Act I., when the hero and the faithful young labourer had both enlisted

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This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler

[Picture: Book cover]

"E R B"

BY

W. PETT RIDGE

[Picture: Decorative graphic]

NEW YORK

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

1902

* * * * *

COPYRIGHT, 1902

BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

_All rights reserved_

_Published October_, 1902.

* * * * *

CHAPTER I

"BUT 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."

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.

"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."

The man stepped down from the chair. "Where's my hat been and gone?" he

asked. "Someone's shifted it."

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.

"Friends," said Erb, very quietly, "I was not altogether prepared to be

called upon for an address 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 another

remark. "Was he" (asked the voice), "was he a half-timer?"

"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?"

"Yus," admitted the owner of the voice resentfully, "it is me."

"You don't look 'appy," said Erb.

"I've been listening to you," explained the man.

"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?"

"Tankard of bitter," said someone.

"Ah!" Herbert Barnes whirled round, and pointed a forefinger at the

humorist and his friends. "_There's_ a man who speaks the truth.

_There's_ a man what says jest the thing he really thinks. _There's_ a

man who utters that which is uppermost in his mind. _There's_ a man," he

leaned forward as 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 _there_, jest over _there_, 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.

"Well, but," said the humorist in an injured tone, "I suppose a chep can

open his mouth?"

"You can open your mouth, and when you do, apparently, it's generally for

the purpose of em'tying down it a--"

He hesitated. The crowd, glad to find personalities introduced, gave the

words in a muffled chorus.

"Makin' a bloomin' song of it," grumbled the humorist, going off. "Some

people can't take a joke."

"'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--"

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

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.

"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, 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--"

"Gain," prompted the young man next to him, sulkily.

"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--"

"I say, old man," whispered his neighbour, "really! Play the game."

"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!"

"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--"

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

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.

"Whose turn is it to carry the chair?"

"Erb's!" said the others, quickly.

"But I thought--" he began.

"You thought wrong," said the others. "Besides you're going straight

'ome."

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.

"No use trying to blister you for 'alf a pint, Erb?"

"Waste of time," said Erb.

"What d'you do with all your money?"

"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 Mill and Professor Wallace and Robert Owen, and goodness

knows what all."

"The only reely sensible thing you've done, Erb," remarked one, "is not

getting married."

"That's one of 'em," he admitted.

"You don't know what it is to be always buying boots for the kiddies."

"Don't want."

"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."

"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--"

"Old man!" protested the others indignantly, "give us a rest. You ain't

in the park now."

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.

"Won't change your mind and 'ave one, Erb?"

"My mind," he called back, "is the one thing I never 'ardly change."

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 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.

"Well, young six foot," he said cheerfully, "is the banquet prepared, and

are all our honoured guests assembled?"

"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."

"You look all right," said Erb.

"I shall 'ave to be this afternoon."

"What's going to 'appen this afternoon?

"I told you!" remonstrated his sister. "My new young man's going to drop

in for a cup of tea."

"Which?"

"I never have more than one at a time."

"You mean the one in the hat place in Southwark Street."

"Bah!" said his young sister contemptuously. "I gave him the sack weeks

ago."

"You're always a choppin' and a changin'," said Erb tolerantly.

"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."

Erb pulled a drawer underneath the table and complied.

"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?"

"I addressed a large meeting," said Erb, with a touch of his important

manner, "for upwards of eleven minutes."

"Did they aim straight?"

"They were very appreciative," said Erb. "One chap that interrupted I

went for with 'orse, foot, and artillery."

"Did you, though?" asked his short sister with reluctant admiration.

"Make him squirm, eh, Erb? Did ye call him names, or did you say

something about his nose?"

"I treated him with satire!"

"Weren't there ladies present, then?"

"There was one, as it happened."

"_She'd_ been better off at 'ome," remarked the girl severely. "The

minx."

"She looked all right."

"You can't go by looks nowadays."

"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?"

"Unless me lady comes down from Eaton Square to lord it over us all."

"Nice occupation for a man of my--a man of my--"

"Don't say 'intellect,'" begged his sister. "Spoils me appetite if I

laugh much before dinner."

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 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.

"For what we are 'bout 'ceive, Lord make us truly thankful for."

"Well?" she asked, rather nervously, as Erb took his first mouthful. Erb

tasted with the air of a connoisseur.

"I've tasted worse," he said.

"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."

"There's nothing anyone can't do in this so-called life of ours," said

Erb oracularly, "providin' that we put our best into it. We've all been

endowed--"

"Pickle pork all right?"

"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--"

"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."

"We mustn't forget that she's our sister."

"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."

"As a matter of fact you come 'ome 'ere, and you work about and get the

place ready against me coming 'ome."

"And why shouldn't I?" demanded his young 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?"

"I quite admit," said Erb, supplying her offered plate, "that to me there

is something distasteful--"

"I only put the leastest bit of onion in."

"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--"

"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?"

"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."

"Wish I was."

"What I mean is, don't forget to drink it. My friend Payne, by the way,

may call with a message."

"I'd as lief take doctor's stuff," said his sister with a wry face.

"What's Payne calling about?"

"Orgenisation," answered Erb mysteriously.

"Oh," she said casually, "_that_ rot."

"You'll have a lay down after dinner."

"I shall be busy," answered his sister, "making meself good-looking."

"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. _You_ 'ave some."

"I've done, thanks." She bowed her head and spoke rapidly in an

undertone "F," "What we _have_ received the Lord make us--"

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.

"I've brought you a bottle of Burgundy, Louisa. You'll find it in my

muff."

"To put on me 'andkerchief?" asked Louisa satirically.

The tall sister glanced appealingly first at the stolid Erb, then at the

ceiling.

"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."

"_Your_ idea seems to be to give me a set down," said Louisa. "Going to

take your things off?"

"I'll just loosen my jacket. I won't take it off, thank you."

"You know the state of the lining better than I do. Erb, you're silent

all at once."

"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?"

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.

"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."

"You can take it back," he said shortly.

"Bra-vo, Erb," whispered Louisa.

"I'm not going to be indebted," said Erb, leaning his fists on the deal

table, "to Eaton Square or 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?"

"You've hit it in once," agreed the short sister. "Cigar or coker-nut?"

"Therefore, whilst thankin' you, one and all, for your doubtless

well-meant kindness, perhaps, Alice, you'll understand that my

principles--"

"You needn't bang the table about," interrupted the tall sister.

"It's ours," retorted Louisa. "We can bang it if we like."

"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-"

"That's right, Erb," said Louisa encouragingly.

"At whose hands that gift is, so to speak, attempted to be bestowed."

"I shall look pretty," protested Alice, "carrying that about all the

evening."

"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."

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 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.

"Read it?"

"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."

"It's easy enough," said Erb, "once you get the hang of the thing."

"What are the young ladies like, Alice, at your new place?" asked the

short sister at the looking-glass.

"I've often been going to tell you, but you'd never listen," complained

Alice.

"Tell us now!"

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.

"Another foot or so," said Louisa gazing up at her sister, "and _I_ might

'ave been in your shoes."

"Height isn't the only thing required. We shall be rather short of

gentlemen, by the bye."

"I can quite understand that."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"I'm not in it for me health," retorted the other, her head giving its

involuntary shake.

"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."

"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."

As though in answer to this threat a loud single knock came at the door.

"Let him wait a bit," said Louisa. "Do him good."

Another knock came and the girl went to the door to upbraid the caller

for unmannerly impatience. She withdrew her head quickly.

"It's Payne," she announced to her brother.

"Deuce it is!" said Erb with excitement.

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.

"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.

"I've won the three old 'uns over," whispered the man with the red beard.

"Good on you!"

"They'll sign to-morrow."

"And if the answer ain't satisfactory?"

"Then," said Payne in an undertone, with his hand guarding the words at

his mouth, "then they'll follow our lead."

"And strike?"

"And strike!" said Payne.

CHAPTER II

LONDON 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.

Erb, after the exaltation of Sunday night's meeting in St. George's Road,

where his unreasonable 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.

"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."

"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."

"It ought to have an effect if we can get every name signed to it."

"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'?"

William Henry, in Erb's van, made a note. Never have an Uncle Richard.

"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."

"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, but

if anyone attempts to lord it over me, I'm simply a--"

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.

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.

"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?"

"Wh-oh!" said Erb to his horse, assuming that it had shied. "Wo--ho! my

beauty. Don't be frightened at him. He ain't pretty, but he's quite

harmless."

"I want no sauce," snapped the van foreman. "Good manners cost nothing."

"You might as well replenish your stock, then," retorted Erb.

"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?"

"Fond of game, isn't he?"

"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."

"Your back view's bad enough," called Erb as the other went off; "but

your front view's something awful."

"I was a better lookin' chap than you," called the van foreman hotly,

"once."

"Once ain't often," said Erb.

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.

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 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.

"Got the document, Erb?"

"'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."

"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."

"The same first-class idea occurred to me," remarked Erb.

"Read it out to 'em, Erb," suggested Payne.

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.

"'And your petitioners respectfully submit, therefore, these facts to

your notice, viz.,'--"

"What does 'viz.' mean?" asked the cautious, elderly carman.

"'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 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'--"

"He'll never understand words like that," said the elderly carman

despairingly. "Why, I can only guess at their meaning."

"'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--'"

"That," concluded Erb, "that is where we all sign."

"Your respectful and obedient servants, _I_ should say," suggested the

elderly carman.

"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?"

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.

"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."

The men flushed.

"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."

"I beg to second that," growled Payne.

"Thought you wasn't taking any suggestions?" remarked the elderly carman.

"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."

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 wanted sharp, sir!" a gratuitous remark, ill-calculated to secure

for it an amiable reception.

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 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.

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."

"The great thing is," went on the North Western man, encouraged by the

absence of contradiction, "to keep on pegging away."

"Which way?" asked the carman at the end of the room.

"_That_," said the North Western man modestly, "_that_ 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."

"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."

"What can I get for you?" said the matronly waitress, coming down the

aisle.

"I didn't call you, my dear. I was only arguin'."

"Man-like!" said the waitress, going back to the kitchen.

"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'raps you smile at him, old man?"

"And that's why I agree," concluded the Great Western man earnestly,

"that some'ing ought to be done. Has anybody got 'alf a pipe of 'bacca

to spare?"

"What we want," remarked the North Western man, "is a chap that'll

persuade us to--"

"Yes, but--after you with the metch, old sort--but where is he?"

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.

"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."

"Fire away," said the others, leaning out of their pews.

"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."

"And s'posing they are?"

"They would stand no chance," cried Erb, "if 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!"

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."

"Now, why ain't you lookin' after the van, William Henry?" asked Erb

appealingly.

"I'm very sorry, mate," said the boy, "but I never can resist the

temptation of listening to you."

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

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.

"Carman Barnes. To see me here, on to-day, certain."

This was the endorsement in red ink on the 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, polite, good-tempered man, sat at the table signing

letters.

"Shan't keep you half a second," he remarked, looking up.

"Very good, sir."

"Beautiful weather," said the Chief absently, as he read, "for the time

of the year."

"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.

"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."

"And wages," said Erb, "et cetera."

"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?"

"Twenty-one next birthday, sir."

"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."

"The 'appiness that a lord would extract from twenty-three and six a week

would go in a waistcoat pocket."

"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."

"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."

"Married, Barnes?"

"No, sir. Live with my sister."

"Engaged perhaps?"

"Not on twenty-three and six."

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.

"But some of us _are_ 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. You can't realise perhaps,

sir, what it means to look at every penny, and look at it hard, before

it's paid away."

"Pick up a bit, don't you, you carmen?"

"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?"

"Never knew a railway man object to it before," mused the Chief.

"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."

"And yet, I take it, you know more about the consequences than anyone

else?"

"Be that as it may, sir," said Erb, flattered, "we needn't go into

hypo--hypo--"

"Hypothetical?"

"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 there's you on the other side of the table representing

capital."

"Labour," remarked the Chief, trying to make a tent of three pen holders,

"is to be congratulated."

"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--"

"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."

"And all of you a stamping down on poor us."

"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."

"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.'"

"_Your_ efforts?"

"My efforts," said Erb proudly.

"You are mainly responsible then?"

"I don't deny it."

"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?"

"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?"

"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."

"Good!" approved Erb, making a fresh note. "We now approach the question

of wages."

"The men who have been in the service for five years will receive an

additional two shillings a week."

"That's a fair offer."

"The men who have been with us for more than a year will, with one

exception, receive an increase of one and six."

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.

"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."

"Hear, hear!" said the men cheerfully.

"I could see from the first," remarked the eldest carman, "that he meant

to pull it off for us."

"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."

"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."

"You won't!" remarked Payne with candour.

The conversation at the telephone was still going 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.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Barnes."

"Was there anything else you wanted to say, sir?"

"Only this. I told you there was one exception in this scheme of

increases."

"Everitt is a bit too fond of the glass, sir, but p'raps a word of

warning from you--"

"Everitt drinks, but Everitt does his work quietly, and he doesn't

disturb the other men. The one exception, Barnes, is yourself."

"Me?" exclaimed Erb.

"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--"

The Chief threw down the stark quill pen; intimation that the conference

was at an end.

"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

Fate has mapped out for me, ever striving, I trust, not so much to

improve my own personal position, as to better--"

"Shut the door after you," said the Chief, "and close it quietly, there's

a good chap."

CHAPTER III

TURMOIL 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 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.

"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?"

"You haven't seen the evening paper, I s'pose?" asked the voice of Erb,

muffled by soap-suds.

"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."

"Catch hold." A bare arm held out from the bedroom doorway a pink

evening paper.

"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."

"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.

"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."

"I say," cried Louisa, in an awed voice, "that's never meant for you,

Erb?"

"It ain't meant for anyone else," called Erb. "Seen anything of my

stud?"

"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."

"No use talking too much. Why, here's the collar stud in the shirt all

the time. No use 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."

"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."

"I don't know that that's worth while," he said doubtfully.

"It'll let 'em see," said Louisa, with decision, "that they ain't

everybody. When you've done trimming your cuffs with the scissors--"

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 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.

"Jackson," said the buttoned boy who opened the door as they descended

the area, "this looks like your lot."

"They call her Jackson," whispered Louisa to her brother, interrupting

his protest. "Parlour-maid here is always called Jackson."

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.

"You're early," said Alice, kissing her sister casually. Louisa took the

brown paper parcel from Erb's arm.

"Thought you'd like the evening to start well," she said. "Any gentlemen

coming?"

"Haven't you got eyes?" asked Alice, leading the way upstairs and waving

a hand in the direction of the shy youths.

"Gentlemen, _I_ said," remarked Louisa.

"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."

"What else could I do it for?" asked the short sister.

"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."

"You mustn't mind me," said Louisa, relenting at this threat. "It's only

me manner."

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.

"And this, Erb, is Jessie," said Alice, introducing a large-eyed young

woman in pale green. "Jessie is my _very_ great friend." She added,

"Just at present."

"I think you speak, Mr. Barnes?" said the large-eyed young woman

earnestly.

"I open my mouth now and again," admitted Erb, "just for the sake of

exercising my face."

"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."

Erb, reddening, said that there were precious few of them about.

"Talk to me, please!" she said appealingly. "Button this glove of mine,

and then tell me all about yourself. I shall be frightfully interested."

"You don't want to hear about me," said Erb, essaying the task set him.

"If you only knew!" she said.

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 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.

"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?"

"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?"

"I shall have much plaisure," said the French lady's maid, promptly. "_A

deux temps_ or _a trois temps_, Meestair R-rackham?"

"Leave it to you, Mamselle," replied the butler.

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 fiance 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.

"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 _is_ fate."

"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?"

"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.

"You're an exception," declared Erb.

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, beckoned

aside by the footman, introduced her partner with due formality. Mr.

Danks--the footman bowed.

"We--er--know each other by reputation, Mr. Barnes."

"Very kind of you to say so," said Erb.

"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?"

"It comes to me pretty free," said Erb, "if I'm at all 'eated."

"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."

"Never trouble about trifles meself."

"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

place--in the _right_ 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."

"I wonder, now," said Erb, with some interest, "whether you're talking

rot, or whether there's something in what you say?"

"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."

"'Professor of Elocution. Declamation Taught!'" read Erb.

"His daughter knows you; heard you speak in Southwark Park."

"Not a lame girl?"

"If I hadn't gone to him," said Mr. Danks nodding affirmatively, "I

should never have known how to recite."

"Nice drawback that would have been. So her name's Danks?"

"Rosalind Danks."

"Rosalind," repeated Erb thoughtfully.

"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."

"Talks of nothing else," declared Erb inventively.

To his surprise, Mr. Danks shook him very warmly by the hand, giggling

the while with 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.

"You are rather short," explained the excellently mannered footman.

"I stopped growin' a purpose," said Louisa, kicking the footstool aside.

"You don't resemble your sister at all."

"Mustn't let her hear you say that," remarked Louisa, "else she'll be

mad."

"It's been a very dull season in town," said Mr. Danks regretfully.

"Have you been away, then?"

"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."

"It's some'ing awful," agreed Louisa. "I shall be out again--let me

see--"

"To-morrow night?"

"In about six weeks' time, to a cantata at Maze Pond Chapel. Scarcely

gives you time to breathe, does it?"

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.

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.

"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."

"That's you," said Mr. Danks pointing to Alice.

"Wrong!" remarked Erb. "Someone says all the gels laugh at you."

"That's you," decided Mr. Danks, pointing at Cook. Cook now convulsed

with amusement.

"Wrong again! Someone says you can't recite for nuts."

"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.

"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."

"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.

"Come in!" cried Erb, when the accusations had been decided upon. "Some

of 'em have been making it warm for you, Louiser."

"I'll make it hot for them, Erb."

"Someone says you'd be a fine looking gel if you were twice as broad and

three times as long."

"Cook!" exclaimed Louisa.

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.

"Someone says," remarked Erb, "that you're the finest woman in Eaton

Square, bar none."

Cook laughed coquettishly. "That sounds like you, Mr. Barnes."

"No fear," said Erb. "Someone says that you'll get engaged some day--"

"What nonsense!" interrupted Cook delightedly.

"If you only wear a thick veil over your face."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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.

"May I come in, Cook, I wonder?"

"Why," cried Cook; hysterical with delight, "as though you need ask, my

dear, I mean, m'lady!"

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.

"Do you know," she said brightly, "that I have not been down here since I

was ten years old?"

"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.

"You sometimes used to let me bake things, didn't you, Cook?"

"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."

"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.

"What I thought was," she went on brightly, "that I might play to you."

"We have taken the liberty," said the housekeeper, "of hiring a musical

person."

"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?"

"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.

"I think you have dropped this," said Lady Frances, stooping.

"Oh, that's only a bit out of this evening's newspaper. About my

brother," added the girl.

"Really! May I read it, I wonder."

"Spell the words you can't pronounce," said Louisa. The room waited.

Erb shifted his feet and endeavoured to look unconcerned.

"Are you-- Are you Miss Spanswick, then?" pleasantly and encouragingly.

"Am I Miss Spanswick?" echoed Louisa with despair in her voice. "Give it

'old! _This_ is my brother's name--Herbert Barnes--and, consequently, my

name is Barnes. Not Spanswick."

"I see! tell me what can I play?"

"Play something you know," advised Louisa.

"Rackham! please suggest something."

"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."

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 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,--

"--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."

The awkward silence continued, broken only by the music from the

pianoforte and the swishing of skirts.

"Erb," said his sister Alice, frowning over Mr. Danks's shoulder,

"remember where you are."

"Exercise tack, my dear sir," recommended the butler. "Exercise tack."

"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."

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,

went across the floor, and stood swinging her programme round and round.

"You _can_ play!" admitted Louisa. "Where did you pick it up?"

"I want you to bring your brother over to me," said Lady Frances.

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.

"I have been reading about you," said Lady Frances in her alert,

interested way.

"Licker to me how these things get into the papers," he mumbled.

"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."

"Then I shall have it," said Erb. Alice looked round the room

triumphantly, as who should say, _Now_ we are scoring. "Not acquainted

much with the working-classes, p'raps, me lady?"

"To my regret, no!"

"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 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.

"If I should ever want to see through Bermondsey," she said, clasping her

knee, her head up attractively, "will you be my guide?"

"It would be a proud moment," said Erb. He added, hastily, "For me, I

mean."

"Cook, shall I play one more, and then go back upstairs and leave off

bothering you?"

"The idea," said Cook reproachfully; "the idea, m'lady, of calling it

botherin' us."

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:

"Won't forget your promise, will you?"

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.

"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."

"_I_ shan't forget it in a hurry."

"Oh, thank you for those words," whispered Miss Luker.

"Don't mention it."

"But promise. You won't think harshly of me, will you?"

"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--"

"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."

"Well, but," protested Erb, "what's the use?"

"Bah!" said Miss Luker, with a sudden burst of undisguised contempt, "I

wouldn't be a dunderheaded man for anything."

CHAPTER IV

THE 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.

"You _would_ 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'."

"To _you_?"

"I _should_ '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."

"Look here, old chap," said Erb good-temperedly, "_I_ tried to out you,

and _you_ 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."

"That's what I say," retorted the van foreman argumentatively. "You've

got no discretion."

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.

"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--"

"I don't let boys call me Erb. Mr. Barnes, if you please."

"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."

"_Your_ young lady!"

"And why not?" demanded William Henry with some indignation. "We ain't

all like you."

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.

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 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.

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.

"Feeling fit?"

"Never better," said Erb. "How's yourself?"

"Bit of a cold," said Spanswick with important reserve; "but otherwise--"

If there is time, one would like to explain here 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.

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 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.

"Now," said Old Jim, "the likeliest place is 'The World Turned Upside

Down.'"

"Pardon me," said Kirby, with the politeness that comes with the wearing

of Sunday clothes, "pardon me, but 'The Chequers' is his 'ouse."

"I thought," remarked Payne, "the 'Dun Cow' was."

"I'm prutty sure I'm right," said Old Jim.

"I'm jolly well certain you're both wrong," declared Kirby with emphasis.

"Standing here all night arguin'," decided Payne, "won't settle the

matter. Let's make a start at one of them."

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 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.

"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--"

"Every man," declared Kirby, attempting to slap the counter, but missing

it, "ought to know where to draw line."

"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."

"Worse!" said Old Jim.

"No, not worse!" urged Payne obstinately.

"Fight you for it," offered Old Jim.

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, 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.

"'Ullo, old man," said Payne, as the door of Spanswick's house opened.

"Many 'appy returns day."

"What's all this?" demanded Spanswick coldly. "Brought anything with you

in a bottle?"

"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?"

"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!"

"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."

"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 example by me. I never saw such a painful

exhibition in all me life."

"How was we to know you'd be sober?" asked Kirby, swaying.

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.

(This is the story of carman Spanswick.)

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 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 _entourage_, 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.

"I beg to move that Jack Payne do take the chair."

"I beg to second."

"All in favour," said the first voice. "On the contrary? Carried

unanimously and nem. con. Jack" (turning to Mr. Payne), "in you go."

"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'."

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.

"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--"

"Question, question," cried the gloomy man at the other end of the room.

His neighbours hushed him into silence.

"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--"

"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--"

"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."

The gloomy man argued in a loud whisper with his neighbours, and, on

these counselling that he should simmer down, sat back in his chair,

surveying the ceiling, his lips closed determinedly.

"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."

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.

"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."

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 _he_ 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 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.

"Beg pardon," cried the gloomy man, starting up, "but is a member

entitled to read--"

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.

"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."

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 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.

"On a point of order, sir--" began the gloomy man.

"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."

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.

"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 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 _they_ got, just for

the asking. They got--"

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.

"And I trust," added Erb modestly and finally, "that I 'aven't took up

too much of your time."

The resolution was carried.

"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."

"Erb!" cried Spanswick along the table, "what's yours?"

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

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.

"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."

The men around the table imitated example, and, hanging their jackets on

the backs of the chairs, addressed themselves to the new subject.

"What?" said the Chair. "You woke up again?"

"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 for

a article that we can get for nothing? That's all I want to know."

"Argue the point, my good sir," urged the Chair, "argue in a speech."

"I've said my say," retorted the other stubbornly.

"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.

"I asked a plain question, I want a plain answer!"

"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?"

"Beg--propose," said a young man desperately, "my friend

Spanswick--honery sec'tary--new society."

"Beg second that," jerked another youth.

"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--"

"Organisin' secretary!" whispered a neighbour.

"I second that vote--mean to say, resolution."

"Any other names?" asked the Chair. "Very good then! Now, I shall ask

these two chaps to kindly retire, in other words, to leave the room, so

as to leave us free to discuss--"

"Point of order occurs to me," interrupted the gloomy Great Eastern man

acutely, "Can they leave the room?"

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.

"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--"

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

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 semi-public

meetings. Erb told the Swiss valley that it would be long ere he came

down to that.

"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--"

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?

"Now, in regard to meenure," said Spanswick dogmatically, "the long and

short of the matter is simply this."

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 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.

"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."

"Sorry," he said absently. "Fact is, I don't take very much interest in

gardening."

"I was talking about poultry."

"They both come under the same head," remarked Erb.

"I suppose, as a matter of fact, you're pretty keen on this 'ere job?"

"They're a long time deciding," said Erb.

"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."

"What'd be the use of that?"

"Well," said Spanswick in a mysterious whisper, "you know what

Shakespeare says?"

"He said a lot."

"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?"

"Upon my word," exclaimed Erb indignantly, "upon my word if you ain't the

biggest--"

"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."

Looking over the banisters, Erb saw that women-folk had arrived, charged

with the double duty 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.

"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."

The rattle of conversation recommenced.

"Less noise there, less noise!" cried the Chair urgently. "I can't 'ear

meself talk."

"Wish we couldn't," remarked the Great Eastern man from his end of the

table.

"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."

"What have I got to talk about?" demanded Erb.

"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."

CHAPTER V

ERB 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 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.

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 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.

"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, as Erb made no

reply, "don't stand there like a great gawk with the knob in your 'and.

What d'you want?"

"Might Professor Danks be in?" asked Erb.

"He might and he might not," explained the small servant. "He's jest

sleepin' it off a bit on the sofa."

"Can I see anyone else?"

"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

_her_ if you didn't mind waiting till she's finished giving a lesson."

"Shall I wait here in the passage?"

"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.

"_She's_ as right as rain," whispered the girl confidently, "but _he_--"

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."

"Takes a bit of doing, no doubt."

"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."

Professor Danks, asleep on the sofa, had the _Era_ 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.

"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."

"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."

"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."

"You understand, miss," interposed the pupil's wife, "that he's made up

the words out of his own head."

"I am sure of that," with a touch of sarcasm.

"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 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."

"Come now," said the instructress, "'Give others the flags of foreign

states, I care not for them a jot.'"

"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--"

"I really think," said the girl, "that we must get on with the lesson.

Now, sir, if you please. 'Give others the flags.'"

The _Era_ 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.

"Good evening," he said, when the leaden eyelids had decided to open.

"Having your little nap, sir?"

The Professor sat up, kneading his eyes and then rubbing his white hair

violently.

"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."

"I've called about some lessons."

"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?"

"I thought about six," said Erb.

"Make it a dozen. We offer thirteen for the price of twelve."

"What would that number run me into? I want them more for public

speaking than anything else."

"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."

"Who is 'we?'"

"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 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?"

Erb gave the information.

"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."

"Which?"

"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."

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?"

"Shall I settle with you?" asked Erb.

"My daughter Rosalind," said the Professor regretfully, "insists, as a

general rule, on taking charge of the business side, but on this

occasion--"

"If that's the rule," interrupted Erb, "don't let's break it. I don't

want any misunderstanding about matters of cash."

"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?"

"Since you ask me, my answer is 'No.'"

"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."

Erb acted upon this hint, and listened for the girl's voice.

"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. Ingenue, old woman,

soubrette, nothing came amiss to her. That was the difference 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--"

"Your _what_?" inquired Erb.

"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."

"You're a nice one, I don't think," said Erb critically. "How is it they

let you live on?"

"Laddie," said the Professor, tearfully, "my life is not an enviable one

even now. My own daughter--Soft!--she comes."

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 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.

"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."

"When do you propose to begin, sir?" she asked, limping slightly as she

went to a desk.

"Soon as your father's ready, miss."

"I have heard you speak in the park."

"Most people have!" replied Erb, with a fine assumption of indifference.

"I'll just register your name, please."

"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?"

"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."

"I will step down the road," suggested the Professor with a slight excess

of eagerness, "and obtain the necessary--"

"No, father."

"Think I've got just enough silver," said Erb.

"Thank you, Mr. Barnes."

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.

"I have some work to do downstairs," she said, with a curt little bow to

Erb. "You will excuse me."

"Only too pleased, miss," he said blunderingly.

"Father, you will give Mr. Barnes an hour, please, in the front room. I

will come up when the time is--"

"Then I needn't say good-bye," remarked Erb gallantly.

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 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.

"What am I to do?" he asked imploringly. "I appeal to you, laddie? Show

me where duty calls?"

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 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.

"How much did he borrow?" she asked, checking a sigh.

"Nothing," replied Erb boldly.

"Two shillings or a half a crown?"

"But I couldn't possibly think for a moment--" he began protestingly.

"I wish you had," she said. "Take it, please. I don't want father to

run into debt if I can help it."

"Makes me feel as though I'm robbing you."

"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."

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 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.

"You left school when you were very young?" said the girl, looking over

her shoulder from the fireplace.

"Pawsed the sixth standard when I was--"

"Oh, please, please! Don't say pawsed."

"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."

"As?" she asked curiously.

"As chief of the Transport Department to the principal railway

companies," said Erb glibly, "and personal friend, and, I may say,

adviser to his Royal--"

"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."

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 _naivete_

of manner and general _chic_ enabled her in an American contribution to

score a terrific 'succes d'estime.' She narrowly escaped an enthusiastic

_encore_." That "Miss Danks lacks some of the charms necessary for a

good platform appearance--"

"I'd like to argue the point with the man who wrote that," said Erb.

"They have to fill the paper with something," remarked Miss Rosalind.

"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."

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 present, and then

said, "Well now, I must be off," as though he had been detained greatly

against his will.

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.

"And who," asked Erb pityingly, "who might this young toff be?"

"He is stage manager," she said rather proudly, "to a company touring in

the provinces. Plays too."

"Relation?"

"Not yet," said Rosalind.

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.

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

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."

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.

"Put that 'ead of yours in," he counselled. "You'll go and catch cold."

"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."

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.

"Who d'you think's been 'ere?"

"Tell us," said Erb.

"But guess," begged Louisa, enjoying the power that was hers.

"Can't guess."

"Lady Frances," said Louisa, in an impressive whisper.

"Well," remarked Erb curtly, "what of it?"

"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."

"Any other news?"

"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."

"_Now_," remarked Erb elatedly, "_now_ you're talking."

CHAPTER VI

THE 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 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!"

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 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.")

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 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.

"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."

"I've just finished," said Louisa in a whisper. "I'll pop on me hat,

Erb, and be with you in 'alf a moment."

"What's become of your voice?"

"Mislaid it somewhere," said his young sister lightly. "Can't think for

the life of me where I put it last."

"This work's beginning to affect your chest," said Erb.

"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."

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.

"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, _you_ know."

"Wish you hadn't lost your voice," said Erb, with concern. "I don't like

the sound of it, at all."

"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."

"Why not?"

"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.

"Keep your mouth shut, youngster," advised Erb kindly, "until you've got

used to the fresh air."

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 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.

"_You're_ a bright companion," said Louisa satirically, as the tram

turned with a jerk at the foot of Blackheath Hill. "You 'aven't made me

laugh for quite five minutes."

"I've been thinking, White Face."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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--"

"Our girls are always asking about you," said Louisa musingly. "It's

all, 'Is he engaged?' 'Does he walk out with anybody?' 'Is he a woman

'ater?' and all such rot."

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.

"It's her ladyship," cried Louisa, clutching Erb's arm.

"Good shot," agreed Erb.

"If only she'd look up and recognise us," said Louisa. The other people

on the tram began to take an interest in the encounter, and Louisa's head

already trembled with pride.

"She wouldn't recognise us."

"Go on with you," contradicted his sister.

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.

"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."

"If you don't mind excusing us--" began Erb.

("Oh you--you man," said his sister to herself. "I can't call you

anything else.")

"Please, _please_," begged Lady Frances. They 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.

"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.

"I _have_ been feeling a bit chippy," said Erb's sister, trying to loll

back in the seat, but fearful of losing her foothold.

"So sorry," said Lady Frances. "And you?"

"Thank you," said Erb, "middlin'. Can't say more than that. Been

somewhat occupied of late with various matters."

"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."

"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 are

somewhat in opposite camps at the present time."

"My uncle was anxious to meet you," said young Lady Frances, in her

agreeable way.

"Just at this moment I scarcely think--"

"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."

"No trouble."

"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?"

"Can't say," said Erb cautiously, "that I make a practice of frequenting

them."

"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--"

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 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 _fiancee_, 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.

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 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.

"From what my uncle says, it appears there is a strike threatening,

and--you know all about it perhaps?"

"Heard rumours," said Erb guardedly.

"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 _amour propre_."

"Ho!" said Erb darkly.

"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."

"To him?"

"I could drive you on now," she suggested hesitatingly, "and we should

catch my uncle just after his dinner; an excellent time."

"I think," said Erb stolidly, "that we'd better let events work out their

natural course."

"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."

"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 _that_."

"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--"

"If you don't mind," said Erb, "no; we'll hop out at the corner of Page's

Walk."

"And not drive up to the dwellings?" asked Louisa disappointed.

"And _not_ drive up to the dwellings," said Erb firmly. "I'll get on

somehow to see your uncle to-night."

"You won't break your word?"

"I should break a lot of other things before I did that."

Thus it was. Lady Frances shook hands; Erb stepped out, looking narrowly

through the open 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.

"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."

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.

"Boy," said the porter at the Mansions, "show No. 124A." In a lift that

darted to the skies Erb was conveyed and ordered to wait in a corridor

whilst 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 _in medias res_. 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.

"A little whiskey?" suggested the Director, with his thumb on the

electric bell, "just to keep one alive."

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 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 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 his methods were always--if he

might say so--tact, impartiality, and a desire to hear both sides.

"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?"

"I take partic'lar care it ain't screwed in any other fashion," said Erb.

"Good-bye," said the Director.

"Be good," said Erb.

CHAPTER VII

ERB 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 _fiancee_ 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 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.

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?"

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 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 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.

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.

It was at this time that Erb gave up whistling in the streets.

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.

"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."

Interest came with the arrangements for Spanswick's benefit. This

necessitated calls at the theatre 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

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.

"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."

CHAPTER VIII

AT 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 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.

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 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.

"And now the question is," said Louisa's colleague, "ought I to go in or

ought I to stay outside?"

"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?"

"Oh," said the chapel-goer recklessly, "now I'm here I may jest as well

go on with it. In for 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?"

"'Ullo," remarked Louisa, "you alive still?"

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.

"My present young man," said Louisa, introducing the lad.

"Well," said the chapel young woman resignedly, "this is the beginning of

it."

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.

"But would you mind," she flushed as she leaned forward to whisper this,

"would you mind telling Mr. Railton that I--I should _very_ much like to

see him after the show?"

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!"

"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?"

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 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.

"Name of Railton?" said Erb, inquiringly.

"That's me," replied one of the two, still gazing into his looking-glass.

"My name's Barnes. I'm secretary to the R.C.A.S."

"Any connection with the press?" asked Mr. Railton, fixing a white

whisker at the side of his floridly made-up face.

"Not at present!"

"Then what the devil do you mean," demanded the other hotly, "by forcing

your way into the room of two professional men? What--"

"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."

"I shall most certainly complain to the management," went on Mr. Railton.

"It isn't the first time."

"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."

"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."

He ceased for a second, whilst he made lines down either side of his

mouth, falling back from the mirror to consider the effect.

"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."

"That's one of yours, Lorrie!"

"You mean," said Mr. Railton casually, as he toned down a line with the

powder-puff, "a dot and carry one girl?"

"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."

"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--"

"I know what you are going to say," remarked the other approvingly.

"And if I had my will I'd hang the whole shoot of them. I would,

honestly."

"I quite believe you would," said Chippy.

"And I'd draw and quarter them afterwards."

"And then burn 'em," suggested Chippy.

"And then burn 'em."

"Would you amiable gentlemen like to have the door closed?" asked Erb.

"Put yourself outside first," recommended Mr. Railton.

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 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.

"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!"

"Do you ever?" asked Erb.

"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."

"Better language!" recommended Erb.

"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

as it were. And then, by Jove! one can fairly electrify an audience.

One sees the house absolutely rise."

"And go out?" asked Erb.

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, 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.

"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.

"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."

"Upon my word," said Erb, looking at him wonderingly, "you are a perfect

marvel. I never saw anything like you."

"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?"

"Not at all," replied Erb. "You gave me much the same impression."

"That's most extr'ordinary. There's an idea for a curtain-raiser in

that. Two men beginning by hating each other, and later on--"

"Any message for your young lady?"

"Which?" asked Mr. Railton.

"You know very well who I mean," said Erb with some annoyance.

"Oh," with sudden enlightenment, "you mean the Danks person. Oh, tell

her I'm all right."

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.

"By the bye," called Mr. Railton, in his affected voice.

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.

"Did he send any message?" asked Rosalind anxiously.

"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."

"Ah!"

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 in front who did not know him soon took up the cry.

"Erberberberb--"

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.

"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--"

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 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.

"He can talk," admitted a man behind her.

"If I'd had the gift of the gab," said the man's neighbour, "I could have

made a fortune."

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.

Spanswick said this was the proudest moment 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.

"Were you nervous, Erb?" asked Louisa excitedly. "_I_ was. Nearly

fainted, didn't I?"

"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."

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. 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.

"I want you!" said the young man.

"You'll have to want," said Erb brusquely, and going on.

"But it concerns the girl you were speaking of."

"Where can we go?" asked Erb, stopping.

"Come round to the bar at the back of the circle," said Railton, "and you

can give me a drink," he added generously.

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 letter from a West End manager, that would prove how near

one could be to conspicuous success.

"Not that one," he said, opening a violet envelope. "That's from a dear

thing at Skipton. Worships the very ground I walk on."

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--"

"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!"

"In regard," said Erb, putting down the water-bottle, "to Miss Rosalind

Danks."

"I hadn't finished what I was saying."

"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?"

"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!"

"Well then, say it!"

"My position," said Railton, importantly, "is this. I have, as I think I

said, the artistic 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."

"So I understood. When does the affair come off?"

"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?"

"Go on!" said Erb, quietly.

"Assuming that you _do_ 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--"

Mr. Railton went down swiftly on the floor. The other people hurried up.

"You dare strike me!" he cried complainingly, as he rose his handkerchief

to his face. "Do it again, that's all."

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.

"Want any more?" he asked.

Mr. Railton made one or two efforts from his crumpled position to speak;

the three men suggested police, but he waved his hand negatively.

"Do you want any more, you scoundrel you?" repeated Erb.

"No," answered Mr. Lawrence Railton, weakly, from the linoleum, "I don't

want any more. I always know my limit."