THE QUEER LOOK OF THINGS.
"THERE was another meeting of the men last night, Peter," said Mr.
Hughes one morning, in a thoughtful tone, as he paced the garden-path.
"Werry important meeting, sir," said Stuckey.
"Were you there yourself?"
"I was, sir. It's interestin' to watch an' see the course which matters
is a-takin'."
Peter spoke in a contemplative tone, gazing straight over the top of
the Rector's hat.
"What course are they taking?" asked Mr. Hughes, amused.
"An' that's the werry question, sir," responded Peter, moving his head
to and fro, with an air of profound consideration.
"Did Pope address the men?"
"And he did, sir; an' told the men a lot of things in werry uncommon
fine language. Pope speaks a deal finer than you do, sir."
"He does, does he?" laughed Mr. Hughes.
"Werry much finer, only it ain't by a long chalk so clear to the
understandin'. For why, sir? Peter Pope, he strings together a lot of
fine words, like children do with glass beads, and those that listens
is none the wiser. But he does a deal of butterin', and that's what the
men likes. They likes the butter laid on thick, and no mistake, sir."
"Human nature, I'm afraid. Most people have no objection to a certain
amount of flattery."
"Just my own view of the matter, sir. As I was a-telling of Holdfast
this very morning: 'They likes a good spread o' butter, Holdfast,' says
I; 'and they don't know, not they, as it's rancid butter, calc'lated to
do 'em no good.'"
"What did Pope say to them yesterday, Peter?"
"Telled 'em what a splendid set of manly fellows they all was, sir, to
be sure, and what a cowardly lot of sneaking chaps they'd got over 'em.
Telled 'em too they'd got everything in their own hands—sort of general
management of the whole world, you know—and all they'd got to do was to
strike, an' strike, an' strike again, and drive the wages up as high as
ever they liked. That's what he says! Telled 'em the masters 'ud soon
give in, and then they'd have another strike, and the masters 'ud give
in again. All as easy as b—a—ba, sir!"
"And the men believed him!"
"Well, I don't know as I can 'xactly say that, sir. There is some among
the men as has too much sense to be altogether so easy bamboozled with
a lot of clap-trap. But any way, they do like uncommon to hear it all.
Sort of tickles and soothes 'em, you know."
"Was Holdfast there?"
"I've a notion not, but I ain't sure. Any way, he's spoke up bravely
once, and I make no doubt he'll do it again. I'm not sure as I won't
take up the line myself some day."
"Which line?" Mr. Hughes asked.
"Speechifying, sir, for the good of them as is ignorant," Peter said
loftily.
"You think you have a gift that way?"
Peter scratched his head, divided between modesty and assurance.
"Well, sir, my old mother, she were knowing and no mistake, and she'd
used to say I had a gift for most things, whatever I chose to take up."
"Perhaps a little practice beforehand would be advisable, before
adventuring yourself in public," suggested Mr. Hughes.
"Just the werry identical same conclusion as I comed to myself,"
asserted Peter. "Nothing in the world like practice for giving of a
man confidence, sir. And it's confidence as does it. It ain't the gift
only; it's confidence, and practice leads to confidence."
"Have you begun your practising?"
"It ain't my way, sir, for to go a-puttin' off when I sees a duty
plain afore me. Soon 's I sees my way, I up and does it. Yes, I was
a-practising yesterday evening; an' I'd just got to that 'ere point,
sir, as I'd worked up a picture-like of a lot o' men round, all
a-listenin' as meek as lambs, and I a-giving out o' my opinions—I'd got
to that 'ere point, sir, when Mary Anne she come in, an' says she,—"
"'Why, Peter,' says she, 'whatever are you after,' says she, 'a-hitting
out at the candlestick like that?' says she."
"'That's action,' says I. 'A fine thing is action,' says I, 'and Pope's
got a lot of it. Gives him a sort of hold-like on people's minds, Mary
Anne,' says I."
"Mary Anne she didn't see it, and she fell a-laughing at me, fit to
bu'st; but there's no manner o' doubt it is so, sir. Nor action ain't
hard to get, neither. It's just a swing, an' a stamp, an' a bang of
the feet now and agin, and a deal o' tossing about o' the arms between
times. Just a sort of emphaticallizing of the words by means o' the
body, you see, sir. I've been a-telling Holdfast he's got to work up
his action, afore he speaks agin. The men likes a lot of action."
"I shouldn't recommend either you or Holdfast to take Pope for your
model," said the much diverted Mr. Hughes, as he moved away. "A
statement, well worded, may be quite as emphatic without the swing or
the stamp."
Peter stood motionless, weighing this parting utterance. He rubbed his
forehead more than once in dubious style.
[Illustration: "'A fine thing is action,' says I, 'and Pope's got a lot
of it.'"]
"Don't know as I can give in to that 'ere notion neither. There ain't
no doubt as the men likes action. A speaker as didn't stir a finger
wouldn't make no way with our chaps. They likes a stamp and a bang,
once and agin. Same time, they did listen pretty patient to Holdfast;
for all he'd no action, nor didn't lay on the butter."
"It's a queer thing now—come to think of it!—A werry queer and
extraordinary thing, to see all these able-bodied fellows hanging about
idle for weeks an' weeks, an' bringing their families to the brink o'
starwation—and for why? 'Cause they're told! That's why! Peter Pope
tells 'em to do it, and they does it! Not as they wants to do it, most
of 'em! There's hundreds this minute as 'ud be glad and thankful to
give in, an' be at work again! But no! They're bid to hold out, and
hold out they will. They'll hold out, and they'll do all they can to
make others hold out, and maybe punish them as don't."
"And all the while they're sick at heart, poor fellows, knowing; all
they've lost an' must lose, and knowing the misery at home! Supposing
the masters do give way. What then! Think a bit of a rise in their
wages 'll ever make up for what they've gone through these weeks? Not
it! An' the men knows that—many of 'em—as well as I do; for they've
sense down below. But they haven't the courage to speak out, nor to act
for themselves. Talk of independence! They're like a flock of sheep,
everybody a-running after the rest."
"Yes, it is a werry queer state of things indeed. But if it hadn't ha'
been for that there accident, I'd ha' been among 'em now, scuttling
after Pope, like to the rest."
"'Tain't so amazin' the members of a Union holding out when they're
bid. Whether it's wise or foolish orders they has, and whatever they
thinks privately, they gets an allowance, and they're helped through.
But it's mighty queer to see them hundreds of men who don't belong to
no Union, nor don't get a penny from it saving by way of charity, all
knuckling down alike. Werry advantageous for Pope! It's a fine increase
of income as he's been getting all through the strike, which 'll stop
when the strike stops."
"So it ain't surprising that Peter Pope is sort of anxious to keep the
strike a-going! And it ain't so werry surprising that the unionists
shouldn't mind a bit longer holiday, an' being kept without havin'
to work for their living. But it's most surprising an' altogether
remarkable, when a lot of poor starving chaps, who don't get no extra
income nor don't belong to no Union, should be so wonderful ready to do
just as they're bid, and take the bread out of their children's mouth's
to put jam an' pastry into Peter Pope's mouth! Don't seem fair on the
children, though!"
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