TABLE-TALK.
When the little party reached Mrs. Pomeroy's sumptuous drawing-room--a
blaze of light and color--most of the guests had already arrived. Mr.
Pomeroy, a large, important looking man, who seemed to be on excellent
terms with himself and with the world in general, greeted them with a
rather pompous cordiality, and then retired to the background to
continue his conversation with an old gentleman of somewhat grim and
shaggy aspect, whose old-fashioned frock-coat contrasted somewhat oddly
with his host's expansive shirt-front and irreproachable dress-suit.
Mrs. Pomeroy was a rather small, dark-eyed woman, with a good deal of
character and energy in her face, and a dress of sober richness, almost
suggestive of Quakerism in its hue. Miss Pomeroy, rather tall, and dark,
and good-looking, though with a slight hardness and discontent about the
curves of her face, was engaged in an animated conversation with Mr.
Chillingworth. Kitty Farrell--looking exquisite and radiant in some
diaphanous, pink, silky texture, was appropriated, of course, by young
Pomeroy. Her father, with a thin careworn face, quick and restless in
his movements, was talking with Mr. Pomeroy and the old gentleman, while
Mrs. Farrell, fair, languid, and most tastefully attired, reclined on a
sofa beside Mrs. Pomeroy. There were some other people, including a
banker and his wife--a Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, accompanied by a Miss
Harley, an English lady with an English complexion and roundness of
figure, who was paying them a visit, and on whose account, mainly, the
party was given. Nora was speedily introduced to a young man who arrived
almost simultaneously with themselves--fresh and good-looking, with
dark-brown hair and full moustache, which parted in a frequent smile
over very white teeth. He was introduced as "Mr. Archer," and Nora was
trying to make up her mind whether she liked his face or not, when
dinner was announced, and her new acquaintance offered his arm.
The dinner-table seemed like a miniature garden of exquisite flowers,
amid which gleamed the silver, crystal, and costly Haviland china--a
recent acquisition. Mr. Pomeroy was a man who always liked to be sure
that he had "the best" of everything, and who regarded it as a duty to
gratify his desire to the utmost. As Nora sat down and involuntarily
took in the impression of beauty, brilliancy and costliness afforded by
the whole, her thoughts went back once more to poor Lizzie's struggling
life, with its sordid surroundings, and the winter jacket she couldn't
buy. But Mr. Archer's amusing flow of talk, and the interest of finding
out the ideas and tastes of a new acquaintance, soon diverted her
thoughts. Mr. Chillingworth, who had taken in his hostess, was seated on
her other side, and claimed a large share of her attention. A certain
Mr. Wharton, of literary proclivities, and the old gentleman aforesaid,
were nearly opposite.
"So good of you to come this evening," said Mrs. Pomeroy. "We shouldn't
have fixed on Saturday, but it seemed the only evening we could have
Miss Harley, who will be here only for a few days. But we thought you
wouldn't mind, for once."
"Oh, I happened to be pretty well up with my work this week; so I could
allow myself the pleasure, with a clear conscience," replied the
clergyman.
The talk drifted about in the usual inconsequential manner of
dinner-parties. The courses, _entrées, et cætera_, were many and
elaborate, and were evidently thoroughly appreciated, by the gentlemen,
at least. Mr. Archer smilingly noticed that Miss Blanchard declined
wine, as indeed did the hostess, also, who had pronounced views on the
subject of total abstinence, it appeared, although yielding to her
husband's wish to have wine at his table. Mrs Pomeroy was indeed a
"prominent worker," as the _Minerva_ would have put it, on various
philanthropic and mission boards So she hastened to reinforce Miss
Blanchard in a playful skirmish as to the merits of total abstinence
societies and of Prohibition, of which she was a strenuous advocate. Mr
Pomeroy presently, however, shut off the discussion by telling his
friends that they had better enjoy their champagne while they could, as
Mrs Pomeroy was determined to take it from them altogether, and there
was no knowing how soon she might succeed. And then he struck at once
into a fresh subject.
"By the way, Wharton, that was a capital letter of yours in the
_Minerva_ the other day, on that last book of Henry George's."
"Glad you thought so," replied Mr Wharton, complacently. "I thought the
_Minerva_ was growing quite too enthusiastic over it, so I just touched
them up a little on the subject."
"And you did to some purpose," said his host. "That was a good point you
made, anyway--when you showed up the fallacy of that absurd assertion
that the poor are growing poorer. I haven't read the book myself, but if
that's how he talks, I should say it's great stuff!"
"Oh, that point's the thing!" rejoined Mr Wharton, pleased to dilate a
little on a favorite subject. "If you grant him that, you have to grant
him a great deal more. But of course it's absurd."
"Well," said Mr. Archer, his moustache parting over his white teeth,
with his cynical smile--"I suppose we don't any of us live just as our
ancestors did in Queen Elizabeth's time. I doubt if her majesty ever saw
such a charmingly arranged dinner-table in her life!" Here he bowed
toward the hostess. "But I happened to see something of the tenements of
New York lately, in connection with a case which involved the
proprietorship of some of them. I really think I'd rather have the
Elizabethan style, so far as the laborer is concerned. But of course,
all laborers don't live in rooms that would hardly be fit for a
dog-kennel."
Nora's thoughts went off to the wretched apartment in which she had so
lately spent the night, but she was too shy to join in a general
conversation. Her brother, however, remarked tersely, that he saw some
wretched enough kennels, even in Minton, and that, "if some quarters of
the city were not soon looked after, they would be hearing of an
outbreak of typhoid fever or diphtheria, the first thing."
"Oh, Doctor!" exclaimed Mrs. Farrell, in alarm. "You don't say so. I do
hope it _will_ be looked after soon!"
Mrs. Pomeroy, however, remarked that, for her part, she thought the poor
people seemed very happy and comfortable, so far as she came in contact
with them, in connection with the Clothing Club.
Mr. Archer smiled again. "By the way, Mr. Pomeroy," he remarked, "have
you seen the new paper?"
"What new paper?" inquired the host.
"_The Brotherhood_, the new champion of the oppressed and down-trodden
workmen! I tell you, you manufacturers will have to look out. You'll be
brought to book for all your iniquities."
"Yes, I believe I did see a wretched little sheet of that name
somewhere, started by some crank. But of course, I haven't time to look
at such things."
"Ah," said Mr. Chillingworth, "I suppose that is the paper a young man
came to canvass me for! I don't know whether he wanted me to take it or
to write for it. But I see he has sent it to me."
"Oh, _both_, Mr. Chillingworth!" retorted Mr. Archer, smiling with mock
persuasiveness. "The editor of it, Mr. Roland Graeme, is well known to
me; in fact, I have the honor of having him at present in my office, and
I can answer for him that he would be delighted to accept any
contributions from your pen."
"Or from mine, say," remarked Mr. Wharton.
"I'm not so sure about _you_! You are too much on the philosophical
tack! You wouldn't have enough sympathy. _The Brotherhood_, you know, is
founded on the idea of Christian fellow-feeling."
"Thanks, very much, for your good opinion!" retorted the other.
"I've heard a good deal about that fellow, Roland Graeme," remarked Mr.
Pomeroy, in his tone of bland patronage. "I should say he hadn't enough
to do! He's been aiding and abetting the 'Knights of Labor,' in every
way he can; in fact, they say he's one, himself: and they're troublesome
enough, without having better educated people, who ought to know better,
putting their oars in!"
"'Knights,' indeed!" echoed Mrs. Pomeroy, sarcastically, "Precious
_knights_!"
"Why, they actually had the cheek to come and interview _me_, lately,"
said Mr. Pomeroy. "They had a whole list of grievances that they wanted
remedied. Willett wouldn't have anything to say to them, so they came on
to me. And I believe this Roland Graeme was at the bottom of it."
"Well, he isn't half a bad fellow," said Mr. Archer, "but he's awfully
soft in some ways. A child could get round him, quicker indeed than a
grown-up person," he added, half to himself. "But what did you do? Did
you grant their requests?"
"Not I! There were far too many. They wanted shorter hours, and bigger
pay, and half-holidays, and all the rest of it. Oh, by the way, there
_was_ one thing, Willett had been negligent about, some shafting that
had been left uncovered; I had that inquired into and put right."
"Then the interview wasn't absolutely without results," remarked the
elderly gentleman in the frock-coat, joining in the discussion for the
first time, and speaking in a deep, guttural, Scotch voice and accent.
"Oh, I've no doubt we'd have put that all right in due time, without
their interference," said the host, somewhat superciliously.
"Aye! After an accident, and an inquest, and a suit for damages,"
returned the Scotchman, with a dry smile and twinkle of the eye.
"Come! come! Mr. Dunlop, you have a rather bad opinion of us, I know;
but for our own sakes, you know, we want to have everything right about
the mills. And as for all these other things--why, if we went to
pampering and coddling those people to that extent, they would think so
much of themselves, that by and by they wouldn't want to work at all.
Why now, if we were to do as they ask, increase their pay and shorten
their hours, how could we compete with firms that went in the old way?
The thing is preposterous. As it is, those people who get their pay
regularly and have no care, are better off, this minute, if they only
knew it, than we who have all the care and responsibility, that they
know nothing about. Let me help you to a bit of partridge; you'll find
it just right, I think."
"And would you be caring to exchange with one of them?" persisted Mr.
Dunlop, as he accepted the slice of partridge.
"Why, no, of course, it wouldn't suit me any more than my work would
suit them."
"That's a very fallacious test of yours, Mr. Dunlop," interposed the
sagacious Mr. Wharton. "As Mr. Pomeroy says, what would suit one
wouldn't suit another. And then, the environment we are accustomed to
counts for something. Our friend here, accustomed to his charming
surroundings, as a matter of course, could not lose them without real
deprivation. But a man unused to them would find them only a burden.
Depend upon it, things in this world find their own level after all."
"Of course they do," rejoined Mr. Pomeroy; "as for all this talk about
'Fraternity and Equality,' the stuff such people as this Graeme are so
fond of spouting--poisonous trash!--it's simply making people
discontented with the inevitable conditions of life, and doing them no
possible good. It's so much rank poison, morally speaking, is it not,
Mr. Chillingworth?"
The clergyman had been listening silently, but he now readily responded.
"Oh, there is no doubt in my mind that all the evils complained of--and
no doubt there are some hardships--can be remedied in only one way, in
the spread of the Christian spirit of love and service which must
eventually prevail over selfish and partial views."
"And that would probably have been your verdict, in the last generation,
as against abolitionists like Garrison and Phillips and Whittier, would
it not?" remarked Mr. Archer, in his even, cool, slightly satirical
tones. "Slavery would die out gradually, as the Christian spirit spread
among the planters. But then, the question would have been, again, Who
should _begin_? Slave-holder number one wouldn't want to begin till
slave-holder number two did; so it would be difficult to see how the
reformation would get started."
"Come now, Philip!" said Mrs. Pomeroy. The young man was a distant
relation of hers, and took liberties accordingly. "You don't mean to put
us all on a level with slave-holders, surely! This is a free country, I
should hope; and no one is called on to do more for his _employés_ than
he conveniently can."
"Ah, now, my dear cousin, that's a delightful sort of philosophy! Do you
know, I've sometimes found it inconvenient to pay my clerks, when I had
been going in heavily for opera-tickets--I'm glad to think I'm not
called on to do more than I conveniently can."
Philip Archer could always turn the most serious argument into a joke
when he pleased--and he always pleased at a certain point--but Mr.
Wharton was not going to let him off so easily.
"Of course you were not serious in that analogy of yours," he said.
"There can be no parallel between a distinct wrong to humanity, and
purely relative matters like wages and hours."
"And are ye sure ye have a clear comprehension of what _are_ the
_rights_ of humanity?" struck in the deep Scotch voice. Mr. Dunlop had
finished his partridge, and, having laid down his knife and fork, seemed
ready to begin hostilities in earnest.
"I tell ye what it is," he went on, without waiting for a reply, "it
would pay all you capitalists and employers just to take a look into
things a little, to see what your men are doing and thinking--what the
'Knights' and 'Unions' are after--and consider if ye couldn't arrive at
some rational understanding. There's nothing would propitiate them
quicker than that. This thing's going to grow! It's young yet, and only
totters on its feet; but by and by it will be as we say in Scotland,
'neither to haud nor to bind!' Awhile ago, ye were speaking of
'Fraternity and Equality,' Mr. Pomeroy. There was a third thing that
went wi' them in the old days, that ye didna' mention! We're supposed to
have got _Liberty_, and it's bound to work out its own salvation. I tell
ye there's a big, silent army, marshalling without fife or drum, and if
ye persist in ignoring it, as the grandees of France did before _their_
Revolution, _ye'll_ maybe have a revolution, too. What if the men were
growing nae poorer? They see you all growing richer, the style of living
rising on all hands. Can they be o' the same stock with you, and no want
to rise too? And then wi' your 'protection' an' your 'combines,' ye're
loading them down wi' a greater weight o' taxation than it took to make
your ancestors rise and fight, shoulder to shoulder, for their
independence! But ye won't see it! It's been aye the way, 'Whom the gods
would destroy they first make mad'!"
"Why, Mr. Dunlop, I had no idea you were such a pessimist! You must have
been taking an extra dose of Carlyle!" said Mr. Pomeroy, evidently
trying to smooth out a frown, and retain his usual bland exterior.
"Aye! I've read my 'French Revolution' to some purpose, an' human
nature's the same in all places and ages," was the grim reply.
"And what would you have us poor blinded creatures do?" inquired his
host; "take all our men into partnership? A nice muddle they'd soon make
of it!"
Miss Harley had been listening with deep interest to the little
skirmish, her cheek flushing slightly, and her clear eyes shining with
some vivid emotion. Now she spoke, with a soft clearness of tone that
seemed to give every word additional weight.
"I think," she said, "that we, in England, have got so much accustomed
now to the word _coöperation_, that it begins to sound quite natural to
us. Mr. Ruskin, of course, did a great deal to drive it into us, and a
good many others have caught it up. And I can tell you something of the
success of one experiment. My father had extensive works in Wiltshire.
He had been reading Ruskin's _Fors Clavigera_, mainly on social matters,
you know, and, being a Quaker, and having strict ideas as to duty, he
began to think he wasn't using his men quite fairly. He knew, too, that
there were some socialists among them, trying to breed mischief, and he
thought he would try an experiment. So he invited a large number of the
more intelligent of the men to meet him and hear his report of the state
of the business. He laid it all before them, in the most precise and
business-like way, explained the assets and debts--cost of working,
annual proceeds, and all. He tried to give them an idea of the risks
run, the capital needed, the fluctuations of trade, and so on, and then
he told them that he would give to each man who proved his steadiness,
and who chose to accept it, instead of wages, a certain share in the
profits, graduated according to the value of his work. Of course it was
only the picked men who accepted. The more shiftless and less
intelligent preferred to take their ordinary wage, which was always a
generous one, thinking 'a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush'.
But the others made, my father used to say, 'capital partners'--they
took such an interest in the business, were constantly suggesting little
improvements and ways of saving waste, and were always on the lookout
for all carelessness or 'scamped work' among the other men. And when a
tight time came, they were able to convince the others that if they were
kept on at all, it must be at a reduction. 'You see _we_ can't afford
more,' I've heard one man say to another, going home from work. And when
there were 'strikes' and failures all around, his business continued to
live on, like an organic creature, as he used to say, drawing itself in
or letting itself out according to circumstances. And sometimes the
generosity of the men in a slack time used to bring tears to his eyes,
as he would tell us about it with pleasure and pride."
Every one had listened with interest to the pleasant little episode. Mr.
Chillingworth's dark eyes had lighted up with enthusiasm.
"Ah, that was beautiful, indeed!" he said, with a warmer spontaneity
than usual. "Thank you, indeed, Miss Harley, for telling us about it.
That is how things should stand between master and men. We have some
noble men in the old land yet!"
"Now, Mr. Chillingworth," broke in his hostess, "you're not going to go
back on _us_, surely!"
"By no means! but you must pardon an Englishman his pride in the old
stock."
"I should quite imagine," remarked Mr. Pomeroy, "that in such an old
country as England, so conservative in all social matters, and so
tenacious of vested rights, such a plan of coöperation would answer very
well. But it would be quite a different thing, in a more democratic
community, to let workmen get in any degree a hand on the reins.
Business is too complex here--financiering too delicate. It would be
like letting a bull into a china shop."
A lady has one great advantage in an argument, that she cannot be
abruptly choked off, especially by her host, no matter how distasteful
her arguments may be. Perhaps Miss Harley was conscious of this
advantage, for she forthwith proceeded to describe, at some length, a
most successful profit-sharing enterprise which her father had taken her
to see, at Guise, in French Flanders; a great foundry which owed its
prosperity, mainly, to the zeal, and enterprise of Monsieur Godin, a
disciple of Fourrier's, who had consecrated his life to elevate the
condition of workingmen. The capital, she said, was gradually being
transferred to the workmen, who already owned more than half a million
dollars worth of stock; and the success, so far, was most encouraging.
She then described enthusiastically the great _Familistère_, or
residence establishment, begun by Godin about 1859--the large
quadrangular buildings with courts covered in with glass, the
coöperative shops and schools, the arrangements even for coöperative
char-women, till it seemed as if she were quoting from some dreamer's
Utopian fable. Mr. Archer took a mischievous delight in drawing her out
on the subject, as Mr. Pomeroy subsided into silent endurance till, at
length, to the host's evident relief, the ladies rose to leave the
table, when he quickly switched the conversation off on a political
track.