiday!”</p>
<p>“Not at all, not at all!” she answered
decidedly. “It’s going to be, any
way.”</p>
<p>“But why should <i>you</i> trouble? I could get
Lady Frances—she’d do anything for me.”</p>
<p><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
231</span>“No doubt! Find my umbrella there in the
corner—the one with the silver knob—and walk down
with me to the school.”</p>
<p>It was certainly very pleasant to see how the young woman,
after a few moments of reserve, and in the presence of
Erb’s depression, became brighter than usual, pushing away
all her own trouble, and talking of the Professor’s last
escapade as though it were the best joke in the world. The
Professor, still declining in the service of the profession, had
recently been offered the post of baggage man in a newly-starting
provincial company, with the added duty of acting as understudies
to the man who played the old City man in Act I., and the Chief
of Police in Russia in Act IV. Professor, with many
protestations and frequent appeals to the shades of Barry
Sullivan and John Ryder and others, had accepted the offer, and,
securing on the Saturday night the sum of ten shillings in
advance for the purpose of obtaining fine linen, appeared at St.
Pancras station the next afternoon on the starting of the
special, and denounced “The Banker’s Blood”
Company, individually and generally, called upon Heaven to punish
them for the attempt to degrade one who had trod the boards long
before many of them had been allowed, mistakenly, to see the
light of day, and altogether making such a furious scene on the
platform, that the manager, consulting hastily with other members
of the company in the labelled compartments, gave
Rosalind’s father another half-sovereign to refrain from
accompanying the <a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
232</span>party. All of which Rosalind told in such a merry
way that Erb found himself for a time half wooed from
melancholy.</p>
<p>“That blessed paper,” he said, going back to
trouble ruefully, “has got me in a corner the very first
start off.”</p>
<p>“It wants fifteen minutes to the hour,” said
Rosalind, looking up at the clock at the corner.
“Let’s walk round the Green and hear all about
it.”</p>
<p>Rosalind’s hopeful view of the matter was that it might
be only what was called a “try on,” and the statement
of Erb that he felt he hadn’t a leg to stand on, she
declared to be unworthy of him.</p>
<p>Erb walked back to his office feeling that the talk had done
good. It was certainly a great thing to find himself more
hopeful in regard to Louisa. But he composed on the way a
bitter, bitter paragraph concerning the firm in Neckinger Road
and its occupation. This seemed so excellent, that he had
half a mind to turn it into poetry, but there proved to be some
difficulty in finding rhymes for “murder” and for
“dastardly,” and he allowed himself on arrival to
write it in prose. The copy for number three being made up,
he deleted a humorous paragraph about a Bricklayers’ Arms
man, whose wife had run away, and this made room. There was
much in the lines themselves; more to be read by those who could
fill up the blank spaces intervening. Erb looked at it when
he had crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s with the
pride of a man who, with a mere dip of ink, could force monied
folk to <a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
233</span>tremble. A fine thing to have control in this way
over the printed word.</p>
<p>All the more satisfactory to get on a grievance, which
appeared to be solid, in that he eventually found that he had to
step out apologetically from the corner into which
Spanswick’s ingenuity had thrust him. There were, it
appeared, no grounds whatever for the statement made, and in
Featherstone Buildings, Holborn, in a dim office with one light,
under which he had to sit, whilst the two partners of the legal
firm remained at the other end of the table in the shadow, he
underwent, perhaps, the very worst quarter of an hour that he had
endured since the time of schooldays. He had had to wait
some time whilst one partner was sent for by the other.</p>
<p>“Then we may take it, Mr. Barnes, that you withdraw
unreservedly every word of the paragraph in question?”</p>
<p>“That is so.”</p>
<p>“And you are prepared to offer every apology and every
recompense that is in your power?” asked the other
partner.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Erb, “about
recompense.”</p>
<p>“Well, then, every apology?”</p>
<p>“I suppose I shall have to taste blacking,” he
said.</p>
<p>The two partners conferred for a long time in an undertone,
the while Erb played nervously with a paper-knife. When one
of them spoke he held his breath.</p>
<p><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
234</span>“If the paragraph had been copied into other
journals, if it had had a wider circulation than that given by
your little paper, Mr. Barnes, our client would have instructed
us to go on with the legal proceedings, and we should have asked
for and obtained heavy damages. If the journal itself was
not below contempt—”</p>
<p>“Look here!” interrupted Erb sharply,
“don’t you go rubbing it in too thick.”</p>
<p>“Sir William is a man with a large heart,” said
the other partner, taking up a more conciliatory tone, “and
we shall advise him in the circumstances to do the generous
thing. You will print in the next issue of your paper an
apology?”</p>
<p>“A most humble apology,” remarked the other
partner, “terms of which you will permit us to dictate to
you. He will not ask you to pay the costs already incurred,
and you must think yourself confoundedly—”</p>
<p>“He understands,” remarked the second
partner. “I am sure Mr. Barnes quite
understands. Now let us see about drafting the
apology.”</p>
<p>“I think I’d better see to that.”</p>
<p>“Now, my dear old friend,” urged the conciliatory
partner.</p>
<p>A most abject apology it was, and the only encouragement for
Erb came from the severe partner, who recommended several
additions intended to make it of a more cringing nature.
Erb signed it after a moment’s hesitation, and gave a great
sigh of relief when he found himself in Holborn again; <a
name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>he knew
that there would be some trouble in convincing his Committee that
he had acted throughout with wisdom, but he had so much assurance
in his own powers of speech, he had so often taken difficult
positions by reason of his own generous ammunition of words, and
of their short supply, that he felt confident of success.
All the same, the incident would do him no good, and a repetition
would undoubtedly weaken his power.</p>
<p>Number Three of “The Carman” came out rather
opportunely, for he was able to present a copy to Rosalind and to
Louisa on the day he saw them off from London Bridge. They
were going to Worthing. Aunt Emma, who had not viewed the
sea since childhood’s days, was going there from Penshurst
in order to ascertain whether it had changed much. Louisa
had to be taken to the station in a four-wheeler, and as she was
helped along by her two companions through a rush of arriving
City men, the girl seemed proud of the notice that her white face
attracted. Erb recited the stinging paragraph that
concerned Louisa’s late employers through the open carriage
window, when Rosalind had made her patient comfortable with
cushions. Two of Louisa’s sweethearts, friends in the
presence of disaster, stood away against a lamp-post, and toyed
with automatic machines.</p>
<p>“That’s one up against them,” said Louisa
with relish. She smiled, but the look soon faded.</p>
<p>“If this don’t have any effect,” declared
Erb, <a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
236</span>“I shall follow it up with something
stronger. I’ll never let go of ’em.”</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t like the other gels to lose their
shops,” remarked Louisa apprehensively.</p>
<p>“But you wouldn’t see ’em all get ill like
you are?”</p>
<p>“I’m not reely ill,” said Louisa.
“I’m only pretendin’. Besides, some gels
can stand the work and some can’t.”</p>
<p>“Make her get better,” said Erb to Rosalind.
“Don’t let her have her own way too much.”</p>
<p>“Not much use having anyone else’s,”
remarked Louisa, with an effort at the old pertness.</p>
<p>“If she gets up to any of her nonsense send me a
telegram.”</p>
<p>“I’ll write to you very often,” said
Rosalind quietly. “Let me know—let me know if
you see Lady Frances.”</p>
<p>The guard cried, “Stand away!” and gave the signal
to start. Erb put his head in and kissed his sister’s
face.</p>
<p>“Might as well serve both alike,” suggested Louisa
sportively. She rubbed her eyes with her glove.</p>
<p>“Don’t dare,” said Erb.</p>
<p>One of the infatuated youths walked along with the train, and
when Erb, with a wistful look in his eyes, fell back, the youth
aimed a packet of chocolate, but either from nervousness or want
of practice, missed the compartment and sent it into the <a
name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>next, where
four children pounced upon it with a high scream of delight.</p>
<p>The violence of the paragraph concerning the Neckinger Road
firm helped to appease those on the Committee who showed
uneasiness in regard to what they called the “climb
down.” True, some of them remarked that the attacks
on the Neckinger Road firm had nothing to do with the objects of
the society, and Erb, reckoning up, found that he had lost the
confidence of three, but a carman who had been discharged by the
firm for slight inebriety—“I’m a man that
varies,” said the ex-carman. “Sometimes I may
’ave twenty pints, sometimes I may ’ave thirty pints,
and then other days I may ’ave quite a
lot,”—came and begged permission to thank them for
the public service that the journal was doing, and assured the
Committee, with the air of one having exclusive information, that
they would get their reward, in this world or in the next, or in
both. As the reports from Rosalind at Worthing became less
satisfactory, so the fierceness of the attacks in “The
Carman” increased; but it was not until a paragraph
appeared headed “Wilful Murder!” that Neckinger Road,
after taking the previous outbursts with a calm that suggested it
was either deaf or asleep, suddenly started up and took action in
the most decided and emphatic manner.</p>
<blockquote><p>Information
has been laid this day
by
for that
you,
within the district aforesaid, did unlawfully and maliciously <a
name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>publish a
certain defamatory libel of and concerning the
said
well knowing the same defamatory libel to be false, contrary to
the statute in such case made and provided. You are
therefore hereby summoned to appear before the Court of Summary
Jurisdiction sitting at the Southwark Police Court on the
twentieth day of October, at the hour of ten in the forenoon, to
answer to the said information. Signed with an indistinct
signature, one of the magistrates of the police-court of the
metropolis.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This, on a blue-coloured form, which a friendly policeman left
one evening, when Erb was wrestling with his brief leading
article, and unable to decide whether to give a touch of
brightness to the column by the two lines of poetry from William
Morris, and risk offending a few subscribers who looked on rhymes
as frivolous, or to remain on the safer ground of prose.
Erb, in his attacks on the Neckinger Road firm, had begun to feel
as a fencer does who makes ingenious passes at the air, and he
was so much gratified now to find that he had at last struck
something, that he gave the warrant-officer something with which
to purchase a drink, and had a very friendly chat with him
concerning points of law. Erb had to confess he had not
hitherto understood—being a man whose mind was occupied
with other matters—that one had to appear at a police-court
in regard to a charge of libel: the warrant-officer increased
Erb’s knowledge by informing him that not only was this the
case where no damages <a name="page239"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 239</span>were claimed, but that the
publication had only to be proved and you were at once committed
to the Central Criminal Court to take your trial.</p>
<p>“There,” said the officer with relish,
“there the Grand Jury has the first go at you,
see?”</p>
<p>“They can throw out the Bill?”</p>
<p>“They can,” admitted the other grudgingly,
“but bless my soul,” with a return to cheerfulness,
“they won’t in your case. Then, in what you may
term due course, on comes your case. See? You can
either defend yourself—”</p>
<p>“I shall.”</p>
<p>“You know the old saying, I s’pose?”</p>
<p>“Never mind the old saying,” replied Erb.
“Get on!”</p>
<p>“Then, of course, if you’re fool enough to conduct
your own case, you’ll be fool enough to cross-examine the
witnesses for the other side.”</p>
<p>“I shall,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“And a fine old mess you’ll make of it,”
remarked the warrant-officer, laughing uproariously.
“Lord! I’d give an ounce of shag to be in court when
it comes off.”</p>
<p>“I’ll see that it comes off.”</p>
<p>“I’ve seen some of the biggest larks when chaps
have been trying to do this sort of thing on their own, that ever
you can imagine. Sometimes when I’m a bit
down-hearted over anything, or if the wife’s a bit
aggravatin’, I just cast my mind back and—”</p>
<p><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span>The
warrant-officer laughed again, and, taking off his helmet, mopped
the inside of it with his handkerchief.</p>
<p>“Never, I suppose,” said Erb, a little nettled by
this ill-timed hilarity, “seen a man in the witness box
turned thoroughly inside out?”</p>
<p>“Not by an amateur.”</p>
<p>“Never seen him pinned down to certain facts, never
watched him being led on and on and on, until he finds that he
hasn’t got a shred of a reputation, a remnant of a
character, not a single white spot of innocence
or—”</p>
<p>“I like your talk, old man,” interrupted the
warrant-officer, fixing on his helmet, “and I wish I could
stay to hear more of it. But take care you don’t wear
your face out. So long!”</p>
<p>The police of London are not infallible, but the first
prophecies of the warrant-officer seemed likely to prove
correct. Erb, determined not to fetter himself by legal
knowledge, nevertheless found information thrust upon him, and
this confirmed the statement that the police-court proceedings
would be of a simple and formal nature. He regretted the
delay, for he was eager to get to close quarters with the firm,
and he spent his days in collecting evidence, he walked about at
night, always taking in Camberwell in the tour that he might look
up at <i>her</i> window, rehearsing the questions that he would
put to the firm, imagining contests of words with counsel on the
other side, contests from which he always emerged
victorious. Spanswick had at <a name="page241"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 241</span>last given up all pretence of being
a railway carman, and had resigned his membership (this to the
relief of Payne and of Erb); it made Erb stop and think for a few
minutes, when one afternoon, looking out of his office window he
saw Spanswick driving a single-horse van belonging to the
Neckinger Road firm.</p>
<p>Nothing could be more gratifying than the notice accorded by
the evening papers to the hearing at the police-court. It
happened on a day when little else of importance occurred, so
that two journals had the item on their placards—</p>
<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“ALLEGED
NEWSPAPER LIBEL,”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>and one of them gave an astonishing portrait of Erb,
“Sketched by our Artist in Court,” declared the
legend underneath, as though this were any excuse. Railway
carmen from all quarters somehow managed to include Southwark
Police Court in their rounds at the precise hour of the hearing
of the case, and when Payne and another householder gave their
names in for the purpose of bail they cheered, and the magistrate
threatening to have them expelled, they cheered again and filed
out at the door.</p>
<p>“Let’s have a bloomin’ meeting,” cried
one.</p>
<p>The suggestion clipped their fancy. Erb, coming out
quietly, found himself seized by two of the strongest men,
carried triumphantly to an empty South Western van standing in
Marshalsea Road, and hoisted up to the seat of this, whence, to
the <a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
242</span>obvious surprise of the two roan horses, he made a
speech.</p>
<p>“We’ll stick to you, Erb,” cried some of the
crowd.</p>
<p>“Through thick and thin,” cried the rest.
“Three cheers for Erb. Hip! hip—”</p>
<h2><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
243</span>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> weeks had hurried rapidly, more
rapidly than usual, for they were pressed with business.
The trial at the Central Criminal Court was over, after a hearing
that struck Erb as being surprisingly brief, in view of the
importance of the case; immediately on the conclusion of the
evidence, and the speeches of counsel, the Recorder, from his
scarlet-cushioned seat, where he had a robed Alderman and a
knee-breeched Under Sheriff for company, had fined him,
courteously and pleasantly, the sum of fifty pounds, or in
default two months’ imprisonment. The shortness of
the trial rendered an organised demonstration of little value in
that the men arrived outside the Old Bailey some three hours
after the case had been disposed of. Now there is nothing
more galling to the Londoner than to be disappointed in his
anticipations of a show, and it had required all Erb’s tact
and more than his usual amiability to appease them.</p>
<p>Erb had expressed a desire to go to prison to purge the
offence (a short purgatory in jail was no bad prelude to
political life), but the men would not hear of this: they could
not manage without him, he was indispensable, they must have
someone to look after the society, there was none to take his <a
name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>place, and
he had given up this idea with less of reluctance because a
disquieting tone had come into the letters of Rosalind from
Worthing. But, determined to do something heroic, he
insisted that his household goods in Page’s Walk should be
sold up, and a scene thus contrived that should attract public
attention. Wherefore there was an auction room in New Kent
Road, to which all the furniture (with the single exception of
the bedding) had been removed “For Convenience of
Sale,” and here were as many of the railway carmen of
London as could spare themselves conveniently from their duties,
and here also were a few alert-eyed youths with note books and
sharpened pencils eager to record some incident so amusing that
not even a sub-editor’s pencil should venture to
delete. A fusty smell of cocoanut wrappings in the long
room, bran new furniture gave an odour of polish, retained and
preserved because there was no ventilation except that afforded
by the entrance from the street; a good-tempered auctioneer at
the end of the room, high up and leaning on a rostrum, with a
flaring, whistling, naked gas jet that compelled attention,
because every now and then it exhibited a humorous desire to
singe the top of the auctioneer’s shining silk hat.
Erb stood by the wall, rather proud of being in the position of a
martyr, his men formed a body-guard around him. Close up by
the auctioneer stood half a dozen decrepit old men, the
<i>habitués</i> of the place, ready to snatch up a
bargain, to become the intermediaries between buyers and
auctioneer, to knock out a sale, <a name="page245"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 245</span>or, in short, to do anything and
everything except serious labour.</p>
<p>“We have here,” said the auctioneer, leaning over
his high desk and pointing with his hammer, “a very fine
lot—show No. 13, George, and don’t be all day about
it—a very fine lot, consisting of a pianoforte. Music
hath charms, gentlemen, as you know, to soothe the savage breast,
and it’s always a good investment from that point of view
alone. George, jest run over the keys to show these
gentlemen what a first-class musician you are.” The
attendant, first rubbing the palm of his hand on his green baize
apron, stroked the keys from first note to last.
“There!” cried the auctioneer, “there’s
execution for you! Many a man’s been ’anged for
less. Now then, what shall we say for this magnificent
instrument? Don’t all speak at once. Did you
say twenty pounds, mister?” This to one of the
regulars at the side.</p>
<p>“Not being a blank fool,” replied the musty old
gentleman, “I did not say twen’y pounds.”</p>
<p>“Well! won’t anyone say twenty pounds jest for a
start? Come now. You’ve all learnt some
language or other.”</p>
<p>“Four and six,” said one of the carmen
chaffingly.</p>
<p>“No, no!” said the auctioneer rather coldly.
“I enjoy a joke as well as anyone, but ’pon my
word—”</p>
<p>“Five bob!”</p>
<p>“I’m very good tempered,” went on the <a
name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>auctioneer,
getting red in the face, “and I can stand as much as most
men. But—”</p>
<p>“Five and six!”</p>
<p>“Well,” with resignation, “have your own way
about it. Five and six is offered; five and six in two
places; six shillings. I thank you, sir! Who’ll
say ’alf a sov’, eh? Seven shillings!
Very well then. But do let’s go on a shilling at a
time; I can’t take sixpenny advances. You know the
old story of the girl—”</p>
<p>Erb, looking round with a determined smile on his features,
saw Spanswick entering from the pavement; with him a gentleman
whose eyes were watery and whose gait was uncertain.
Spanswick gave a casual nod to the clump of men, and beckoned to
Erb in such an authoritative way that Erb crossed the room when
the pianoforte—poor Louisa’s pianoforte, that she
would allow no one to play—had been knocked down for
twenty-five shillings. The auctioneer ordered his man to
show the horsehair sofa and chairs.</p>
<p>“My friend Doubleday,” said Spanswick, introducing
his companion. Mr. Doubleday removed his silk hat with
care, for the brims seemed rather weak, and in a husky voice
declared himself honoured. “One of the cleverest men
in South London,” whispered Spanswick to Erb, “only
he won’t recognise the fact. Educated,
too!”</p>
<p>“This is a noble action of yours, sir,” said Mr.
Doubleday, trying to clear his voice. “Reflects the
highest credit on what I may venture to term <a
name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>the manhood
of South London.” Spanswick looked at Erb proudly, as
though to say, “He can talk, can’t he?”
“The newspapers will ring with your praises, sir.
Capital will sneak away, abashed and ashamed in the presence of
such a brilliant example of self-sacrifice and whole-hearted
devotion. I suppose you haven’t got such a thing as a
pipe full of tobacco about you? I’ve come out without
my pouch.”</p>
<p>“Always comes out without his pouch,” remarked
Spanswick admiringly.</p>
<p>“No, no!” said Mr. Doubleday, refusing with
something of haughtiness Erb’s further offer.
“I have a match, thank you. I have no desire to be
indebted for anything,” he drew hard at his pipe,
“for anything which I myself possess.”</p>
<p>“Independent old beggar, ain’t he?”
whispered Spanswick.</p>
<p>“My friend here gives me to understand—and I have
no doubt that his information is per-fectly correct—that
you have adopted this attitude because a female relative—a
sister, if I mistake not—”</p>
<p>“A sister,” admitted Erb.</p>
<p>“Has suffered grievously. Assuming that to be the
case, I can only say that I am proud to grasp your hand, sir, and
that I desire your acquaintance.”</p>
<p>“It ain’t many that he’d say that to,”
whispered Spanswick.</p>
<p>“I want all the friends I’ve got just now,”
said Erb.</p>
<p><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
248</span>“The lines of Longfellow,” said Mr.
Doubleday condescendingly, “spring readily to one’s
mind.” The hammer of the auctioneer went down with a
startling crack; something that he said made the group of men
laugh, and Erb was called by them to hear it. “We can
make our lives sublime, and um-tee, umpty, umpty,
umpty—footsteps on the sands of time,” quoted Mr.
Doubleday.</p>
<p>“I must hop off,” said Spanswick.
“Hasn’t he got a marvellous memory?”</p>
<p>“You’ll take your friend with you?” said
Erb.</p>
<p>“No,” said Spanswick, rather awkwardly,
“I’ll leave him. Fancy he’s got something
to say to you.”</p>
<p>When the sale was over, it occurred to Erb that he had not
eaten that day, and as the men had to hurry off to their duties,
he would have been left alone but for Mr. Doubleday’s
presence. Erb was glad to leave the gas-scented auction
rooms, and would have been content with no other company but his
own; he had been acting in a hot, tempestuous way of late, and he
was anxious, now that this business was over, to review it all
calmly. Anxious, also, think of Louisa, and—
But Mr. Doubleday stuck to him, and when Erb entered the
Enterprise Dining Rooms, in New Kent Road, Doubleday followed him
to the pew, and sat down opposite. Erb gave his order to
the girl, who rested the palms of her red hands on the table;
when she turned to the other, Doubleday said, assuming the manner
of a complaisant guest, that he would have the same.</p>
<p><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
249</span>“Fate,” he said, hanging the deplorable
silk hat on a wooden peg, “Fate has thrown us together,
sir, in a most remarkable way.”</p>
<p>“Thought it was Spanswick,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“Most inscrutable, the workings of Providence.
Stagger even me at times.”</p>
<p>“You don’t mean that?” said Erb.</p>
<p>“Positive truth!” declared Mr. Doubleday.
“Now this meeting with you, for instance. If it had
been planned it couldn’t have happened more
fortunately. Because I have information to give you of the
very highest possible value. It means, my dear sir, an
absolute epoch-making event in your life, and— Ah!
roast beef and Yorkshire pudding! Reminds me of my young
days. I recollect when I was a bit of a
boy—”</p>
<p>Mr. Doubleday, with heavy jest and leaden-footed reminiscence,
took the duty of conversation upon himself, evidently feeling
that he was a bright, diverting companion, one who just for his
exceptional powers as a <i>raconteur</i> well deserved to be
asked out to dine. His stories were so long, and the
telling of them so complicated, that Erb was able to allow his
mind to concentrate itself on his own affairs. He had taken
a definite, a desperate step; the reaction was setting in, and he
began to wonder whether he had been precisely right.
Something to feel that whatever he did, right or wrong, he had
the solid, obstinate, unreasoning support of the men; one could,
of course, count upon this; the greater the misfortune he
encountered, the more faithful and <a name="page250"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 250</span>obedient would they become.
There could be no doubt about that. Besides, they had no
one else to guide them. He was, as they had admitted, the
one, the necessary man. Any signs of rebellion in the past
he had always been able to quell with very little trouble; as a
last resource, there was always the threat of resignation.
So <i>that</i> was satisfactory enough. Less grateful to
remember that the revenge he had tried to take on the Neckinger
Road firm had done his sister’s health no good
whatever. He would run down to Worthing soon to see her and
to cheer her.</p>
<p>“Joking apart,” said Mr. Doubleday, snapping his
finger and thumb to secure the attention of the waitress,
“let’s come to business. (Cabinet pudding, my
dear! I daresay my genial host will take the same.)
You must understand, please, that what I am about to submit to
you is, as we say in the law, entirely without
prejudice.”</p>
<p>“Are you a lawyer?”</p>
<p>“I used to be in a secondhand bookseller’s.
Now, I suppose I’m right in assuming that you could, if
necessary, place your hands on a certain sum of money?”</p>
<p>“I could.”</p>
<p>“About how much shall we say?” asked Mr. Doubleday
engagingly.</p>
<p>Erb counted the money in his pocket.</p>
<p>“Twelve shillings and ninepence.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate the humour of that remark,” said <a
name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 251</span>Mr.
Doubleday in his husky voice, “but I want to talk
business. I’m a plain, straightforward man, and what
I want to know is simply this. Is there a five-pound note
flying about?”</p>
<p>“If there was,” said Erb, “I should catch
it.”</p>
<p>“There’s the benefit money,” said the other,
looking at himself curiously in the hollow of a spoon, “the
benefit money to borrow from, and Yes, yes! I know what you are
going to say and I quite agree with you. I think
you’re most decidedly in the right. Far be it from me
to suggest for a single moment—”</p>
<p>“I’m getting tired of you,” interrupted Erb
suddenly. “I wish you’d take your hook and go
away. Your face worries me, and your talk makes my head
ache.”</p>
<p>“Then it’s time I came to close quarters.
Listen to me!” Mr. Doubleday leaned his elbows on the
table, and, bending forward, shielded his mouth with his hand
that words might not go astray. “This is the
situation. A man, a young man, takes up a certain
high-minded attitude in regard to a certain firm; gets hauled up
for libel; gets fined. His society comes to his
rescue. Newspapers have paragraphs applauding him. So
far, so good! Fine thing to show up, as far as he can,
dangerous trades. But he forgets or he pretends to forget,
doesn’t matter which—that not so long ago he, this
same young man, went all over the country, making speeches in
favour of a syndicate that called itself something or
other—”</p>
<p><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
252</span>“I don’t ask your permission before I open
my mouth,” cried Erb heatedly.</p>
<p>“True, my lad, true! You can go further than
that. You can say that you didn’t do so without being
adequately bribed to do it.”</p>
<p>“Bribed!” Erb rose at the table and clenched
his fist.</p>
<p>“Keep cool!” said Mr. Doubleday, making a military
tent of his two hands. “There’s no extra charge
for sitting down.”</p>
<p>“Let me know what you mean by saying that I’ve
been bribed.”</p>
<p>“I should have thought that you would have known the
meaning of the term by this time. B-r-i-b-e is a word
meaning the sum accepted for doing work that you had no business
to do. We can easily verify it.” He snapped his
fingers. “Got a dictionary, my dear?”</p>
<p>“To eat?” asked the waitress.</p>
<p>“A dictionary,” he repeated with impatience.</p>
<p>“We’ve got an old London directory.”</p>
<p>“Never mind about the exact definition of the
word,” said Erb steadily. “Tell me at once what
you mean by your accusation.”</p>
<p>“Have you ever in all your life seen a cheque for twenty
pounds?”</p>
<p>“Yes!”</p>
<p>“Made payable to yourself?”</p>
<p>“Yes!”</p>
<p>“And signed by—”</p>
<p>“Yes, yes, go on.”</p>
<p><a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
253</span>“Nothing more to say,” remarked Mr.
Doubleday. “There’s an end of the matter.
Only it’s rather a pretty circumstance altogether,
don’t you think? This self-sacrificing chap who has
allowed himself to be sold up publicly as a protest against
harmful trades, is the same man who earlier in the year was
speaking throughout the length and breadth of the land in support
of trade infinitely more harmful than the one carried on in
Neckinger Road. <i>And</i>,” here Mr. Doubleday took
down his elderly silk hat and made elaborate pretence of
smoothing the nap, “getting uncommonly well paid for it,
too. Pretty situation, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“There’s a very good answer to the charge you
bring against me,” said Erb, trying to keep his temper,
“but there’s no earthly reason why I should give
it. I’m not responsible to you; I <i>am</i>
responsible to my society.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” cried Mr. Doubleday, putting his hat on
jauntily, “glad you recognise that.”</p>
<p>“I <i>do</i> recognise it.”</p>
<p>“And having recognised it, you see that it would be very
much to your interest that the unfortunate transaction should be
kept dark.”</p>
<p>“Not at all!”</p>
<p>“In which case,” here he stood up ready to go, and
slapped his foot with his bamboo cane, “in which case
you’d better come, my lad, to this place”—he
placed a worn and travelled card with two addresses ruled out and
a third written in, “before six o’clock
to-night. Before six o’clock, mind. A <a
name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>minute past
will be too late. And—er—bring that five-pound
note along with you.”</p>
<p>He walked jauntily up the aisle of the dining rooms to the
street door; when the waitress flew after him, he whispered a few
words and pointed back at Erb with his cane.</p>
<p>“Is that right?” demanded the waitress
breathlessly of Erb, “is that right that you
pay?”</p>
<p>“Looks like it!” replied Erb moodily.</p>
<p>The threat did good in one way in that it aroused all his
fighting instincts and that it diverted his mind from
Worthing. Going down Walworth Road to look at
Rosalind’s house, he rehearsed the expected scene, striking
the palm of one hand with the fist the other, and scoring with
great neatness over Spanswick and other opponents. Women at
the stalls stopped in their loud declaration of the admirable
character of their goods, to watch the excited young man as he
went by, and remarked to each other that he was evidently in
love; an excuse that in their eyes justified any and every sign
of eccentric behaviour. On the way back (after walking up
and down near the garden of monumental statuary and glancing
shyly each time at her window), he met the Professor, and for the
sheer pleasure of talking of her engaged him in
conversation. The Professor deplored the fact that after
you had given the best years of your life to the education of an
only child, she should go off to the seaside for a holiday
without so much as thinking for a moment of taking you with her,
and asked Erb whether he <a name="page255"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 255</span>had half a crown about him in
exchange for two separate shillings and a sixpence. On Erb
producing this coin the Professor found, with many expressions of
deep regret, that he had left the smaller pieces in a waistcoat
at home.</p>
<p>“But I shan’t forget, my dear chap,” said
the Professor, raising his hand for a stage clasp. “I
am one of those who never permit a kindness to escape from their
memory. But I hate to be badgered. That ungrateful
young scamp Railton, for instance.”</p>
<p>“Ah!”</p>
<p>“What have I not done, or rather what have I not
promised to do, for him.”</p>
<p>“Daresay! But—”</p>
<p>“Engaged at one time to my accomplished
daughter.”</p>
<p>“But what about him?”</p>
<p>“I am not romancing,” said the other
impressively. “I am simply giving you the downright,
honest, blunt, straightforward truth when I tell you that he
wrote this morning asking me for two pounds on the plea that he
had become married at the beginning of the week to a
publican’s daughter at Oldham.”</p>
<p>“Did you send it?” asked Erb, with great
cheerfulness.</p>
<p>“I wrote and I told him that if, as he said, he had in
the past lent me sums amounting in the aggregate to this total,
why I could only say that the fact had escaped my memory. I
would, however, take an opportunity of looking through my <a
name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 256</span>memoranda
in order to see whether I had made any record of such
transactions. Could I say anything fairer?”</p>
<p>“And he’s actually married?”</p>
<p>“There is a piece of what is termed wedding cake at
home, awaiting my daughter’s return.”</p>
<p>“Will it—will it upset her do you think?”
asked Erb nervously.</p>
<p>“I shall warn her not to eat it,” said the
Professor.</p>
<p>Erb did an extraordinary thing. Delighted by the news
which the Professor had brought he set out upon a walk down
through Camberwell into Surrey, a walk that he determined should
last until he was tired out, a walk that had some vague advantage
of going in the direction of Worthing. He was not used to
heroic physical exercise, but on this unique occasion there
seemed nothing else to do that would have been appropriate, and
he mingled with the evening tide of people receding from London,
beating it easily, and finally arriving beyond Dulwich, and well
out into the country, where the rare gas lamps were being lighted
and a mist came like a decorous veil and protected the face of
the roadway modestly. Easier to think here than in the
hurry and turmoil and clatter of town. After all, what did
public life matter, what did the cause of labour or anything else
matter so long as one was personally happy? That had ever
been the aim of wise men; in future it should be his. There
could always come the superadded amusement of <a
name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 257</span>playing
with lesser minds, directing them and making them perform,
exercising control in the manner of the unseen director of a
Punch and Judy show. Erb argued this in a quiet road, with
gesture and excitement; a sparrow hopped along for some distance
with him in a companionable way, twittering approval, and hinting
that if there should be such a thing in the corner of a pocket as
a few bread crumbs—</p>
<p>It was late when Erb returned by train from Croydon to South
Bermondsey station, and in the nearly empty rooms of Page’s
Walk he found Payne awaiting him. Payne, with something
more than his usual gravity of countenance, seated on the one
remaining chair and smoking an empty pipe in a desolate,
absent-minded way.</p>
<p>“Well,” said Payne lugubriously,
“you’ve done for yourself now.”</p>
<p>“That so,” remarked Erb. “What’s
the latest?”</p>
<p>“One of the worst crisisises,” said Payne
solemnly, and taking some gloomy enjoyment in making the word as
long and as important as possible, “that ever you
encountered in all your puff.”</p>
<p>“I’m ready for it,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“They’ve sacked you,” said Payne.</p>
<p>“Is that all?”</p>
<p>“They’ve shown you the door. They’ve
helped you downstairs with their foot. They’ve kicked
you out, old man.”</p>
<p>“This a joke?” asked Erb.</p>
<p><a name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
258</span>“Never made a joke in me life,” declared
Payne, “and well you know it.”</p>
<p>Erb went over to the window and rested on the window sill.</p>
<p>“Spanswick?” he asked briefly.</p>
<p>“Him,” answered Payne, “and no
other.”</p>
<p>“And they settled it all without hearing my account of
the case?”</p>
<p>“Old chum! there didn’t seem to be no room for any
other account. He’d got chapter and verse for
everything he said. All about a twenty pound cheque, all
about—”</p>
<p>“And it never occurred to this—this flock of
sheep,” shouted Erb excitedly, “that I destroyed that
cheque and never cashed it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think they understand much about
cheques,” said Payne. “The fact that you took
it was what impressed them.”</p>
<p>Neither spoke for a few minutes.</p>
<p>“Who’s going to take my place?”</p>
<p>“Friend of Spanswick’s.”</p>
<p>“Name Doubleday?”</p>
<p>“Name of Doubleday,” said Payne
affirmatively. “Clever sort of sweat, so far as I
could judge. What are you going to do about it, old
man? Going to organise, I trust. Open-air meeting,
say.”</p>
<p>“Did any of the others stick up for my side?”</p>
<p>“Only me!”</p>
<p>A pause again.</p>
<p>“Well, you’re going to do something?”</p>
<p>“You’ve got another guess,” said Erb.</p>
<h2><a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
259</span>CHAPTER XV</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">If</span> Erb’s experience of life
had been greater, if his knowledge of the trend of events had
been more extensive, he would have been helped by the assurance
that in this world, mist and sunshine alternate, and that rarely
a fog descends on the life of an energetic man and remains there
always. But had Erb known this, there would still have
remained the undeniable fact that, for the time at any rate, the
atmosphere was murky. He showed a certain amount of
temper. He sent in his keys addressed to the acting
secretary, and, knowing that the accounts were all in order,
declined the request that he should attend to explain money
matters to his successor; he decided to leave London (having
indeed very little there to leave) and to go down to Worthing,
giving no one but Payne his address.</p>
<p>“Looks as though you had turned sulky,”
remonstrated Payne.</p>
<p>“I have!” said Erb.</p>
<p>The new number of “The Carman,” which he himself
had made up, contained a brief paragraph, to make room for which
a quotation from Ruskin had been deleted.</p>
<p><a name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
260</span>“We beg to state that Herbert Barnes has no
longer any connection with the Society, and that the position of
Secretary will be filled up at the next meeting of the
committee. At present everything points to Friend
Doubleday, who is in a position to devote the whole of his time
to the work, and can be relied on not to have dealings with the
representatives of capital.”</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p>More stings came on the way up the Boro’ to London
Bridge station. Four railway carmen he met, driving their
vans, instead of the “Hello!” and the mystic twist of
the whip, there was first a glance of cautious recognition, then
a steady look ahead, with an air of absorbed interest, as though
realising for the first time the horse’s presence. At
the station itself, men of his old Society, on seeing him,
hurried round to the tails of their vans, and commenced sorting
parcels there with amazing industry. All this sent Erb into
the deeper depths, and it was not until he reached Worthing, and
found on the platform Rosalind and Aunt Emma and his sister,
Louisa, Louisa’s white face becoming pink with excitement,
that he forgot his worries.</p>
<p>“Well,” said Aunt Emma, “what’s the
best news?”</p>
<p>“There isn’t any best news,” replied
Erb.</p>
<p>They went, arm in arm, down the long road to the sea front,
and in a shelter there, Erb sat between them, and for the first
time since the downfall found the luxury of detailed description
and <a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
261</span>frank avowal. When the account came of the worst
Rosalind touched his sleeve sympathetically.</p>
<p>“And there you are!” said Erb when he had
finished. He found himself now inclined to look on the
disasters as though they had occurred to someone else with whom
he had nothing in common. “And here <i>I</i> am, in
about as awkward a situation as I’ve ever been in in all my
life.”</p>
<p>“Complimentary to us,” said Rosalind brightly.</p>
<p>He took her hand and patted it.</p>
<p>“You know what I mean,” he whispered.</p>
<p>“They’d no right to sell up the ’ome,”
said Louisa fiercely.</p>
<p>“Yes they had,” said Erb. “By the
law.”</p>
<p>“But that Spanswick’s the one that should have
suffered.”</p>
<p>“An oven in a oast house,” suggested Aunt Emma,
“would finish him off. That’s how he’ll
be treated in the next world, anyway.”</p>
<p>“I ought to have verified the information he gave me
about the first affair.”</p>
<p>“And in the second affair you were perfectly
right.”</p>
<p>“That don’t make any difference to the law of
libel. Besides, I was in a temper when I wrote it. I
let my feelings get the better of me.”</p>
<p>“What do you propose—”</p>
<p>“Haven’t a single idea,” declared Erb
exultantly. “Go back on me hands and knees and get a
berth as carman again, I s’pose.”</p>
<p>“That you never shall,” said the two young <a
name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 262</span>women
emphatically. “You have some long walks whilst
you’re down here,” counselled Rosalind, “and
think it over by yourself.”</p>
<p>“If a bit of money’s wanted—” began
Aunt Emma.</p>
<p>“All this time,” he said, turning to Louisa and
pinching her white cheek, “all this time I haven’t
inquired how <i>you</i> are pulling along.”</p>
<p>“I’m as right as rain, Erb.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” he remarked doubtfully, “so
you’ve always said. Heard anything of
Alice?”</p>
<p>“Not a word from the overgrown minx,” said Louisa
with wrath. “If she was here I’d speak my mind
to her, and pretty quick about it, too. Oh, yes, I
know,” Louisa went on, not to be deterred by an
interruption from the rare luxury of an access of temper,
“she may have a lot to think of; she takes jolly good care
not to think of us.”</p>
<p>“Has anyone written to tell her?” asked Rosalind
quietly.</p>
<p>“Why should we?” demanded Erb’s young sister
with illogical heat. “It’s her business to find
out! But, of course, she wouldn’t care if we was both
in the workhouse.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t go so far as that.”</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t let you,” said Aunt Emma.</p>
<p>“Meanwhile,” interrupted Rosalind,
“we’re not giving your brother anything to eat.
Let me run off to our rooms and get something ready.”</p>
<p>The opportunity came here for Louisa to tell her brother how
good Rosalind had been, what a <a name="page263"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 263</span>first-class nurse she had proved
herself, how bright and attentive. “I should have
kicked the bucket, I think,” said Louisa looking out across
the sea rather thoughtfully, “if it hadn’t been for
her. And such a manager! Isn’t she, Aunt
Emma?” Erb listening, began to feel that the world
was not such a bad world after all. He talked hopefully,
but vaguely, of either going to Canada, where he believed a man
with a handful of capital was welcomed, and estates presented to
him by a hospitable Government, or to New South Wales, where, so
far as he could ascertain, labour leaders were in demand, and
treated with proper amount of trustfulness. On Aunt Emma
asking whether these places were not in point of fact a long way
off, Erb was forced to admit that they were a pretty tidy step,
and that, everything else being equal, he would prefer to stay in
the London where he had been born—the London that he knew,
the London that he liked.</p>
<p>“I haven’t played the game well,” admitted
Erb candidly. “I’ve tried to be fair and
straightforward with both sides, and I’ve managed to fall
down in between them. And I’ve hurt
myself!”</p>
<p>They had nearly finished their steak at dinner, and Louisa,
breaking from new and fiercer condemnation of Alice, was about to
inquire of Rosalind whether there was anything for after, when a
miniature telegraph boy passed the window in Portland Street, and
gave a double knock, altogether out of proportion to his size, at
the front door. The landlady’s daughter brought in a
telegram, and <a name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
264</span>“Please,” said the landlady’s
daughter (inspecting Erb with curiosity, in order to give a
report to her mother), “Please is there any
answer?”</p>
<blockquote><p>“Just heard of trouble. Lady Frances
wishes to see you this evening. Most important.—<span
class="smcap">Alice</span>.”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“Take no notice of it,” said Louisa, not yet
restored to coolness. “Ignore it!”</p>
<p>Rosalind offered no counsel. Aunt Emma watched her
narrowly. Erb considered for a moment, looking from one to
another.</p>
<p>“Thought you were going to stay with us a few
days?” remarked his sister.</p>
<p>“I ought to go back if it’s really
important,” he said. “And Lady Frances is a
young lady who doesn’t like being disappointed.”</p>
<p>“Please yourself,” said Aunt Emma shortly.
“But take care, that’s all!”</p>
<p>He found news, on his return after this very brief visit, in a
letter at the emptied rooms in Page’s Walk that at once
encouraged him and gave him perturbation. The white-haired
Labour Member wrote in cautious terms that a certain bye-election
in a London constituency was imminent. It had been decided
to run a Labour candidate; the other two sides were pretty evenly
matched, and if the game were played well, and played out, there
was good chance of the Labour man making a fair show; there was
another chance, less probable, but possible, that the Liberal
candidate, if he found he had <a name="page265"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 265</span>no prospect of winning, might retire
before the election. The point was (wrote the Labour M.P.),
would Erb consent to stand if he were selected? All the
expenses would be paid, and all the help that the party could
give would be willingly afforded. It would be better to put
up a man like Erb, who had never before submitted to the
suffrages of a constituency, than a man who had elsewhere
undergone the experience of rejection. A reply to the House
of Commons would oblige, and, meanwhile, this communication was
to be regarded as strictly private.</p>
<p>“He hasn’t heard,” said Erb thoughtfully,
“of my come down.”</p>
<p>There were many courses, Erb felt, to pursue which were not
straightforward, but only one that was honest. He went into
a stationer’s in Willow Walk, and, borrowing pen and ink,
and purchasing paper and envelope, wrote a frank letter, giving
all the necessary details of recent events, and just caught the
five-thirty post as the pillar box was being deprived of its
contents. Then he made his way on foot—a desperate
spirit of economy possessing him—to Eaton Square.</p>
<p>“Ages since I saw you,” said Mr. Danks the
footman, receiving him on the area steps with something like
enthusiasm, “but I’ve heard of you over and over
again.”</p>
<p>“How are you getting on with your aitches?” asked
Erb.</p>
<p>“Very complimentary remarks, too,” said Mr. <a
name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span>Danks,
ignoring the inquiry. “My cousin Rosie seems to think
of nobody else, so far as I can judge. I’d no idea
you were a favourite with the fair sex!”</p>
<p>“Ah!” remarked Erb. “It’s brain
that tells in the long run.”</p>
<p>“If I thought there was anything in that remark,”
said the footman, interested, “I’d go in for
literature or something of the kind myself. I’m
expecting to be thrown over by a young lady in Lowndes Square by
every post, and—but I’m keeping you
waiting.”</p>
<p>“I noticed that,” said Erb.</p>
<p>“Jackson,” said cook, now stouter and apparently
shorter than ever, “would be down directly.”
Would Erb let her cut for him a sandwich or a snack
of—well, Erb could please himself, cook’s own motto
in the matter of feeding was, “Little and often,” but
it had never been her way to force her opinions on other people,
in which particular her motto was “Interfere with nobody,
and nobody will interfere with you.” Cook had many
other aphorisms to impart, and seemed a little hurt when Alice
came into the kitchen and claimed her brother with a kiss that
had about it unexpected affection.</p>
<p>“I’ve been worrying about you day and
night,” declared Alice. “I never thought
anything would upset me so much.”</p>
<p>“Wonder you don’t ask after Jessie,”
interrupted cook.</p>
<p>“Jessie who?” demanded Erb.</p>
<p>“Just Jessie! Thought you was rather struck <a
name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>on
her. She’s with a family travelling abroad now.
Tall girl with eyes.”</p>
<p>“I’d forgotten all about her.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” sighed the cook. “That’s a
man all over. It’s the old saying over
again—”</p>
<p>“And I told Lady Frances,” continued Alice,
leaving cook to mutter to a large joint of beef turning before a
desperately fierce fire, “and you’re to see her, Erb,
directly after dinner.”</p>
<p>“What’s in the wind?”</p>
<p>“That’s more than I can tell you. But
I’m very glad you’ve cut your connection with all
those common working men.”</p>
<p>“They’ve cut their connection with me,” said
Erb.</p>
<p>“Comes to the same thing,” said his sister,
equably.</p>
<p>“Last time you was here, Mr. Barnes,” said cook,
over her shoulder from the fire, “you came as a friend of
the family. Funny world isn’t it? Upstairs one
day, downstairs the next.”</p>
<p>“You must be short of money, Erb,” whispered his
sister, in an undertone. “I’ve got quite a tidy
bit put away in the savings bank. If ten or twenty
pounds—”</p>
<p>“Upon my word,” cried Erb, “it’s worth
while having a touch of misfortune now and again, if it’s
only just to find how much kindness there is about. But I
shall find my feet somehow, Alice. Don’t you worry
about me.”</p>
<p>“Can’t help doing so.”</p>
<p><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
268</span>“You might do what you can for Louisa,
though. If it hadn’t been for—for a friend of
mine, I don’t know where she’d have been.”</p>
<p>“We’ve never quite got on together in the
past,” said Alice regretfully. “The difference
in our heights seem to have led to other differences. But
I’ll see that it all dries straight. She’ll
pull through, of course.”</p>
<p>“I think she’ll just pull through,” said
Erb, thoughtfully, “and that’s about all.
Doctor says that if there was unlimited money about she’d
be herself in a few months. But there you are, you
see! Just when it’s wanted particularly, it goes and
hides.”</p>
<p>Mr. Danks knocked and came in with a reverential air that
differed from the one with which he had greeted Erb in the
area. Lady Frances’ compliments, and she would be
pleased to see Mr. Barnes in the drawing-room now.</p>
<p>“Let me put your tie straight,” said Alice.</p>
<p>Lady Frances, looking taller and more charming than ever in
her dinner dress, was delighted to see Mr. Barnes again.
Quite a long time since they had met. She herself had been
very busy—would not Mr. Barnes sit down?—very busy,
and that must be taken as her excuse, rather worried, too.
There was trouble out in North Africa, and when one had friends
there— But the point was this: Lady Frances had heard
all about the disastrous events in the Barnes household. In
regard to Louisa, she must go to the Riviera with Lady Frances <a
name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 269</span>this
winter. No, no! It was entirely a selfish
proposition, and Louisa would be a most amusing companion; Lady
Frances never tired of Cockney humour.</p>
<p>“In return for which,” said Erb, fervently,
“I’ll do any blessed thing you like to ask
me.”</p>
<p>“So far, good!” said Lady Frances, with a gesture
of applause with her fan. “Now to get on a little
further. Her uncle—Mr. Barnes remembered her
uncle?”</p>
<p>“I remember him well!”</p>
<p>“Now, this was a great secret, and must not be mentioned
to a soul. Her uncle was going to stand for the coming
bye-election at— Ah! Mr. Barnes had heard of the
probable vacancy. Strange how information flew
about—and in this constituency” (here Lady Frances
tried to wrinkle her smooth young forehead, and to look extremely
wise), “there was, it appeared, a large working class
element. Mr. Barnes had been useful in a somewhat similar
way before. Why should not he again be of assistance?
The money that he would thus earn would enable him to do almost
anything. Go abroad to one of the Colonies, or stay here
and marry and settle down, or—”</p>
<p>“There’s just this about it that I ought to tell
you,” said Erb. “I’ve been asked to have
a dash at the same event as an Independent Labour
Candidate.”</p>
<p>That, Lady Frances admitted with another effort to look aged,
that certainly did complicate matters. <a
name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 270</span>Was there
probability of Mr. Barnes accepting the offer?</p>
<p>“Not the least probability in the world.”</p>
<p>Capital, capital! The young diplomatist again signified
approval with her fan and leaned forward from her chair in a most
attractive way. All that now remained to do was for Mr.
Barnes to say “yes,” and the whole matter would be
arranged satisfactorily.</p>
<p>“Upon my word,” declared Erb, after a few
moments’ thought, “to say ‘yes’ would be
far and away the easiest thing to do. I owe precious little
to my men after the way they’ve treated me, and it would
just let them see—”</p>
<p>Mr. Barnes would excuse Lady Frances for interrupting, but a
really most supremely brilliant idea had just occurred to her,
and it was indispensable that she should communicate it without
an instant’s delay. (The young woman panted with
surprise and enthusiasm, and Erb watched her reverently.)
Why should not Mr. Barnes—this was absolutely the greatest
notion that had ever occurred to anybody since the world
began—why should not Mr. Barnes do everything he could to
forward his candidature as an Independent, and then, just at the
last moment retire in favour of—</p>
<p>“No!” said Erb suddenly.</p>
<p>The young woman did not conceal her disappointment at
Erb’s unreasonable attitude. No ambassador rebuffed
in a mission on which future promotion depended, could have felt
greater <a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
271</span>annoyance. But she recovered her usual
amiability, and, leaving the discussion where it was, spoke
further of her intentions in regard to Louisa and the trip to the
South of France, on which subject she showed such real kindness
that when Erb was presently shown out into Eaton Square by Mr.
Danks (“Good evening, sir,” said Mr. Danks
respectfully), he felt something like contempt for himself for
having declined so abruptly to accept her suggestion and
advice. He went off to Payne’s house, where something
was done to a magic piece of furniture that pretended ordinarily
to be a chair, whereupon it became a bedstead, and afforded
comfortable rest for the night.</p>
<p>The next morning Erb, for about the first time in his life,
found himself with nothing to do but to count the hours. He
envied the easy carelessness of men able to loaf outside the
public-houses in Dover Street; in some public gardens near there
were able-bodied youths smoking cigarettes and sunning themselves
luxuriously, content apparently to feel that there, at any rate,
work could never force itself upon their attention, and no danger
existed of encountering a job. Whatever happened, Erb knew
that he would never slide down to this. It might well be
that he would not find himself now in a position to ask Rosalind
to become his wife, but he would never become a loafer. He
walked up through the increasingly busy crowd of High Street,
Borough, and comparison between their state and his forced him to
recognise the fact <a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
272</span>that in no place, under certain conditions, can one be
so lonely as in London.</p>
<p>“The very man!” cried a voice. The hook of a
walking-stick caught his arm.</p>
<p>“That you?” said Erb. “Get my
letter?”</p>
<p>“Got your letter,” said the white-haired Labour
M.P. in his swift, energetic way, “and I’m going down
now to put everything straight for you.”</p>
<p>“That’ll take a bit of doing.”</p>
<p>“I’ve had more twisted things to deal with than
this. Which way were you going?”</p>
<p>“I scarcely know.”</p>
<p>“Then you’re coming down with me.”</p>
<p>“Shan’t I be rather in the way?”</p>
<p>“I hope so,” said the Labour M.P.</p>
<p>A swift walker, the Labour M.P., and one with whom it was not
easy to keep pace; he talked at a corresponding rate, so that by
the time they reached the office of the London Railway
Carmen’s Society, he was showing signs of exhaustion, and
the duty of talking to Spanswick, who was perched on the
window-sill on the landing, devolved upon Erb. Spanswick
wore a look of perturbation and showed some desire not to look at
Erb in speaking to him; he puffed at a ragged cigar, at which he
glanced now and again with deep regret.</p>
<p>“I can’t make ’ead or tail of it,”
said Spanswick, despondently. “It’s a mystery,
that’s what it is. Why I should have trusted that man
with untold gold.”</p>
<p><a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
273</span>“What’s happened?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>“After all I’ve done for him, too,” went on
Spanswick. “I’ve treated him like a brother, I
have; I might go so far as to say I’ve treated him more
like a friend than a brother. It was only last night that
we were ’aving a few friendly glasses together—I paid
for the last, worse luck!—and he was talking about what he
was going to do for the Society, and all the time he must have
had this letter in his pocket, ready to pop in the
post.”</p>
<p>“Where’s the key to this door?” asked the
Labour M.P. sharply.</p>
<p>“He might well call himself Mister Doubleday,”
went on Spanswick, finding the key in his pocket,
“I’ve never been more deceived in anybody in all my
life. Him and me has been pals for over six weeks, and this
is how he turns round and treats me.”</p>
<p>“What on earth are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“I’ve seen him home when it’s been necessary
after the places were closed, and sometimes,” Spanswick
admitted this grudgingly, “sometimes of course, he’s
seen me ’ome when it’s been necessary.
He’s told me things about his early boyhood; I’ve
told him things about my early boyhood. If I’ve had
more tobacco in me pouch than he has, he’s always been
welcome to a pipeful. I got him the best berth he ever had
in all his born days—”</p>
<p>“And outed me from it,” remarked Erb.
“What—?”</p>
<p>“But don’t it jest shew you,” demanded <a
name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 274</span>Spanswick
eagerly, “how the very best of us can sometimes be taken
in? I’m looked on as a man who knows enough to come
in when it rains, and I certainly pride myself more on taking in
others than being took in meself. And here am I, in me
fortysecond year—”</p>
<p>“Barnes!” called the voice of the Labour M.P. from
the office, “come here!”</p>
<p>Spanswick went on growling to himself as Erb left him and
entered the office.</p>
<p>“The books do not appear to have been touched since you
left,” said the white-haired man. “Not a
figure, not a letter.”</p>
<p>“Then he can’t be accused of tampering with
’em.”</p>
<p>“How much cash did you leave in the safe?”
Erb showed the sum at the foot of a page in the accounts
book. “I’ve half a mind,” said the Labour
M.P., in a determined way, that suggested he was making an
understatement, “I have half a mind to break it
open!”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t it be better to give him a chance of
coming back?”</p>
<p>“Read that letter!”</p>
<p>Erb read a slip of paper that Doubleday had left on the
desk. Doubleday had addressed it to the committee, and it
told them that, finding his health was giving way under the
stress of the few days’ work, he had decided to take a
holiday. If there should be any little trifle short in the
cash accounts, that would be replaced as soon as he <a
name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span>could make
it convenient to do so. He added that he had drawn the sum
standing to the Society’s credit, because there was not
enough money in the safe to enable him to take the somewhat
lengthened holiday which he felt was necessary. Thanking
them for all past favours, regretting their acquaintance had been
so brief, and wishing the Society every success, he remained,
Theirs faithfully, Edward H. Doubleday.</p>
<p>“I’d like to know the worst,” said the
Labour M.P. “I suppose you’ve no experience in
forcing looks?”</p>
<p>“It’s a branch of my education,” replied
Erb, “that’s been sadly neg— Why, the
blessed thing’s open!”</p>
<p>The safe was, indeed, unlocked, and this mattered the less,
because the safe was quite empty. Erb struck a match and
searched the corners; there was nothing to be seen but an
envelope bearing the words, “I.O.U.,” a certain large
amount, and Doubleday’s portentous signature.</p>
<p>“What’s the next step, sir?” asked Erb.</p>
<p>“Set the police on his track.”</p>
<p>“And the next?”</p>
<p>“Call the committee together at the earliest possible
moment. Make them do what I should have induced them to do
even though this had not happened—reinstate you as
secretary.”</p>
<p>“Anything else?”</p>
<p>“After that you and I can talk over this bye-election
business. I think we shall get you in the <a
name="page276"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 276</span>House,
Barnes, before you’re very much older.” The
M.P. looked at his large silver watch, “I must be
moving. Deputation to the Home Secretary at one. Fine
life ours, Barnes; always something doing. Always
difficulties to be cleared away. You’ll enjoy it when
you’re in the midst of it.”</p>
<p>“Think so?”</p>
<p>The Labour M.P. hurried off, pushing Spanswick aside as that
desolate man made an effort to impart some further details of his
acute grievance. Spanswick went to the door of the office,
but found it shut in his face.</p>
<p>“Now, if <i>I’d</i> been in his place,”
cried Spanswick, through the keyhole, “the least I should
have thought of saying would have been
‘’Alves!’”</p>
<h2><a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
277</span>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> bustle, the hurry, the
excitement were again here; the grievance that a day contained,
only twenty-four hours reconstituted itself; the feeling came
once more that one was a person of some importance. But
Erb, spite the old environments, found himself wanting in
enthusiasm. He could not deny this, although for a time he
tried to do so. Face to face with a situation that a month
earlier would have aroused all his most aggressive instincts, he
found he was quite unable to feel any excitement in the
matter. The rebuff the men had given him he could not
forget; the empty space that the dispute had made could not be
easily bridged. Moreover, there were other matters which
seemed larger and much more important than this to occupy his
consideration. Rosalind brought Louisa back to town, the
vacation being over, and Camberwell desiring to go on with its
lessons in voice production, and Lady Frances, hearing of this
from Alice, antedated her trip to the Continent, and, in her
generous way, prepared to fly off with Louisa and Jessie, the
maid; Louisa, dazed by the rapidity of events, said goodbye with
apparent calm to her brother and her three most recent
<i>fiancés</i>.</p>
<p><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
278</span>“Likely as not,” said Louisa casually,
“I shall marry one of you when I come back!”</p>
<p>“Which?” inquired the three youths eagerly.</p>
<p>“The one that’s got the most money.”</p>
<p>“Ah!” said the young baker from Rotherhithe New
Road contentedly.</p>
<p>“And the most sense.”</p>
<p>“Good!” remarked the assistant from the Free
Library.</p>
<p>“And the best temper.”</p>
<p>“Right-o!” said the booking clerk from Walworth
Road station.</p>
<p>Lady Frances asked Erb to get an evening paper, and he went to
the small bookstall on the platform. The train was on the
point of starting, and he took up a Conservative evening
paper. As he did so, he glanced at the placard that was
being pinned to the stall, and observed a line “Massacre of
English Commission in Morocco.” He quickly bought
another journal of an earlier edition. Later, when the
train had gone, he found in the “fudge” of the first
journal a brief message, printed unevenly, with a similar
heading:—</p>
<p>“The Foreign Office has received news of the massacre of
the English Commission recently sent out to Morocco. No
particulars are to hand, but the Commission included the
Lieutenant the Hon.—”</p>
<p>“Her young man!” cried Erb distressedly.
“Thought as much! This’ll be a fearful upset
for her.”</p>
<p><a name="page279"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 279</span>He
had some idea of going at once to Eaton Square, but this seemed
of little use, and he had become so much accustomed to consulting
Rosalind that he decided instead to go down to Southampton
Street. Arrived there, he found commotion of such
importance that this trouble concerning Lady Frances took a
second place.</p>
<p>An ambulance stood inside the gate, near to the specimens of
graveyard statuary, and on the steps of the house, a
constable.</p>
<p>“Are you,” asks C 243, barring the way, “any
relation to the deceased? By deceased,” explains the
constable, giving additional information with great wariness,
“he doesn’t, of course, mean deceased exactly, but
nearly as good as that; he means old gentleman—white-haired
old gentleman—that was knocked down by a cab in the Strand
not half an hour ago, as he stooped down in the middle of the
roadway to pick up a halfpenny he dropped. Happened just at
the corner of Wellington Street, it did. Knew the old chap
by sight. One of what C 243 ventures to call the
regulars. See them every day between Bedford Street and
Wellington Street. You don’t know their names, of
course,” says constable argumentatively, “but, bless
your soul, you know their faces so well that, when one of them
drops out, it makes you feel as though you’ve lost a
personal friend. Every one of them on the cadge, so C 243
understands, and apparently manage to live on by borrowing from
each other. A rum life, if ever there was one; no two ways
about that.”</p>
<p><a name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
280</span>“Is he still able to recognise—?”</p>
<p>“Old chap’s first words were ‘Not a
hospital; take me home.’ Constable inquired where was
home, and old chap managed to give the address. Whereupon
constable, after deliberation with a colleague, decided to take
four-wheeler and see old chap home as desired. Thought,
perhaps, he was only a bit stunned. Or, perhaps,
dazed. Instead of which, coming past the Obelisk, old chap
suddenly lurched forward, and—”</p>
<p>The small servant came out and beckoned. The voice of
Rosalind called gently.</p>
<p>“I am here,” replies Erb.</p>
<p>“Want you just one moment.”</p>
<p>A boy doctor who stood inside the room, endeavouring to wear a
look of uncountable years, nodded curtly, and went to the foot of
the sofa. On the sofa lay the Professor, with a rug thrown
over him, the rug close up to his chin, one hand free, and
travelling restlessly over the pattern.</p>
<p>“That bourne,” whispered the Professor,
“from which no traveller— You are a good lad,
and you will look after her.”</p>
<p>“If she’ll let me,” says Erb.
“How are you feeling, sir, by this time?”</p>
<p>“Look after her better than I have done. See that
when you arrive at my state, laddie, you—you can glance
back on your life with content.”</p>
<p>Erb, with a kindly touch, pushed the Professor’s hair
from his eyes, and the old man looked up gratefully. Erb
touched his hand, and the hand gripped <a
name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 281</span>his as
though with desire to attach itself to something reliable.</p>
<p>“I’m slipping,” said the Professor
simply. He closed his eyes, and presently reopened them as
with difficulty. “We few, we happy few, we band of
brothers. Give me the word, sir, give me the word.
What in Heaven’s name,” with sudden indignation,
“is the use of having a prompter if—”</p>
<p>Rosalind, keeping her tears back, came with the heavy volume,
opening it quickly at the place where a ringletted youth in a
steel engraving was addressing soldiers.</p>
<p>Erb discovering the lines with the aid of Rosalind’s
finger, gave the cue. “For he
to-day—” The old Professor goes on.</p>
<p>“‘For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall
be my be-rother! be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle
his condition, And gentlemen in England, And gentlemen in
England.’ No use,” said the Professor weakly,
“my study’s gone.”</p>
<p>“Don’t bother about it, sir.”</p>
<p>“Laddie,” said the Professor, “you—you
think me a thriftless, miserable wastrel.”</p>
<p>“No, no,” answered Erb. “Not that
exactly. But we’re none of us perfect.”</p>
<p>“I’ve reached me last hour, and the time has come
for plain speech. I’ve been—” a smile
dared to creep halfway across the Professor’s face.
“I’ve been a fraud.”</p>
<p><a name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
282</span>“Father,” said Rosalind brokenly.
“You’ve always been the dearest,
dearest—”</p>
<p>The boy doctor, snatching the opportunity to whisper to Erb,
who could not lose the Professor’s hand, said that he had
administered a sleeping draught: if the Professor desired to say
anything it would be better to allow him to speak without
interruption.</p>
<p>“I have been a fraud,” repeated the Professor,
with something of relish. “I have been
a—’Neither a borrower or a lender be. For
borrowing oft—’”</p>
<p>“You’ve always been welcome, sir.”</p>
<p>“I have been the most fraudulent of all frauds.
There is a note in my desk to send to the
‘Era.’ I have often, in my salad days,
advertised in the ‘Era.’ I think they will put
it in.”</p>
<p>“I’ll pay them to, if necessary.”</p>
<p>The Professor gave a faint echo of a chuckle. “How
they will talk about it in the Strand! I’d give the
remainder of my life to hear them.”</p>
<p>The old, old mouth, twisted in the effort to display
amusement, and remained twisted; one eyelid nearly closed.
The boy doctor looked anxiously from the foot of the sofa:
Rosalind knelt.</p>
<p>“You’re going to have a nice long sleep,
sir,” said Erb, bending down. “And you’ll
wake up a different man, bless you.”</p>
<p>“I shall wake up,” repeated the Professor slowly,
“wake up a different man.”</p>
<p>Both eyelids closing now, he turned his white <a
name="page283"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 283</span>head a
little towards the wall. Presently his grip of Erb’s
hand relaxed, and Erb, disengaging himself, went with the others
to the window, where the three spoke in an undertone, Erb holding
Rosalind’s elbows supportingly. A slight groan from
the sofa called the doctor.</p>
<p>“All over,” announced the boy doctor, with a
desperate effort to assume the air of one used to making such
announcements, and rendered callous by long centuries of
habit. “I’ll let the Coroner’s officer
know. Don’t mind my running off, do you?
Fearfully busy, just now.”</p>
<p>The Professor’s words were counted as the mere wandering
of speech, and dismissed from memory until, when the inquest was
over, and some days later the journey to Honor Oak cemetery and
back at an end, Erb took upon himself the duty of examining the
locked drawers of the desk. Then it was found that tardily
in his life, the Professor had hinted at truth, for books
entitled Post Office Savings Bank were discovered there, and it
was realised that this old spendthrift, this most careless member
of a careless profession, had hoarded carefully throughout his
life, engaging stray half-crowns, only to add them instantly to
his store, and the five brown covered books announced that to his
credit stood what seemed to Erb and to Rosalind the extravagant
fortune of nearly four hundred pounds. A will, drawn up in
commendable order, directed that all this was left to “my
dear daughter Rosalind, and may she forgive her father for many
<a name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
284</span>shortcomings, and think of him if she can, with
affection and regard.”</p>
<p>“This,” said Erb, when he had reckoned up the
amounts on a slip of paper, “this is very satisfactory for
you, but it makes all the difference to me.”</p>
<p>“It’s going to make no sort of difference
whatever,” said Rosalind emphatically.</p>
<p>“Money matters always do.”</p>
<p>“Depends on the people who have the money. Money
in itself doesn’t bring happiness, but it doesn’t
follow that it destroys it. Your Lady Frances, for
instance—”</p>
<p>“What makes you call her my Lady Frances?”</p>
<p>“She looks upon you as her property,” said
Rosalind, turning away.</p>
<p>“If I hadn’t got such a stiff collar on I’d
laugh,” declared Erb. “By the bye, I’m
very glad to see by to-day’s papers that her sweetheart was
on his way back before that nasty affair took place out near
Tetuan; mysterious thing, rather. Been telegraphed for
apparently, by somebody.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“You saw about it in the paper?”</p>
<p>“No,” said Rosalind.</p>
<p>“Well, but how—”</p>
<p>“<i>I</i> sent the telegram,” she said
quietly. “I thought it better he should be back
here. I didn’t want her to get you.”</p>
<p>Erb took her hands. She tried to keep her lips from his,
but she tried for a moment only.</p>
<p><a name="page285"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
285</span>“This simplifies matters,” he said.
“I never could tell whether you liked me or not.”</p>
<p>“You never asked!”</p>
<p>“People will say I married you for your money,” he
said half jokingly.</p>
<p>“And I shall know,” replied Rosalind, patting his
face, “that you married me because—because you liked
me.”</p>
<h2><a name="page286"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
286</span>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">Silk</span> hatted men were hurrying to
and fro in the lobby, each with an air of bearing the
responsibilities of the Empire on his shoulders; cards were being
sent in by the attendants: a few country visitors stood about
near to the statue of Mr. Gladstone waiting awkwardly for the
arrival of their member. Swing-doors moved unceasingly: now
and again two members would encounter each other and consult
furtively with wrinkled foreheads, and visitors stood back from
the round space at the centre with awe and respect, giving them
room. Erb, in a morning coat and a necktie of such gaiety,
that alone it betrayed the fact of his wedding-day, was an event
not yet forgotten, strolled about, less appalled by the
surroundings than most, so that provincials came to him now and
again and made inquiries. Whenever he had been to the House
before he had always felt wistful, and had looked through
corridor to the inner lobby with anticipation; this evening the
feeling was absent.</p>
<p>“Haven’t kept you waiting I hope,
Barnes?” The white-haired Labour member bustling out
was conspicuous by reason of his bowler hat. “Rather
a lot of things to do one way and another. When <a
name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>you get
here you’ll find—I can’t see him now,”
answering a messenger. “Tell him I’m going down
to Bermondsey to put something straight that has got crooked, and
I shall not be back till ten. Tell him that!”</p>
<p>“Cab or ’bus?” inquired Erb, as they went
down the broad steps.</p>
<p>“’Bus,” said the Labour member,
promptly. “Somebody might see us if we took a
hansom. You’ll find that you can’t be too
careful. And there’s another thing, too. Flower
in your coat, you know—”</p>
<p>With axiom and words of counsel, the white-haired member
shortened the journey from Westminster to the rooms in Grange
Road; Erb listening with a proper deference, and refraining from
all but appropriate and well-chosen interruptions. The
member appeared stimulated by the task before him, and Erb felt
quite mature in remembering the time when he, too, would have
found his blood run quicker at the prospect of argument.
His companion hurried up the corkscrew staircase of the
coffee-house, Erb following slowly, nodding to a few of the men
who, with anxious expression of countenance stood about on the
landing. He went into a room at the side, where he hoped to
be alone. Spanswick, however, had seen him, and Spanswick,
following in, took a wooden chair on the opposite side of the
table. But Erb’s old van boy interposed, big with a
message. The chief had sent him (said William Henry) to
mention in confidence that, if <a name="page288"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 288</span>Erb cared to come back to his former
position—“Extraordinary thing,” said Erb,
“how much the world wants you when you show that you
don’t want the world. No answer, William Henry, only
thanks.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been telling a lot of ’em,” said
Spanswick, jerking his hand in the direction of the other room as
the young diplomatist went, “that if they take my advice,
Erb, they’ll ask you to come back.”</p>
<p>“I see!”</p>
<p>“I’ve pointed out to ’em that they’ve
blundered all along. That matter of the cheque, for
instance—it’s proved that it’s never been
cashed and, therefore, as I say, the money could never have come
into your pocket. On the top of that,” said
Spanswick, with something like indignation, “they go and
select a bounder like old Doubleday. Why I could see what
the man was like from the very start. I took his measure
the first time I came across him. A talkative, interfering,
muddle-headed gas-bag—I told some of ’em that it was
a wonder they got men to take the trouble to lead them at
all.”</p>
<p>“It <i>is</i> a wonder!”</p>
<p>“And here they are now,” said Spanswick, rising to
go and join in the deliberations of the next room, “here
they are now down on their ’ands and knees without a single
penny in the cash-box, worse off than they’ve ever been
ever since the Society started, and not one amongst ’em
capable of taking what you may call the reins of government in
hand. It all comes,” concluded Spanswick, <a
name="page289"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 289</span>tapping at
his nose with his forefinger, “it all comes through people
not listening to the advice of the few of us,” here he
struck his waistcoat impressively, “the few of us, either
me and you, that know.”</p>
<p>Through the partition Erb could hear the voice of the Labour
member. Impossible to distinguish the words, but clearly
there was reproof in the tones at first; this gave place later to
the quieter key of counsel. The men who had hitherto been
silent began to applaud; fists struck the table with approval,
and presently there came the sound of emphatic cheering that had
often made Erb warm with pleasure.</p>
<p>“You’re wanted, old man,” said Payne,
opening the door importantly. “Foller me into the
next room, will you?”</p>
<p>The old scent of gas and cheap tobacco and corduroys.
The old faces looking round as he entered, elbows resting on the
table, some of the men with tumblers before them, others, wearing
the stern look of sobriety, had been making notes of the speech
to which they had just listened. Circular stains on the
long wooden T-shaped tables; the impaled advertisements on the
wall awry as though affected by the perfumes coming up from the
bar downstairs. The dulled mirrors at the end reflected the
room mistily with its frame protected eternally by tissue
paper. The barman waiting for orders at the doorway gave
Erb a tap of encouragement as he went in.</p>
<p>“Bravo! vo! vo! vo!” murmured the room.</p>
<p><a name="page290"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
290</span>“Order! order!” said the Chairman.
“I call on our old and trusted friend—I forget his
blessed name—from Paddington Parcels, at any rate, to
address the meeting.”</p>
<p>The Paddington Parcels member cleared his throat and
rose. He had been one of the first to go over, and this he
frankly admitted. “Gives me all the more
title,” said Paddington Parcels determinedly, “to
undertake what I’m undertaking of now.”</p>
<p>Paddington Parcels handsomely offered to cut a long story
short, and the room gave encouragement to this proposal,
whereupon he proceeded to speak at intolerable length with ever,
“Just one word and I’ve done,” and “Let
me add a couple of words more,” and “Finally, I
should like to remark,” and other phrases all suggesting an
immediate finish, anticipation not justified by results.</p>
<p>Summarised, the argument was that the society had made a
grievous blunder; that when a chap made a mistake he should
apologise for it and set it right; that a society was like a
chap, and should behave as a chap would, and that in the present
deplorable state of the society there was only one thing they
could do, namely, to ask Erb Barnes to let byegones be byegones,
and to come back and resume the secretaryship. When, after
many feints of sitting down, thus arousing the oratorical desires
of those anxious to second the resolution, and always thinking of
more words that retained him in a standing position, Paddington
Parcels did unexpectedly resume his seat, there was great <a
name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 291</span>competition
for the honour of speaking next, and twenty faces looked gloomy
and disappointed when Payne was selected. Payne spoke
briefly. Every society had its ups and downs: this society
was just now all in the downs, as the song had it. But it
was well worth while to have such an experience, if only to see
his old chum, his good old chum Erb, righted in the eyes of
everybody and restored to a position that he ought never to have
quitted.</p>
<p>The Labour member begged leave (his tones intimating nothing
of humility) to say a few words before this was put to the
vote. The society had been compared to a man, but the
society, as a society, was, so to speak, a mere child, and it had
recently behaved in the impulsive wrong-headed manner of a
child. That might be overlooked once; it would not be
overlooked a second time. Mind that! Brains had been
served out to one and all, but some hadn’t quite got their
proper share with the result that others had more than the
average supply, and if the man who had come out rather short in
the matter had not sufficient sense, when in a position of
difficulty, to ask advice from those fully equipped, why the men
with the short supply would have to put up with the consequences
of their own blundering. And there was another thing.
The success of the labour movement as a whole depended on the
loyalty of the men to those who were doing brain work on their
behalf; let that loyalty once exhibit anything of doubt and the
whole scheme, the whole business, the whole <a
name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
292</span>movement—the Labour member struck the wooden
table emphatically at each variant of the phrase—the whole
show would go to pot. All the same, he congratulated them
on the wise decision at which they were about to arrive, and he
strongly urged his friend Erb Barnes, “in consideration of
certain prospective events,” said the white-haired member,
lowering his voice mysteriously, “of which <i>he</i> is
aware, but cannot at the present time be made public,” to
accept good-temperedly the invitation of the men.</p>
<p>The men had kept silent whilst receiving criticism; at these
last words they rose from the Windsor chairs and shouted
approval. The shirt sleeved waiter went up and down the
tables, culling empty glasses and making them into a
bouquet. Erb went to the mantelpiece, and resting one hand
there, spoke quietly. Every face turned in his
direction. “I think,” said the Chairman
importantly, “I think I may say carried <i>per
se</i>—I mean <i>nem. con.</i>”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to occupy your time for
long,” said Erb from the fireplace when the renewed
cheering had ceased. “You’ll have other
business to do—(No, no)—and, contrary to my usual
practice I’m going to be very brief indeed. There
have been times when you’ve heard me speak at a
considerable length, and for all your kindness to me under those
circumstances I give you my thanks. I shan’t ever
trouble you again to that extent. A month or so ago you met
here—you, just the same men that you are now—and you
gave me the sack. <a name="page293"></a><span
class="pagenum">p. 293</span>You never gave me a chance of
defending myself or explaining my actions; you just pushed me
off.”</p>
<p>The room murmured an unintelligible protest.</p>
<p>“You just pushed me off. You jilted me. You
broke off the engagement. Chaps, that broken engagement
can’t be mended. We’re all constituted
differently, I suppose, but I’m like this: if
anybody’s faithful to me I should be glad of the
opportunity of going through fire and water for them, if
they’re not, then fire and water are things they can go
through for themselves. I reckon I’ve been in love
with this society for the last year, and I’ve been loyal to
it; now I’m in love with somebody else.”</p>
<p>“Who?” demanded the room.</p>
<p>“I’m in love,” said Erb, turning to glance
at himself contentedly in the clouded mirror, “in love with
my wife.”</p>
<p>“In love with his <i>wife</i>!” said the members
to each other amazedly.</p>
<p>“Some people possess a stock of enthusiasm that’s
got no limits; mine all vanished, I find, directly you treated me
unfairly. My friend who’s kindly come down from
Westminster to talk to you knows that I’m giving up
prospects that would tempt a good many; it’s only honest to
tell you that those prospects, which a month since would have
made my head swell, at this moment don’t allure me in the
slightest degree. I think—I don’t know,
mind—I think I’m seeing things clearer than I
did. I thought all the right and all the justice and all
the <a name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p.
294</span>everything was on our side; I’ve come to see
that, as a matter of fact, it’s about fairly divided.
I’m going to take up a little business on my own account
down in Wandsworth as a master carman, and I should be very glad,
chaps, if you could manage to—to wish me luck.
I’m going now. I’m going to leave you to go on
with the business of appointing a secretary. There’s
plenty of capable men in the world, and the opportunity always
finds them. So I wish you every prosperity, and I wish we
may always keep friends, because some day we might find ourselves
shoulder to shoulder again. And I wish you—”
Erb hesitated for a moment in order to steady his voice, “I
wish you good-bye.”</p>
<p>The men crowded towards the doorway as Erb went in that
direction.</p>
<p>“Come back to us, old man,” they cried.
“We want you. Can’t you see
that—”</p>
<p>On the opposite side of the roadway below, warmly jacketed in
view of the coolness of an autumn evening, a pleasant figure
walked to and fro. Regardless of the circumstances that
faces looked down from the windows, Erb hurried across and kissed
her.</p>
<p>Up the street they walked, arm-in-arm with each other, and
arm-in-arm with happiness.</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<p style="text-align: center">THE END</p>
<div class="gapspace"> </div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 56029 ***</div>
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