Chadwick's hours aboard his Atlantic liner were so long as to interfere
seriously, not only with his leisure, but with his political activities.
And this irked him the more for the reason that at that period local
politics in the Five Towns were extremely agitated and interesting.
People became politicians who had never been politicians before. The
question was, whether the Five Towns, being already one town in
practice, should not become one town in theory--indeed, the twelfth
largest town in the United Kingdom! And the district was divided into
Federationists and anti-Federationists. Chadwick was a convinced
anti-Federationist. Chadwick, with many others, pointed to the history
of Bursley, "the mother of the Five Towns," a history which spread over
a thousand years and more; and he asked whether "old Bursley" was to
lose her identity merely because Hanbridge had insolently outgrown her.
A poll was soon to be taken on the subject, and feelings were growing
hotter every day, and rosettes of different colours flowered thicker and
thicker in the streets, until nothing but a strong sense of politeness
prevented members of the opposing parties from breaking each other's
noses in St Luke's Square.
Now on a certain Tuesday afternoon in spring Tommy Chadwick's car stood
waiting, opposite the Conservative Club, to depart to Moorthorne. And
Tommy Chadwick stood in all his portliness on the platform. The driver,
a mere nobody, was of course at the front of the car. The driver held
the power, but he could not use it until Tommy Chadwick gave him
permission; and somehow Tommy's imperial attitude seemed to indicate
this important fact.
There was not a soul in the car.
Then Mrs Clayton Vernon came hurrying up the slope of Duck Bank and
signalled to Chadwick to wait for her. He gave her a wave of the arm,
kindly and yet deferential, as if to say, "Be at ease, noble dame! You
are in the hands of a man of the world, who knows what is due to your
position. This car shall stay here till you reach it, even if Thomas
Chadwick loses his situation for failing to keep time."
And Mrs Clayton Vernon puffed into the car. And Thomas Chadwick gave her
a helping hand, and raised his official cap to her with a dignified
sweep; and his glance seemed to be saying to the world, "There, you see
what happens when _I_ deign to conduct a car! Even Mrs Clayton Vernon
travels by car then." And the whole social level of the electric
tramway system was apparently uplifted, and conductors became fine,
portly court-chamberlains.
For Mrs Clayton Vernon really was a personage in the town--perhaps,
socially, the leading personage. A widow, portly as Tommy himself,
wealthy, with a family tradition behind her, and the true grand manner
in every gesture! Her entertainments at her house at Hillport were
unsurpassed, and those who had been invited to them seldom forgot to
mention the fact. Thomas, a person not easily staggered, was
nevertheless staggered to see her travelling by car to Moorthorne--even
in his car, which to him in some subtle way was not like common
cars--for she was seldom seen abroad apart from her carriage. She kept
two horses. Assuredly both horses must be laid up together, or her
coachman ill. Anyhow, there she was, in Thomas's car, splendidly dressed
in a new spring gown of flowered silk.
"Thank you," she said very sweetly to Chadwick, in acknowledgment of his
assistance.
Then three men of no particular quality mounted the car.
"How do, Tommy?" one of them carelessly greeted the august conductor.
This impertinent youth was Paul Ford, a solicitor's clerk, who often
went to Moorthorne because his employer had a branch office there, open
twice a week.
Tommy did not respond, but rather showed his displeasure. He hated to be
called Tommy, except by a few intimate coevals.
"Now then, hurry up, please!" he said coldly.
"Right oh! your majesty," said another of the men, and they all three
laughed.
What was still worse, they all three wore the Federationist rosette,
which was red to the bull in Thomas Chadwick. It was part of Tommy's
political creed that Federationists were the "rag, tag, and bob-tail" of
the town. But as he was a tram-conductor, though not an ordinary
tram-conductor, his mouth was sealed, and he could not tell his
passengers what he thought of them.
Just as he was about to pull the starting bell, Mrs Clayton Vernon
sprang up with a little "Oh, I was quite forgetting!" and almost darted
out of the car. It was not quite a dart, for she was of full habit, but
the alacrity of her movement was astonishing. She must have forgotten
something very important.
An idea in the nature of a political argument suddenly popped into
Tommy's head, and it was too much for him. He was obliged to let it out.
To the winds with that impartiality which a tram company expects from
its conductors!
"Ah!" he remarked, jerking his elbow in the direction of Mrs Clayton
Vernon and pointedly addressing his three Federationist passengers,
"she's a lady, she is! _She_ won't travel with anybody, she won't! _She
chooses her company_--_and quite right too, I say_!"
And then he started the car. He felt himself richly avenged by this
sally for the "Tommy" and the "your majesty" and the sneering laughter.
Paul Ford winked very visibly at his companions, but made no answering
remark. And Thomas Chadwick entered the interior of the car to collect
fares. In his hands this operation became a rite. His gestures seemed to
say, "No one ever appreciated the importance of the vocation of
tram-conductor until I came. We will do this business solemnly and
meticulously. Mind what money you give me, count your change, and don't
lose, destroy, or deface this indispensable ticket that I hand to you.
Do you hear the ting of my bell? It is a sign of my high office. I am
fully authorized."
When he had taken his toll he stood at the door of the car, which was
now jolting and climbing past the loop-line railway station, and
continued his address to the company about the aristocratic and
exclusive excellences of his friend Mrs Clayton Vernon. He proceeded to
explain the demerits and wickedness of federation, and to descant on the
absurdity of those who publicly wore the rosettes of the Federation
party, thus branding themselves as imbeciles and knaves; in fact, his
tongue was loosed. Although he stooped to accept the wages of a
tram-conductor, he was not going to sacrifice the great political right
of absolutely free speech.
"If I wasn't the most good-natured man on earth, Tommy Chadwick," said
Paul Ford, "I should write to the tram company to-night, and you'd get
the boot to-morrow."
"All I say is," persisted the singular conductor--"all I say is--she's a
lady, she is--a regular real lady! She chooses her company--and quite
right too! That I do say, and nobody's going to stop my mouth." His
manner was the least in the world heated.
"What's that?" asked Paul Ford, with a sudden start, not inquiring what
Thomas Chadwick's mouth was, but pointing to an object which was lying
on the seat in the corner which Mrs Clayton Vernon had too briefly
occupied.
He rose and picked up the object, which had the glitter of gold.
"Give it here," said Thomas Chadwick, commandingly. "It's none of your
business to touch findings in my car;" and he snatched the object from
Paul Ford's hands.
It was so brilliant and so obviously costly, however, that he was
somehow obliged to share the wonder of it with his passengers. The find
levelled all distinctions between them. A purse of gold chain-work, it
indiscreetly revealed that it was gorged with riches. When you shook it
the rustle of banknotes was heard, and the chink of sovereigns, and
through the meshes of the purse could be seen the white of valuable
paper and the tawny orange discs for which mankind is so ready to commit
all sorts of sin. Thomas Chadwick could not forbear to open the
contrivance, and having opened it he could not forbear to count its
contents. There were, in that purse, seven five-pound notes, fifteen
sovereigns, and half a sovereign, and the purse itself was probably
worth twelve or fifteen pounds as mere gold.
"There's some that would leave their heads behind 'em if they could!"
observed Paul Ford.
Thomas Chadwick glowered at him, as if to warn him that in the presence
of Thomas Chadwick noble dames could not be insulted with impunity.
"Didn't I say she was a lady?" said Chadwick, holding up the purse as
proof. "It's lucky it's _me_ as has laid hands on it!" he added, plainly
implying that the other occupants of the car were thieves whenever they
had the chance.
"Well," said Paul Ford, "no doubt you'll get your reward all right!"
"It's not--" Chadwick began; but at that moment the driver stopped the
car with a jerk, in obedience to a waving umbrella. The conductor, who
had not yet got what would have been his sea-legs if he had been captain
of an Atlantic liner, lurched forward, and then went out on to the
platform to greet a new fare, and his sentence was never finished.