The afternoon was clear and cool, but bright sunlight filled a glade
among the towering pines which creep close up to the western outskirts
of Vancouver City. They are very old and great of girth, and though here
and there a path or carriage drive has been hewn through the strip of
primeval wilderness the municipal authorities have been wise enough to
attempt no improvement upon what nature has done for them, and Stanley
Park remains a pleasance whose equal very few cities possess. It is
scented ambrosially with the odours of balsam and cedar; deep silence
fills the dim avenues between the colonnades of towering trunks; and
from every opening one looks out upon blue water and coldly gleaming
snow.
On the afternoon in question the stillness was rudely broken by a murmur
of voices, unmodulated and sharp with an intonation which sounds
especially out of place in the wilderness, though it is heard there
often enough, from the redwoods of Oregon to where Alaskan pines spring
from ten feet of snow. A crowd of people were scattered about the glade,
and while some were dressed in "store clothes" and a few in coarse blue
jean the eyes of all were turned towards the stump of a great cedar,
sawn off a man's height above the ground, which formed a natural
platform for a speaker whose address had astonished most of them.
Ingleby and Leger lay a little apart from the rest, where the sunlight
fell faintly warm upon the withered needles, while Hetty was seated near
them upon a fallen fir, displeasure in her eyes and her lips set
together. Her eyebrows also seemed unusually straight, as they often did
when she was angry, and that gave to her delicately pretty face a
curious appearance of severity one would scarcely have expected to find
there. She was dressed tastefully, for she earned a sufficiency as a
boarding-house waitress.
Ingleby, who lay nearest her, looked up at her with a little smile.
"You would make rather a striking picture just now, Hetty," he said.
"That is a most attractive frown. I don't know where you got it, but
taken together with your attitude it's--I can't think of a better
comparison--almost Roman."
Hetty glanced at him sharply. Her education had not been very
comprehensive, and she scarcely understood the allusion; but Ingleby,
who had made it at random, was nevertheless in a measure right, for
there is a recurrent type of feminine beauty, not exactly common, but to
be met with among women of her station in the north of England, while
they are young at least, which approaches the classical. Hetty might
have posed just then as a virgin sitting with turned-down thumb.
"Well," she said, "I'm vexed with you and Tom, as well as with that man.
I wish he hadn't come now when we are nice and comfortable and you are
both earning good wages--at least when the steamers come in."
Ingleby shook his head reproachfully. "You have spoiled it," he said.
"Hasn't she, Tom? A young woman who frowns in that imperial fashion
talking of wages!"
Leger only laughed as, turning over among the fir-needles, he filled his
pipe again; but Hetty was still a trifle angry.
"Of course, I don't understand you," she said. "I never do, but it's a
good thing I've more sense than either of you. Now, you know what came
of listening to speeches of that kind in England, and you're doing the
same thing again. I've no sympathy with that man. Everybody has enough
to eat and looks contented and comfortable. Why does he come here
worrying them?"
Leger smiled. "I'm not sure that the contentment of ignorance is the
blessing some people would like us to believe. You see, when one doesn't
know what he's entitled to he's apt to be satisfied with a good deal
less, while when men like Hall Sewell point out that you don't get half
as much as you ought to you are apt to believe them."
Ingleby laughed, though, as Sewell's writings had stirred him to intense
appreciation, even in England, he was not altogether pleased with the
little twinkle in his comrade's eyes. He was quick to fire with
enthusiasm, while it occurred to him that Leger was a trifle too
addicted to looking at both sides of a question, and occasionally
admitting the weak points of his own case with dry good-humour. He had
also a shrewd suspicion that Leger was a cleverer man than himself.
"Well," he said, looking at Hetty, "if you are content to carry plates
to saw-mill hands and wharf-labourers, it's more than I am to see you do
so."
"Why shouldn't I?" and Hetty, who flashed a covert glance at him,
noticed the tinge of heightened colour in his face and was not
displeased at it. "They are all of them very civil to me, and the one
who can get nothing to do as a doctor----"
"Oh, yes!" said Ingleby curtly, "I've noticed his confounded assurance.
Every time I see you going round with his dinner I feel I'd like to
poison him."
Leger looked up again with the twinkle in his eyes showing plainer
still.
"You haven't answered her, and I'm not sure you can," he said. "She put
the whole thing in a nutshell when she asked--why shouldn't she."
Ingleby was silent, but he fidgeted, and Leger grinned.
"Don't you find it a little difficult to cling to aristocratic
prejudices--though I don't know how you became possessed of them--and
believe in democratic theories at the same time?" he said. "One would
fancy they were bound to run up against each other occasionally."
Just then an urchin with a satchel on his back came along.
"Hall Sewell's latest speeches," he said. "Fourth edition of 'The New
Brotherhood' and 'The Grip of Capital.'"
"Give me them all," said Ingleby. "How much do you want?"
"A quarter," said the lad, handing him several flimsy pamphlets, and
while Hetty glanced at him severely Leger laughed.
"Twenty-five cents!" he said. "It would have purchased a packet of
caramels for Hetty."
"We might manage both," said Ingleby. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it
earlier, Hetty. But you haven't yet told me your opinion of the man
himself."
Hetty glanced at the man upon the fire-stump. He was dressed as a
workman in blue jean, which seemed to her a piece of affectation, since
when workmen of that city take their recreation they usually do so
attired in excellent clothing; but he had a lithe, well-proportioned
figure, and it became him, though neither his face, which was bronzed by
exposure, nor his hands were quite in keeping with it. It was a forceful
face, with keen, dark eyes in it, but the mouth was hidden by the long
moustache. Hall Sewell was, in his own sphere, a famous man whose
printed speeches had been read with appreciation in Europe, and he had
not long ago played a leading part in a great labour dispute. He had
just finished speaking and another man was somewhat apologetically
addressing the assembled populace.
Hetty, who surveyed him critically, shook her head. "If you buy me any
sweets now I'll throw them away," she said. "Well, he's a good-looking
man."
"Oh," said Ingleby. "He's good-looking! Can't you get beyond that,
Hetty?"
Hetty pursed her lips up reflectively. "Well, why shouldn't he be? It's
a pleasure to see a man of that kind. There are so few of them. Still,
I'll try to go a little further. Of course, he's clever. At least,
everybody says so, but there's something wanting. I think he's weak."
"Weak!" said Ingleby indignantly. "You're wide of the mark this time,
Hetty. I've read every line he has had printed, and any one could feel
the uncompromising strength in it. They've put him in prison and tried
to buy him, but nothing could keep a man of that kind from delivering
his message."
Hetty still pursed her lips up, and when she spoke again she somewhat
astonished Ingleby.
"If I were a little cleverer and richer I think that I could. That is,
of course, if I wanted to," she said.
Leger looked up with a little whimsical smile. "I hope she isn't right,
but she now and then blunders upon a truth that is hidden from our
wisdom. Delilah is, after all, a type, you see, and one can't help a
fancy that she has figured even more often than is recorded in history.
Go on, Hetty."
Hetty put her head on one side. "I never could remember very much
history; but that man's vain, vainer than most of you," she said. "A
girl above him who pretended to believe in him could twist him round her
finger."
"Above him?" said Ingleby.
Hetty looked at him curiously. "Yes. You know what everybody means by
that, and it's generally a girl of that kind that men with your notions
fall in love with. It's because you want so much more than is good for
you that you have such notions."
"Considering that she is a girl and by no means clever, Hetty's
reflections occasionally, at least, display an astonishing
comprehension," said Leger. "I really don't mind admitting it, though I
am her brother."
Ingleby said nothing, though he felt uncomfortable. He was fond of Hetty
in a brotherly fashion, but as he had never supposed her to be indued
with any intellect worth mentioning, her occasional flashes of
penetration were almost disconcerting. The last one was certainly so,
for there were two people of diametrically opposed opinions whom he
respected above all others: one was Hall Sewell the reformer, and the
other Major Coulthurst's daughter. He was glad of the opportunity for
changing the subject when the man who had been speaking stopped a moment
and looked at the crowd.
"I guess I'm through, and you have been patient, boys," he said. "Hall
will be quite willing to answer any reasonable questions. I'll get
down."
There was a little good-humoured laughter, and a man who stood forward
turned to the assembly.
"Everybody knows Jake Townson, and there's no wickedness in him. He's a
harmless crank," he said. "What I want to ask Hall Sewell is who's
paying him to go round making trouble among people who have no use for
it or him? It's a straight question."
There was a little growl of disgust as well as sardonic laughter, and
while one or two angry men moved towards the speaker the man with the
dark eyes stood up suddenly.
"Let him alone, boys. We don't want to use our enemies' methods, and I'm
quite willing to answer him," he said. "Nobody has paid me a dollar for
what I've tried to do for the cause of brotherhood and liberty, but I
was offered a thousand to betray it not a month ago."
"Name the men who did it," cried somebody.
"I will," said Sewell, "when I consider the time is ripe--they may count
on that, but in the meanwhile you will have to take my word for it. So
far, I've been found where I was wanted--and that as our friend suggests
was generally where there was trouble--but I never took five cents for
reward or fee."
There was a murmur of approbation, as well as incredulity, and then a
cry broke through it.
"How'd you worry along then? A man has got to live."
Sewell held his hands up, and though small and well-shaped they were
scarred and brown.
"What I want--and it's very little--I can earn with the shovel and the
drill. I've given your man his answer, but I'm going farther."
There was a clamour from one part of the crowd. "He's an insect. We've
no use for him! Let up, Hall's talking. We're here to hear him!"
"What did I get for my pains?" said Sewell. "That's what the question
comes to, and I'll tell you frankly, since, until we or our children
bring in the new era, it's all that the man has to expect who believes
this world can and ought to be made better. I've been ridden over by
U. S. cavalry, and beaten by patrolmen's clubs. I've been hounded out of
cities where I lawfully earned my bread, and sand-bagged by hired
toughs. That would be a little thing if I were the only victim, but you
know--you can read it in your papers almost any day--what happens to the
men who have the grit to work as well as to hope for the dawn of better
days for down-trodden humanity. You're to wait for it--on the other side
of Jordan--your teachers say. Boys, we want it here and now, and it's
coming, a little nearer every day. You have got to believe that, and
when the outlook grows black get a tighter clinch upon your faith. Was
it a shadow and a fancy that the men died for who went down in every
struggle for the last ten years?--we needn't go back farther. Right
across this prosperous continent you'll find their graves--men shot and
sabred, strung to bridges and telegraph poles. Boys, we've been
waiting--waiting a long while----"
He broke off abruptly, for a little, stolid park-warden and an equally
unimpressed official of the Vancouver police pushed their way through
the crowd.
"I guess," said the former, "you'll have to light out of this. You can't
hold no meetings here."
The crowd was a Canadian one, good-humouredly tolerant, respectful of
constituted authority, and, what was more to the purpose, reasonably
contented with their lot. They were also, as usual, somewhat deficient
in the quick enthusiasm which is common across the frontier. Had ample
time been afforded him the orator might have got hold of them and
impressed upon them a due comprehension of their wrongs, but a good many
of them were by no means sure that they had very much to complain of as
yet. Still, there were angry expostulations.
"Have you any ground for preventing my speaking here?" Sewell asked.
"Yes, sir," said the warden. "I guess we have. It's down in the park
charter. You can't peddle those papers either. Call your boys in."
"The men who made those laws, as usual, made them to suit themselves."
"Well," said the warden, "I guess that don't matter now. There they are.
All you have to do is to keep them, and nobody's going to worry you."
There was an embarrassing silence for a moment or two, for everybody
felt the tension and realized that the position was rife with unpleasant
possibilities; but the stolid warden stood eyeing the crowd
unconcernedly, and, as usual, the inertia of British officialdom
conquered. Sewell made a little whimsical gesture of resignation, and
raised his hand.
"I'm afraid we'll have to break up, boys. There's nothing to be gained
for anybody by making trouble now," he said. "If we can hire a big store
of any kind I'll talk to you to-morrow."
He sprang down from the stump, the crowd melted away, and Hetty laughed
as she glanced at her companions.
"That man has really a good deal more sense than some people with his
notions seem to have," she said.
Ingleby shook his head at her. "You mean people who pull gates down on
Sunday afternoons?" he asked. "Still, I scarcely think it was to save
himself trouble he told them to go home, and nobody could have expected
very much sympathy from the men who listened to him. He's wasting his
time on them--they're too well fed. What do you think, Tom?"
Leger, who did not answer him for a moment, glanced thoughtfully through
an opening between the stately trunks towards the far-off gleam of snow.
"This Province," he said drily, "is a tolerably big one, and from what
I've heard they may want a man of his kind in the Northern ranges
presently. It isn't the supinely contented who face the frost and snow
there, and the Crown mining regulations don't seem to appeal to the men
who stake their lives on finding a little gold. They appear to be even
less pleased with those who administer them."