The Polterham Literary Institute was a "hot-bed of Radicalism." For the
last year or two this had been generally understood. Originating in the
editorial columns of the _Polterham Mercury_, the remark was now a
commonplace on the lips of good Conservatives, and the liberals
themselves were not unwilling to smile an admission of its truth. At
the founding of the Institute no such thing was foreseen; but in 1859
Polterham was hardly conscious of the stirrings of that new life which,
in the course of twenty years, was to transform the town. In those days
a traveller descending the slope of the Banwell Hills sought out the
slim spire of Polterham parish church amid a tract of woodland, mead
and tillage; now the site of the thriving little borough was but too
distinctly marked by trails of smoke from several gaunt chimneys--that
of Messrs. Dimes & Nevison's blanket-factory, that of Quarrier & Son's
sugar-refinery, and, higher still (said, indeed, to be one of the
tallest chimneys in England), that of Thomas & Liversedge's soap-works.
With the character of Polterham itself, the Literary Institute had
suffered a noteworthy change. Ostensibly it remained non-political: a
library, reading-room and lecture-hall, for the benefit of all the
townsfolk; but by a subtle process the executive authority had passed
into the hands of new men with new ideas. A mere enumeration of the
committee sufficed to frighten away all who held by Church, State, and
Mr. Welwyn-Baker: the Institute was no longer an Institute, but a
"hot-bed."
How could respectable people make use of a library which admitted works
of irreligious and immoral tendency? It was an undoubted fact (the
_Mercury_ made it known) that of late there had been added to the
catalogue not only the "Essays of David Hume" and that notorious book
Buckle's "History of Civilization," but even a large collection of the
writings of George Sand and Balzac--these latter in the original
tongue; for who, indeed, would ever venture to publish an English
translation? As for the reading-room, was it not characterization
enough to state that two Sunday newspapers, reeking fresh from Fleet
Street, regularly appeared on the tables? What possibility of perusing
the _Standard_ or the _Spectator_ in such an atmosphere? It was clear
that the supporters of law and decency must bestir themselves to
establish a new Society. Mr. Mumbray, long prominent in the municipal
and political life of the town, had already made the generous offer of
a large house at a low rental--one of the ancient buildings which had
been spoilt for family residence by the erection of a mill close by.
The revered Member for the borough was willing to start the new library
with a gift of one hundred volumes of "sterling literature." With
dissolution of Parliament in view, not a day should be lost in
establishing this centre of intellectual life for right-thinking
inhabitants. It was a strange thing, a very strange thing indeed, that
interlopers should have been permitted to oust the wealth and
reputability of Polterham from an Institute which ought to have been
one of the bulwarks of Conservatism. Laxity in the original
constitution, and a spirit of supine confidence, had led to this sad
result. It seemed impossible that Polterham could ever fall from its
honourable position among the Conservative strongholds of the country;
but the times were corrupt, a revolutionary miasma was spreading to
every corner of the land. Polterham must no longer repose in the
security of conscious virtue, for if it _did_ happen that, at the
coming election, the unprincipled multitude even came near to achieving
a triumph, oh what a fall were there!
Thus spoke the _Mercury_. And in the same week Mr. Mumbray's vacant
house was secured by a provisional committee on behalf of the Polterham
Constitutional Literary Society.
The fine old crusted party had some reason for their alarm. Since
Polterham was a borough it had returned a Tory Member as a matter of
course. Political organization was quite unknown to the supporters of
Mr. Welwyn-Baker; such trouble had never seemed necessary. Through the
anxious year of 1868 Mr. Welwyn-Baker sat firm as a rock; an endeavour
to unseat him ended amid contemptuous laughter. In 1874 the high-tide
of Toryism caused only a slight increase of congratulatory gurgling in
the Polterham backwater; the triumphant party hardly cared to notice
that a Liberal candidate had scored an unprecedented proportion of
votes. Welwyn-Baker sat on, stolidly oblivious of the change that was
affecting his constituency, denying indeed the possibility of mutation
in human things. Yet even now the Literary Institute was passing into
the hands of people who aimed at making it something more than a place
where retired tradesmen could play draughts and doze over _Good Words_;
already had offensive volumes found harbourage on the shelves, and
revolutionary periodicals been introduced into the reading-room. From
time to time the _Mercury_ uttered a note of warning, of protest, but
with no echo from the respectable middle-class abodes where Polterham
Conservatism dozed in self-satisfaction. It needed another five years
of Liberal activity throughout the borough to awaken the good people
whose influence had seemed unassailable, and to set them uttering
sleepy snorts of indignation. But the _Mercury_ had a new editor, a man
who was determined to gain journalistic credit by making a good fight
in a desperate cause. Mr. Mumbray, who held the post of Mayor, had at
length learnt that even in municipal matters the old order was
threatened; on the Town Council were several men who gave a great deal
of trouble, and who openly boasted that in a very short time all the
affairs of the town would be managed by members of the Progressive
party. If so, farewell public morality! farewell religion!
The reading-room of the Literary Institute heard many an animated
conversation among the zealous partisans who hoped great things from
the approaching contest. The talkers were not men of recognized
standing, the manufacturers and landowners whose influence was of most
importance--for these personages were seldom seen at the Institute; but
certain "small" people, fidgety, or effervescent, or enthusiastic,
eager to hear their own voices raised in declamation, and to get spoken
of in the town as representatives of public opinion. Such a group had
gathered early one afternoon in this month of October. The hour was
unusual, for between one o'clock and four the reading-room was
generally abandoned to a few very quiet, somnolent persons; but to-day
an exciting piece of news had got about in Polterham, and two or three
ardent politicians hastened from their dinner-tables to discuss the
situation with Mr. Wykes, secretary of the Institute, or any one else
who might present himself. It was reported that Mr. Welwyn-Baker had
had a seizure of some kind, and that he lay in a dangerous state at his
house just outside the town.
"It's perfectly true," affirmed Mr. Wykes. "I saw Dr. Staple on his way
there. He'll never survive it. We shall have a bye-election--the very
last thing desirable."
The Secretary was a man of intelligent features but painfully
distorted body; his right leg, permanently bent double, was supported
at the knee by metal mechanism, and his arm on the opposite side ended
at the elbow. None the less he moved with much activity, gesticulated
frequently with the normal arm, and seemed always to be in excellent
spirits. He was a Cambridge graduate, but had never been able to make
much use of his education and abilities; having reached middle age, and
finding himself without resources, he was glad to accept this post at
the Institute.
About him stood three Polterham worthies: Mr. Chown, draper, a member
of the Corporation; Mr. Vawdrey, coal-merchant; and Mr. Murgatroyd,
dentist. The draper--tall, bearded, with goggle eyes and prominent
cheek-bones--had just rushed in; as soon as Mr. Wykes had spoken, he
exclaimed in a hard, positive voice:
"It's nothing! it's nothing! I have it on the best assurance that it
was only a fall over a footstool. Muscles strained--a bruise or
two--nothing worse."
"I'm very glad to hear it, on every ground," said Wykes. "But even if
that is quite correct, it'll be a warning. A fall at that age generally
dates the beginning of decrepitude. He won't come forward again--I'm
convinced he won't."
"Let us hope they'll be foolish enough to set up his son," remarked Mr.
Vawdrey, in deep tones, which harmonized with his broad, stunted body
and lowering visage. "It'll be their ruin."
Mr. Wykes agreed.
"The waverers can hardly doubt--between Tobias Liversedge and Hugh
Welwyn-Baker."
"Bear in mind," rang Mr. Chown's brassy voice, "that it's by no means
certain Liversedge is to be our candidate. I am in a position to assure
you that many of our most reliable men are not at all satisfied with
that choice--not at all satisfied. I don't mind going so far as to
declare that I share this dissatisfaction."
"Really," put in Mr. Murgatroyd, the dentist, "it's rather late in the
day, Mr. Chown"----
His accents of studious moderation were interrupted by a shout from the
dogmatic draper.
"Late? late? I consider that nothing whatever has been decided. I
protest--I protest, most emphatically, against any attempt to force a
candidate on the advanced section of the Liberal party! I will even go
so far as to say--purely on my own responsibility--that the advanced
section of the Liberal party is the _essence_ of the Liberal party, and
must be recognized as such, if we are to fight this campaign in union.
I personally--I speak for myself--do _not_ feel prepared to vote for
Tobias Liversedge. I say it boldly, caring not who may report my words.
I compromise no man, and no body of men; but my view is that, if we are
to win the next election against the Tory candidate, it must be with
the help, and in the name, of a _Radical_ candidate!"
At the close of each period Mr. Chown raised his hand and made it
vibrate in the air, his head vibrating in company therewith. His eyes
glared, and his beard wagged up and down.
"Speaking as an individual," replied Mr. Murgatroyd, who, among other
signs of nervousness, had the habit of constantly pulling down his
waistcoat, "I can't say that I should regret to be called upon to vote
for a really advanced man. But I may say--I really must say--and I
think Mr. Wykes will support me--I think Mr. Vawdrey will bear me
out--that it wouldn't be easy to find a candidate who would unite all
suffrages in the way that Mr. Liversedge does. We have to remember"----
"Well," broke in the coal-merchant, with his muffled bass, "if any one
cares to know what I think, I should say that we want a local man, a
popular man, and a Christian man. I don't know whom you would set up in
preference to Liversedge; but Liversedge suits me well enough. If the
Tories are going to put forward such a specimen as Hugh Welwyn-Baker, a
gambler, a drinker, and a profligate, I don't know, I say, who would
look better opposed to him than Toby Liversedge."
Mr. Chown could not restrain himself.
"I fail altogether to see what Christianity has to do with politics!
Christianity is all very well, but where will you find it? Old
Welwyn-Baker calls himself a Christian, and so does his son. And I
suppose the Rev. Scatchard Vialls calls himself a Christian! Let us
have done with this disgusting hypocrisy! I say with all
deliberation--I affirm it--that Radicalism must break with religion
that has become a sham! Radicalism is a religion in itself. We have no
right--no right, I say--to impose any such test as Mr. Vawdrey insists
upon!"
"I won't quarrel about names," returned Vawdrey, stolidly, "What I
meant to say was that we must have a man of clean life, a moral man."
"And do you imply," cried Chown, "that such men are hard to find among
Radicals?"
"I rather think they're hard to find anywhere nowadays."
Mr. Wykes had made a gesture requesting attention, and was about to
speak, when a boy came up to him and held out a telegram.
"What's this?" murmured the Secretary, as he opened the envelope.
"Well, well, how very annoying! Our lecturer of to-morrow evening can't
possibly keep his engagement. No reason given; says he will write."
"Another blank evening!" exclaimed Chown. "This is most unsatisfactory,
I must say."
"We must fill it up," replied the Secretary. "I have an idea; it
connects with something I was on the point of saying." He looked round
the room cautiously, but saw only a young lad bent over an illustrated
paper. "There is some one," he continued, subduing his voice, "who
might possibly be willing to stand if Mr. Liversedge isn't finally
adopted as our candidate--some one who, in my opinion, would suit us
very well indeed. I am thinking of young Mr. Quarrier, Liversedge's
brother-in-law, Mr. Sam Quarrier's nephew."
"I can't say I know much for or against him," said the draper.
"A barrister, I believe?" questioned Murgatroyd.
"Yes, but not practising his profession. I happened to meet him in the
train yesterday; he was coming to spend a few days with his relatives.
It occurs to me that he's the man to give us a lecture to-morrow
evening."
The others lent ear, and Mr. Wykes talked at some length of Mr. Denzil
Quarrier, with whom he had a slight personal acquaintance dating from a
year or two ago. He represented that the young man was of late become
wealthy, that he was closely connected with people in high local
esteem, that his views were those of a highly cultured Radical. Mr.
Chown, distrustful regarding any proposition that did not originate
with himself, meditated with some intensity. Mr. Vawdrey's face
indicated nothing whatever. It was the dentist who put the first
question.
"I should like to know," he said, in his usual voice of studied
inoffensiveness, "whether Mr. Quarrier is disposed to support the
Female Suffrage movement?"
"If he is," growled Mr. Vawdrey, with sudden emphasis, "he mustn't
expect _my_ vote and interest. We've seen enough in Polterham lately of
the Female question."
"Let it wait! Let it wait!" came from the draper. "The man," he glared
at little Murgatroyd, "who divides his party on matters of detail,
beyond the range of practical politics, is an enemy of popular
progress. What _I_ should desire to know is, whether Mr. Quarrier will
go in heartily for Church Disestablishment? If not--well, I for my
humble self must Decline to consider him a Radical at all."
"That, it seems to me," began the dentist, "is distinctly beyond"----
But politic Mr. Wykes interrupted the discussion.
"I shall go at once," he said, "and try to see Mr. Quarrier. A lecture
to-morrow we must have, and I think he can be persuaded to help us. If
so, we shall have an opportunity of seeing what figure he makes on the
platform."
Mr. Vawdrey looked at his watch and hurried away without a word. The
draper and the dentist were each reminded of the calls of business. In
a minute or two the youth dozing over an illustrated paper had the room
to himself.