After dinner there was a brisk passage of arms between the two men of
opposite party in the group by the fire, and Mrs. Cricklander incited
them to further exertions. It had arisen because Mr. Derringham had
launched forth the abominable and preposterous theory that the only
thing the Radicals would bring England to would be the necessity of
returning to barbarism and importing slaves--then their schemes applied
to the present inhabitants of the country might all work. The denizens
in the casual wards, having a vote and a competence provided by the
State, would have time to become of the leisured classes and apply
themselves to culture, and so every free citizen being equal, a company
of philosophers and an aristocracy of intellect would arise and all
would be well!
Mrs. Cricklander glanced stealthily at his whimsical face, to be sure
whether he were joking or no--and decided he probably was. But Mr.
Hanbury-Green, so irritated by the delightful hostess's evident
_penchant_ for his rival, allowed his ill-humor to obscure his usually
keen judgment, and took the matter up in serious earnest.
"Your side would not import, but reduce us all--we who are the defenders
of the people--to being slaves," he said with some asperity. "Your class
has had its innings long enough, it would be the best thing in the world
for you to have to come down to doing your own housework."
"I should make a capital cook," said John Derringham, with smiling eyes,
"but I should certainly refuse to cook for anyone but myself; and you,
Mr. Green, who may be an indifferent artist in that respect, would have
perhaps a bad dinner."
"I never understand," interrupted Mrs. Cricklander--"when everything is
socialistic, shall we not be able to live in these nice houses?"
"Of course not," said Mr. Hanbury-Green gravely. "You will have to share
with less fortunate people." And then he drew himself up ready for
battle, and began.
"Why, because a man or woman is born in the gutter, should not he or she
be given by the State the same chance as though born in a palace? We are
all exactly the same human beings, only until now luck and circumstance
have been different for us."
"I am all for everyone having the same chance," agreed John Derringham,
allowing the smile to stay in his eyes, "although I do not admit we are
all the same human beings, any more than the Derby winner is the same
horse as the plow horse or the cob. They can all draw some kind of
vehicle, but they cannot all win races--they have to excel, each in his
different line. Give everyone a chance, by all means, and then make him
come up for examination, and if found fit passed on for higher things,
and if unfit, passed _out_! It is your tendency to pamper the unfit
which I deplore. You have only one idea on your Radical Socialist side
of the House, to pull down those who are in any inherited or agreeable
authority--not because they are doing their work badly, but because you
would prefer their place! The war-cry of boons for the people covers a
multitude of objects, and is the most attractive cry for the masses to
hear all over the world. The real boon for the people would be to give
them more practical sound education and ruthlessly to clear out the
unfit." Then his face lost its whimsical expression and became
interested.
"Let us imagine a Utopian state of republic. Let every male citizen who
has reached twenty-five years, say, pass his examination in the right to
live freely, regardless of class, and if he cannot do so, let him go
into the ranks of the slaves, because, turn it how you will, we must
have some beings to do the lowest offices in life. Who would willingly
clean the drains, fill the dust-carts--and, indeed, do the hundred and
one things that are simply disgusting, but which must be done?"
Mr. Hanbury-Green had not a sufficiently strong answer ready, so
remained loftily silent, while John Derringham went on:
"We obscure every issue nowadays by a sickly sentiment and this craze
for words to prove black is white in order to please the mediocrity. If
we could only look facts in the face we should see that the idea of
equality of all men is perfectly ridiculous. No ancient republic ever
worked, even the most purely democratic, like the Athenian, of the fifth
and fourth centuries B.C., without an unconsidered and unrepresented
population of slaves. You know your Aristotle, Mr. Green," he went on
blandly, "and you will remember his admirable remark about some men
being born masters and others born to obey, and that, if only Nature had
made the difference in their mental capacities as apparent to the eye as
is the difference in their bodies, everyone would recognize this at
once."
His voice grew intense: the subject interested him.
"You may say," he went on, "that Aristotle, Plato and Socrates accepted
the fact of slavery without protest because it was an institution from
time immemorial, and so the idea did not appear to them so repugnant.
But do you mean to tell me that such consummate geniuses, such unbiased
glorious brains would have glossed over any idea, or under-considered
any point in their schemes for the advancement of man? They accepted
slavery because they saw that it was the only possible way to make a
republic work, where all citizens might aspire to be equal."
"You would advocate slavery then? Oh! Mr. Derringham, how dreadful of
you!" exclaimed Mrs. Cricklander, half playfully.
"Not in the least," he returned, still allowing some feeling to stay in
his voice. "I would only have it recognized that there must be some
class in my ideal republic who will do the duties of the slaves of old.
I would have it so arranged that they should occupy this class only when
they had shown they were unfit for anything higher, and I would also
arrange it that the moment they appeared capable of rising out of it
there should be no bar to their doing so. It is the cry of our all being
equal because we have two arms and two legs and a head in common, not
counting any mental endowment, which is utter trash and hypocrisy. But
when these agitators are shouting for the people's rights and inciting
poor ignorant wretches to revolt, they never suggest that the lowest of
them is not perfectly suited to the highest position! Those occupying
any station above the lowest have got there merely by superior luck and
favoritism, not merit--that is what they preach."
Mr. Hanbury-Green was just going to answer with a biting attack when
Miss Cora Lutworth's rather high voice was heard interrupting from a
tall old chair in which she had perched herself.
"Why, Mr. Derringham, we all want to be something very grand," she
laughed merrily. "I hate common people and love English dukes and
duchesses--don't you, Cis?" and she looked at Mrs. Cricklander, who was
standing in a position of much stately grace by the lofty mantelpiece.
"You sweet girl!" exclaimed Lord Freynault, who was next to her. "I
cannot get any nearer to those favored folk than my uncle's being a
duke, but won't you let me in for some of your friendly feelings on that
account?"
"I certainly will," she answered archly, "because I like the way you
look. I like how your hair is brushed, and how your clothes are cut, and
your being nice and clean and outdoor--and long and thin--" and then she
whispered--"ever so much better than Mr. Hanbury-Green's thick
appearance. He may be as clever as clever, but he is common and climbing
up, and I like best the people who are there!"
John Derringham now addressed himself exclusively to his hostess.
"I agree with the point of view of the old Greeks--they were so full of
common sense. Balance and harmony in everything was their aim. A
beautiful body, for instance, should be the correlative of a beautiful
soul. Therefore in general their athletics were not pursued, as are
ours, for mere pleasure and sport, and because we like to feel fit. They
did not systematically exercise just to wrest from some rival the prize
in the games, either. Their care of the body had a far higher and nobler
end: to bring it into harmony as a dwelling-place for a noble soul."
"How divine!" said Mrs. Cricklander.
John Derringham went on:
"You remember Plato upon the subject--his reluctance to admit that a
physical defect must sometimes be overlooked. But nowadays everything is
distorted by ridiculous humanitarian nonsense. With our wonderful
inventions, our increasing knowledge of sanitation and science, and the
possibilities and limitations of the human body, what glorious people we
should become if we could choke this double-headed hydra of rotten
sentiment and exalt common sense!"
But now Mrs. Cricklander saw that a storm was gathering upon Mr.
Hanbury-Green's brow and, admirable hostess that she was, she decided to
smooth the troubled waters, so she went across the room to the piano,
and began to play a seductive valse, while John Derringham followed her
and leaned upon the lid, and tried to feel as devoted as he looked.
"Why cannot we go to-morrow and see your old master?" she asked, as her
white fingers, with their one or two superb rings, glided over the keys.
"I feel an unaccountable desire to become acquainted with him. I should
love to see what the person was like who molded you when you were a
boy."
"Mr. Carlyon is a wonderful-looking old man," John Derringham returned.
"Someone--who knows him very well--described him long ago as 'Cheiron.'
You will see how apt it is when you meet."
Mrs. Cricklander crashed some chords. She had never heard of this
Cheiron. She felt vaguely that Arabella had told her of some classical
or mythological personage of some such sounding name, a boatman of
sorts--but she dare not risk a statement, so she went on with the point
she wished to gain, which was to investigate at once Mr. Carlyon's
surroundings and discover, if possible, whether there was any influence
there that would be inimical to herself.
"I dare say we can go to-morrow," John Derringham said. "You and I might
walk over--and perhaps Miss Lutworth and Freynault. We can't go a large
party, the house is so small."
"Why cannot you and I go alone, then?" she asked.
"Oh, I think he would like to see Miss Cora. She is such a charming
girl," and John Derringham looked over to where she sat, still dangling
a pair of blue satin feet from the high chair. And inwardly Mrs.
Cricklander burned.
Cora was a second cousin of her divorced husband, and belonged by birth
to that inner cream of New York society which she hated in her heart.
Never, never again would she be so foolish as to chance crossing swords
with one of her own nation. But aloud she acquiesced blandly and
arranged that they should start at eleven o'clock.
"Perhaps we could persuade him to return to lunch with us?" she
hazarded. "And that would be so nice."
"You must do what you can with him," John Derringham said. "I have
prepared him to find you beautiful--as you are."
"You say lovely things about me behind my back, then?" she laughed. "Now
he will be disappointed!"
"Yes, I admit it was a _bêtíse_--but, being my real thoughts, they
slipped out when I was there to-day. You will have to be extra charming
to substantiate them."
Before Mrs. Cricklander went to bed, she called Arabella Clinker into
her room.
"Arabella," she said, "who was Cheiron?" But she pronounced the "ei" as
an "a," so Miss Clinker replied without any hesitation:
"He was a boatman who carried the souls of the dead over the River Styx,
and to whom they were obliged to pay an obolus--son of Erebus and Nox.
He is represented as an old man with a hideous face and long white beard
and piercing eyes."
"Is there anything else I ought to know about him?" her employer asked,
and Arabella thought for a moment.
"There is the story of Hercules not showing the golden bow. Er--it is a
little complicated and has to do with the superstitions of the
ancients--er--something Egyptian, I think, for the moment--I will look
it up to-morrow. I can't say offhand."
"Thanks, Arabella. Good night."
And it was not until after the party of four had started next morning
that Miss Clinker suddenly thought, with a start: "She may have been
alluding to quite the other Cheiron--the Centaur--and in that case I
have given her some wrong lights!"