A QUESTION FOR THE COUNTRY
For the first time in many years it seemed certain that the
Conservatives had lost their hold upon the country. The times were ripe
for a change of any sort. An ill-conducted and ruinous war had drained
the empire of its surplus wealth, and every known industry was suffering
from an almost paralyzing depression--Medchester, perhaps, as severely
as any town in the United Kingdom. Its staple manufactures were being
imported from the States and elsewhere at prices which the local
manufacturers declared to be ruinous. Many of the largest factories
were standing idle, a great majority of the remainder were being worked
at half or three-quarters time. Thoughtful men, looking ten years
ahead, saw the cloud, which even now was threatening enough, grow
blacker and blacker, and shuddered at the thought of the tempest which
before long must break over the land. Meanwhile, the streets were
filled with unemployed, whose demeanour day by day grew less and less
pacific. People asked one another helplessly what was being done to
avert the threatened crisis. The manufacturers, openly threatened by
their discharged employees, and cajoled by others higher in authority and
by public opinion, still pronounced themselves helpless to move without
the aid of legislation. For the first time for years Protection was
openly spoken of from a political platform.
Henslow, a shrewd man and a politician of some years' standing, was one
of the first to read the signs of the times, and rightly to appreciate
them. He had just returned from a lengthened visit to the United
States, and what he had seen there he kept at first very much to
himself. But at a small committee meeting held when his election was
still a matter of doubt, he unbosomed himself at last to some effect.
"The vote we want," he said, "is the vote of those people who are losing
their bread, and who see ruin and starvation coming in upon them. I
mean the middle-class manufacturers and the operatives who are dependent
upon them. I tell you where I think that as a nation we are going
wrong. We fixed once upon a great principle, and we nailed it to our
mast--for all time. That is a mistake. Absolute Free Trade, such as is
at present our national policy, was a magnificent principle in the days
of Cobden--but the times have changed. We must change with them. That
is where the typical Englishman fails. It is a matter of temperament.
He is too slow to adapt himself to changing circumstances."
There was a moment's silence. These were ominous words. Every one felt
that they were not lightly spoken. Henslow had more behind. A
prominent manufacturer, Harrison by name, interposed from his place.
"You are aware, Mr. Henslow," he said, "that many a man has lost an
assured seat for a more guarded speech than that. For generations even
a whisper of the sort has been counted heresy--especially from our
party."
"Maybe," Henslow answered, "but I am reminded of this, Mr. Harrison.
The pioneers of every great social change have suffered throughout the
whole of history, but the man who has selected the proper moment and
struck hard, has never failed to win his reward. Now I am no novice in
politics, and I am going to make a prophecy. Years ago the two
political parties were readjusted on the Irish question. Every election
which was fought was simply on these lines--it was upon the principle of
Home Rule for Ireland, and the severance of that country from the United
Kingdom, or the maintenance of the Union. Good! Now, in more recent
times, the South African war and the realization of what our Colonies
could do for us has introduced a new factor. Those who have believed in
a doctrine of expansion have called themselves 'Imperialists,' and those
who have favoured less wide-reaching ideals, and perhaps more attention
to home matters, have been christened 'Little Englanders.' Many
elections have been fought out on these lines, if not between two men
absolutely at variance with one another on this question, still on the
matter of degree. Now, I am going to prophesy. I say that the next
readjustment of Parties, and the time is not far ahead, will be on the
tariff question, and I believe that the controversy on this matter, when
once the country has laid hold of it, will be the greatest political
event of this century. Listen, gentlemen. I do not speak without
having given this question careful and anxious thought, and I tell you
that I can see it coming."
The committee meeting broke up at a late hour in the afternoon amidst
some excitement, and Mr. Bullsom walked back to his office with Brooks.
A fine rain was falling, and the two men were close together under one
umbrella.
"What do you think of it, Brooks?" Bullsom asked anxiously.
"To tell you the truth, I scarcely know," the younger answered. "Ten
years ago there could have been but one answer--to-day--well, look
there."
The two men stood still for a moment. They were in the centre of the
town, at a spot from which the main thoroughfares radiated into the
suburbs and manufacturing centres. Everywhere the pavements and the
open space where a memorial tower stood were crowded with loiterers.
Men in long lines stood upon the kerbstones, their hands in their
pockets, watching, waiting--God knows for what. There were all sorts,
of course, the professional idlers and the drunkard were there, but the
others--there was no lack of them. There was no lack of men,
white-faced, dull-eyed, dejected, some of them actually with the brand of
starvation to be seen in their sunken cheeks and wasted limbs. No
wonder that the swing-doors of the public-houses, where there was light
and warmth inside, opened and shut continually.
"Look," Brooks repeated, with a tremor in his tone. "There are
thousands and thousands of them--and all of them must have some sort of
a home to go to. Fancy it--one's womankind, perhaps children--and
nothing to take home to them. It's such an old story, that it sounds
hackneyed and commonplace. But God knows there's no other tragedy on
His earth like it."
Mr. Bullsom was uncomfortable.
"I've given a hundred pounds to the Unemployed Fund," he said.
"It's money well spent if it had been a thousand," Brooks answered.
"Some day they may learn their strength, and they will not suffer then,
like brute animals, in silence. Look here. I'm going to speak to one
of them."
He touched a tall youth on the shoulder. "Out of work, my lad?" he
asked. The youth turned surlily round. "Yes. Looks like it, don't
it?"
"What are you?" Brooks asked.
"Clicker."
"Why did you leave your last place?"
"Gaffer said he's no more orders--couldn't keep us on. The shop's shut
up. Know of a job, guv'nor?" he asked, with a momentary eagerness.
"I've two characters in my pocket--good 'uns."
"You've tried to get a place elsewhere?" Brooks asked.
"Tried? D'ye suppose I'm standing here for fun? I've tramped the
blessed town. I went to thirty factories yesterday, and forty to-day.
Know of a job, guv'nor? I'm not particular."
"I wish I did," Brooks answered, simply. "Here's half-a-crown. Go to
that coffee-palace over there and get a meal. It's all I can do for
you."
"Good for you, guv'nor," was the prompt answer. "I can treat my brother
on that. Here, Ned," he caught hold of a younger boy by the shoulder,
"hot coffee and eggs, you sinner. Come on."
The two scurried off together. Brooks and his companion passed on.
"It is just this," Brooks said, in a low tone, "just the thought of
these people makes me afraid, positively afraid to argue with Henslow.
You see--he may be right. I tell you that in a healthily-governed
country there should be work for every man who is able and willing to
work. And in England there isn't. Free Trade works out all right
logically, but it's one thing to see it all on paper, and it's another
to see this--here around us--and Medchester isn't the worst off by any
means."
Bullsom was silent for several moments.
"I tell you what it is, Brooks," he said. "I'll send another hundred to
the Unemployed Fund to-night."
"It's generous of you, Mr. Bullsom," the young lawyer answered.
"You'll never regret it. But look here. There's a greater
responsibility even than feeding these poor fellows resting upon us
to-day. They don't want our charity. They've an equal right to live
with us. What they want, and what they have a right to, is just
legislation. That's where we come in. Politics isn't a huge joke, or
the vehicle for any one man's personal ambition. We who interest
ourselves, however remotely, in them, impose upon ourselves a great
obligation. We've got to find the truth. That's why I hesitate to say
anything against Henslow's new departure. We're off the track now. I
want to hear all that Henslow has to say. We must not neglect a single
chance whilst that terrible cry is ever in our ears."
They parted at the tram terminus, Mr. Bullsom taking a car for his
suburban paradise. As usual, he was the centre of a little group of
acquaintances.
"And how goes the election, Bullsom?" some one asked him.
Mr. Bullsom was in no hurry to answer the question. He glanced round
the car, collecting the attention of those who might be supposed
interested.
"I will answer that question better," he said, "after the mass meeting
on Saturday night. I think that Henslow's success or failure will
depend on that."
"Got something up your sleeve, eh?" his first questioner remarked.
"Maybe," Mr. Bullsom answered. "Maybe not. But apart from the
immediate matter of this election, I can tell you one thing, gentlemen,
which may interest you."
He paused. One thumb stole towards the armhole of his waistcoat. He
liked to see these nightly companions of his hang upon his words. It
was a proper and gratifying tribute to his success as a man of affairs.
"I have just left," he said, "our future Member."
The significance of his speech was not immediately apparent.
"Henslow! Oh, yes. Committee meeting this afternoon, wasn't it?" some
one remarked.
"I do not mean Henslow," Mr. Bullsom replied. "I mean Kingston
Brooks."
The desired sensation was apparent.
"Why, he's your new agent, isn't he?"
"Young fellow who plays cricket rather well."
"Great golfer, they say!"
"Makes a good speech, some one was saying."
"Gives free lectures at the Secular Hall." "Rather a smart young
solicitor, they say!"
Mr. Bullsom looked around him.
"He is all these things, and he does all these things. He is one of
these youngsters who has the knack of doing everything well. Mark my
words, all of you. I gave him his first case of any importance, and I
got him this job as agent for Henslow. He's bound to rise. He's
ambitious, and he's got the brains. He'll be M.P. for this borough
before we know where we are."
Half-a-dozen men of more or less importance made a mental note to nod to
Kingston Brooks next time they saw him, and Mr. Bullsom trudged up his
avenue with fresh schemes maturing in his mind. In the domestic circle
he further unburdened himself.
"Mrs. Bullsom," he said, "I am thinking of giving a dinner-party. How
many people do we know better than ourselves?"
Mrs. Bullsom was aghast, and the young ladies, Selina and Louise, who
were in the room, were indignant.
"Really, papa," Selina exclaimed, "what do you mean?"
"What I say," he answered, gruffly. "We're plain people, your mother
and I, at any rate, and when you come to reckon things up, I suppose
you'll admit that we're not much in the social way. There's plenty of
people living round us in a sight smaller houses who don't know us, and
wouldn't if they could--and I'm not so sure that it's altogether the
fault of your father and mother either, Selina," he added, breaking
ruthlessly in upon a sotto-voce remark of that young lady's.
"Well, I never!" Selina exclaimed, tossing her head.
"Come, come, I don't want no sauce from you girls," he added, drifting
towards the fireplace, and adopting a more assured tone as he reached
his favourite position. "I've reasons for wishing to have Mr. Kingston
Brooks here, and I'd like him to meet gentlefolk. Now, there's the
Vicar and his wife. Do you suppose they'd come?"
"Well, I should like to know why not," Mrs. Bullsom remarked, laying
down her knitting, "when it's only three weeks ago you sent him ten
guineas for the curates' fund. Come indeed! They'd better."
"Then there's Dr. Seventon," Mr. Bullsom continued, "and his wife.
Better drop him a line and tell him to look in and see me at the office.
I can invent something the matter with me, and I'd best drop him a hint.
They say Mrs. Seventon is exclusive. But I'll just let him know she's
got to come. Now, who else, girls?"
"The Huntingdons might come--if they knew that it was this sort of an
affair," Selina remarked, thoughtfully.
"And Mr. Seaton," Louise added. "I'm sure he's most gentlemanly."
"I don't want gentlemanly people this time," Mr. Bullsom declared, "I
want gentle-people. That's all there is about it. I let you ask who
you like to the house, and give you what you want for subscriptions and
clothes and such-like. You've had a free 'and. Now let's see something
for it. Half-a-dozen couples'll be enough if you can't get more, but I
Won't have the Nortons, or the Marvises, or any of that podgy set. You
understand that? And, first of all, you, Selina, had better write to
Mr. Brooks and ask him to dine with us in a friendly way one night the
week after next, when the election is over and done with."
"In a friendly way, pa?" Selina repeated, doubtfully. "But we can't ask
these other people whom we know so slightly like that--and, besides, Mr.
Brooks might not dress if we put it like that."
"A nice lot you know about gentle-people and their ways," Mr. Bullsom
remarked, with scorn. "A young fellow like Brooks would tog himself out
for dinner all right even if we were alone, as long as there were ladies
there. And as for the dinner, you don't suppose I'm such a mug as to
leave that to Ann. I shall go to the Queen's Hotel, and have 'em send a
cook and waiters, and run the whole show. Don't know that I shan't send
to London. You get the people! I'll feed 'em!"
"Do as your father says, Selina," Mrs. Bullsom said, mildly. "I'm sure
he's very considerate."
"Where's Mary?" Mr. Bullsom inquired. "This is a bit in her line."
Selina tossed her head.
"I'm sure I don't know why you should say that, papa," she declared.
"Mary knows nothing about society, and she has no friends who would be
the least use to us."
"Where is she, anyway?" Mr. Bullsom demanded. No one knew. As a matter
of fact she was having tea with Kingston Brooks.