ONE OF THE "SUFFERERS"
Mannering kept no carriage, and he left Downing Street on foot. The
little house which he had taken furnished for the season was in the
somewhat less pretentious neighborhood of Portland Crescent, and as there
were no hansoms within hail he started to walk home. An attempt at a
short cut landed him presently in a neighborhood which he failed to
recognize. He paused, looking about him for some one from whom to inquire
the way. Then he at once realized what he had already more than once
suspected. He was being followed.
The footsteps ceased as he himself had halted. It was a wet night, and
the street was ill-lit. Nevertheless, Mannering could distinguish the
figure of a man standing in the shadows of the houses, apparently to
escape observation. For a moment he hesitated. His follower could
scarcely be an ordinary hooligan, for not more than fifty yards away were
the lights of a great thoroughfare, and even in this street, quiet though
it was, there were people passing to and fro. His curiosity prompted him
to subterfuge. He took a cigarette from his case, and commenced in a
leisurely manner the operation of striking a light. Instantly the figure
of the man began to move cautiously towards him.
Mannering's eyes and hearing, keenly developed by his country life,
apprised him of every step the man took. He heard him pause whilst a
couple of women passed on the other side of the way. Afterwards his
approach became swifter and more stealthy. Barely in time to avoid, he
scarcely knew what, Mannering turned sharply round.
"What do you want with me?" he demanded.
The man showed no signs of confusion. Mannering, as he looked sternly
into his face, lost all fear of personal assault. He was neatly but
shabbily dressed, pale, and with a slight red moustache. He had a
somewhat broad forehead, eyes with more than an ordinary lustre, and, in
somewhat striking contradiction to the rest of his features, a large
sensitive mouth with a distinctly humorous curve. Even now its corners
were receding into a smile, which had in it, however, other elements than
mirth alone.
"You are Mr. Lawrence Mannering?"
"That is my name," Mannering answered, "but if you want to speak to me
why don't you come up like a man, instead of dogging my footsteps? It
looked as though you wanted to take me by surprise. What is that you are
hiding up your sleeve?"
The man held it out, placed it even in Mannering's hand.
"A life preserver, steel, as you see, and with a beautiful spring. Deadly
weapon, isn't it, sir? Even a half-hearted sort of blow might kill a
man."
Mannering swung the weapon lightly in his hand. It cut the air with a
soft, sickly swish.
"What were you doing following me, on tiptoe, with this in your hand?" he
asked, sternly.
"Well," the man answered, as though forced to confess an unpleasant
truth, "I am very much afraid that I was going to hit you with it."
Mannering looked up and down the street for a policeman.
"Indeed!" he said. "And may I ask why you changed your mind?"
"It was an inspiration," the man answered, easily. "To tell you the
truth, the clumsiness of the whole thing grated very much upon me.
Personally, I ran no risk, don't think it was that. My escape was very
carefully provided for. But one thinks quickly in moments of excitement,
and it seemed to me as I took those last few steps that I saw a better
way."
"A better way," Mannering repeated, puzzled. "I am afraid I don't quite
understand you. I presume that you meant to rob me. You would not have
found it worth while, by the bye."
The man laughed softly.
"My dear sir," he exclaimed, "do I look like a robber? Rumour says that
you are a poor man. I should think it very likely that, although I am not
a rich one, I am at least as well off as you."
Mannering looked out no more for the policeman. He was getting
interested.
"Come," he said, "I should like to understand what all this means. You
were going to tap me on the head with this particularly unpleasant
weapon, and your motive was not robbery. I am not aware of ever having
seen you before. I am not aware of having an enemy in the world. Explain
yourself."
"I should be charmed," the man answered. "I do not wish to keep you
standing here, however. Will you allow me to walk with you towards your
home? You can retain possession of that little trifle, if you like," he
added, pointing to the weapon which was still in Mannering's hand. "I can
assure you that I have nothing else of the sort in my possession. You can
feel my pockets, if you like."
"I will take your word!" Mannering said. "I was on my way to Portland
Crescent, but I fancy that I have taken a wrong turn."
"We can get there this way," the man answered. "Excuse me one second."
He paused, and lit a cigarette. Then with his hands behind his back he
stepped out by Mannering's side.
"What was that you said just now?" he remarked, "that you were not aware
of having an enemy in the world? My dear sir, there was never a more
extraordinary delusion. I should seriously doubt whether in the whole
of the United Kingdom there is a man who has more. I know myself of a
million or so who would welcome the news of your death to-morrow. I
know of a select few who have opened, and will open their newspapers
to-morrow, and for the next few days, in the hope of seeing your obituary
notice."
A light commenced to break in upon Mannering. He looked towards his
companion incredulously.
"You mean political opponents!" he exclaimed. "Is that what you are
driving at all the time?"
The man laughed softly.
"My friend," he said--"excuse me, Mr. Mannering--you remind me
irresistibly of _Punch's_ cartoon last week--the ostrich politician with
his head in the sand. You have thrust yours very deep down indeed, when
you talk of political opponents. Do you know what they call you in the
North, sir?"
"No!"
"The enemy of the people! It isn't a pleasant title, is it?"
"It is a false one!" Mannering declared, with a little note of passion
quivering in his tone.
"It is as true and certain as the judgment of God!" his companion
answered, with almost lightning-like rapidity.
There was a moment's silence. They passed a lamp-post, and Mannering,
turning his head, scrutinized the other's features closely.
"I should like to know who you are," he said, "and what your name is."
"It is a reasonable curiosity," the man answered. "My name is Fardell,
Richard Fardell, and I am a retired bookmaker."
"A bookmaker!" Mannering repeated, incredulously.
"Precisely. I should imagine from what I know of you, Mr. Mannering, that
my occupation, or rather my late occupation, is not one which would
appeal to you favourably. Very likely not! I don't see why it should
myself. But at any rate, it taught me a lot about my fellow men. I did my
business in shillings and half-crowns, you see. Did it with the working
classes, the sort who used to go to a race-meeting for a jaunt, and just
have a bit on for the sake of the sport. Took their missus generally, and
made a holiday of it, and if they lost they'd grin and come and chaff me,
and if they won they'd spend the money like lords. I made money, of
course, bought houses, and made a lot more. Then business fell off. I
didn't seem to meet with that cheerful holiday-making crew at any of the
meetings up in the North, and I got sick of it. You see, I'd made sort
of friends with them. They all knew Dicky Fardell, and I knew hundreds
of 'em by sight. They'd come and mob me to stand 'em a drink when the
wrong horse won, and I can tell you I never refused. They were always
good-tempered, real sports to the backbone, and I tell you I was fond of
'em. And then they left off coming. I couldn't understand it at first.
The one or two who came talked of bad trade, and when I asked after their
pals they shook their heads. They betted in shillings instead of
half-crowns, and I didn't like the look of their faces when they lost.
I tell you, it got so at last that I used to watch for the horse they'd
put their bit on to win, and feel kind o' sick when it didn't. You can
imagine I couldn't stand that sort of thing long. I chucked it, and I
went to look for my pals. I wanted to find out what had become of them."
Mannering looked at him curiously.
"You found, I hope," he said, drily, "that the British workman had
discovered a better investment for his shillings and half-crowns than the
race-course."
Mr. Richard Fardell smiled pleasantly, but tolerantly.
"It's clear," he said, "that you, meaning no offence, Mr. Mannering, know
nothing about the British workman. Whatever else he may be, he's a
sportsman. He'll look after his wife and kids as well as the best of
them, but he'll have his bit of sport so long as he's got a copper in his
pocket. When he didn't come I put my kit on one side and went to look for
him. I went, mind you, as his friend, and knowing a bit about him. And
what I found has made a changed man of me."
Mannering nodded.
"I am afraid things are bad up in the North," he said. "You mustn't think
that we people who are responsible for the laws of the country ignore
this, Mr. Fardell. It is a very anxious time indeed with all of us.
Still, I presume you study the monthly trade returns. Some industries
seem prosperous enough."
"I'm no politician," Fardell answered, curtly. "Figures don't interest
me. They're just the drugs some of your party use to keep your conscience
quiet. Things I see and know of are what I go by. And what I've seen, and
what I know of, are just about enough to tear the heart out of any man
who cares a row of pins about his fellows. Now I'm going to talk plain
English to you, Mr. Mannering. I bought that little article you have in
your pocket seriously meaning to knock you on the head with it. And that
may come yet."
Mannering looked at him in amazement.
"But my dear sir," he said, "what is your grievance against me? I have
always considered myself a people's politician."
"Then the people may very well say 'save me from my friends'," Fardell
answered, grimly. "Mind, I believe you're honest, or you'd be lying on
your back now with a cracked skull. But you are using a great influence
on the wrong side. You're standing between the people and the one
reasonable scheme which has been brought forward which has a fair chance
of changing their condition."
Then Mannering began to understand.
"I oppose the scheme you speak of," he answered, "simply because I don't
believe in it. Every man has a right to his opinion. I don't believe for
a moment that it would improve the present condition of things."
"Then what is your scheme?" Fardell asked.
"My scheme!" Mannering repeated. "I don't quite understand you!"
"Of course you don't," Fardell answered, vigourously. "You can weave
academic arguments, you can make figures and statistics dance to any
damned tune you please. If I tried to argue with you, you'd squash me
flat. And what's it all come to? My pals must starve for the
gratification of your intellectual vanity. You won't listen to Tariff
Reform. Then what do you propose, to light the forges and fill the
mills? Nothing! I say, unless you've got a counter scheme of your own,
you ought to try ours."
"Come, Mr. Fardell," Mannering said, "I can assure you that all I have
said and written is the outcome of honest thought. I--"
"Stop!" Fardell exclaimed. "Honest thought! Yes! Where? In your study.
That's where you theorists do your mischief. You can't make laws for the
people in your study. You can't tell the status of the workingman from
the figures you read in your study. You're like half the smug people in
the world who discuss this question in the railway carriages and in their
clubs. I've heard 'em till I'd like to shove their self-opinionated
arguments down their throats, strip their clothes off their backs, and
send them down to live with my pals, or starve with them. Any little
idiot who buys a penny paper and who's doing pretty well for himself,
thinks he can lay down the law about Free Trade. You're all of one
kidney, sir! You none of you realize this. There are men as good as any
of you, whose wives and children are as dear to them as yours to you,
who've got to see them get thinner and thinner, who don't know where to
get a day's work or lay their hands upon a copper, and all the while
their kids come crying to them for something to eat. Put yourself in
their place, sir, and try and realize the torture of it. I've been
amongst 'em. I've spent half of what I made, and a good many thousands it
was, buying food for them. Can you wonder that my fingers have itched for
the throats of these smug, prosperous pigs, who spurt platitudes and
think things are very well as they are because they're making their
little bit? What right have you--any of you--to hesitate for a second to
try any means to help those poor devils, unless you've got a better
scheme of your own? Will you tell me that, sir?"
They had reached Mannering's house, and he threw open the gate.
"You must come in with me and talk about these things," Mannering said,
gravely. "You seem to be the sort of person I've been wanting to meet for
a long time."