THE FIGHT AND THE RESULT
A little later Brunford was wild with excitement. It is true the
Government had not yet resigned, and as a consequence the General
Election was not yet upon them, but all felt that there was a crisis in
the political situation, and that the battle would be a very keen one
indeed. Mr. Bolitho was spending all the time he possibly could in
Brunford, while Mary Bolitho had resumed her work of canvassing the
poorer streets. More than once Paul, in going round the town, had seen
her, but she never looked toward him, and seemed to be utterly
regardless of his presence. All the same, Paul felt sure she had seen
him, and her presence, even although she had become the fixed star of
his life, strengthened his determination to get the better of her
father in this fight. So entirely did he devote himself to his
political work that, in the main, he left business matters to his
partner.
"Things are safe in your hands, Preston," he said, "and everything is
going smoothly. Now I'm on this job I mean to win."
"I'd rather you'd stick to business, Paul," said Preston. "We're
walking on slippery ground just now. You know we've made our money by
a speciality, and it needs a lot of watching."
"Yes," said Paul. "It was because we decided to specialise that we've
been so successful. We discovered our secret and we've made the most
of it."
"Yes," urged the other, "but we've a lot of stuff in our warehouse just
now; as you know, we've kept it because we believed that prices would
go up. If the prices were to go down now, we should be ruined."
"But they won't go down," said Paul; "they can't. We've the monopoly
of it. And when winter comes everybody will be buying it."
"I should feel safer," said Preston, "if you'd give more of your time
to it. But there, I'll do my best, although I don't like the look on
Ned Wilson's face."
"Ned Wilson's face!" said Paul. "What do you mean, lad?"
"I mean that yesterday he met me in the reading-room of the Mechanics'
Institute and he just laughed. 'How goes the speciality, Preston?' he
said. 'Is it a speciality? Are you the only people who manufacture
it?' And I didn't know what to say, Paul, for I know he hates us like
poison, while I believe he has a special grudge against you. We can't
afford to play pranks, while Ned Wilson can."
But Paul paid little attention to this. He had now fully embarked on
this political fight. The town had to be canvassed. Meetings had to
be addressed. Committees had to be formed. In fact, he had to devote
the whole of his time to the fight which had engrossed him completely.
The whole country was at that time agog with the expectation that the
Government would resign and that an election would be immediately upon
them, and Paul, being fully aware of this, had determined to leave
nothing to chance. He had complete confidence in Preston's business
capacity, and felt that everything was safe. Thus, when one day the
news flashed along a thousand wires that the Government had resigned
and that a General Election was upon them, he was glad he had given
himself heart and soul to this political struggle. He did not know why
it was, but it seemed to him that upon it depended everything. If he
could win in this fight, he was sure, although it would alienate Mary
Bolitho from him, it would also open up the way to their future
meetings. It would enhance her respect for him. He believed he read
her like a book. She was ambitious even as he was, and she would scorn
the man who was easily beaten. He felt his chances had improved; at
each meeting he addressed he became more confident and spoke with more
effect. The inwardness of politics, too, possessed him more fully.
During his spare hours he had been reading the lives of eminent
politicians. He called to mind those words of Disraeli: "Read no
history, nothing but biography, for that is life without theory." He
had followed this advice, and in reading the life of great politicians
had laid hold of the history of the century. Everything had been made
vivid to him, especially the struggles of the working classes.
Moreover, in studying the lives of great men, he had grasped the
principles on which they worked, and politics had become to him not a
mere abstraction, not a matter of expediency, but something concrete, a
great working philosophy. This fact had enriched his speeches, and
thus it came about that when Mr. Bolitho read them, he discovered that
he was fighting not with an ignoramus, but with a man with a powerful
mind, a man who, given reasonable circumstances, would be bound to make
himself felt.
Mr. Bolitho, too, realised the force of what his daughter had said to
him; Paul was not a man to be easily beaten, and that, unless some
extraordinary events took place, he, Mr. Bolitho, would not be able to
gain the victory. He discussed this matter long and seriously with Mr.
Wilson and his son Ned, and presently, when they were within a
fortnight of the polling day, he began to look serious indeed. It is
true Mary Bolitho had won many votes and had removed much of the
personal prejudice that had been created against him; nevertheless, he
saw that Paul had gripped the town in a way which he was unable to do,
and because the young man had entered into the life and thoughts of the
people, he was able to express their feelings in a way not possible to
him.
"It would be the bitterest blow of my life if I failed," he said to
young Ned Wilson and his father one night, on their return from one of
their meetings. "I should never dare to put my foot in Brunford again,
neither would Mary, if this young upstart got the better of us."
"Never fear!" said young Ned. "I'll promise you he shall not win this
election, Mr. Bolitho."
A little later Mr. Wilson was called away to see someone, and Ned and
Mr. Bolitho were left together.
"You speak with great certainty, Ned," said Mr. Bolitho, who had come
to address the young manufacturer with great freedom.
"I do," replied Ned. "Mr. Bolitho, I'm a plain man, may I say
something to you now?"
"Say what you will, my lad!"
"Well, then, I love your daughter, and I want to make her my wife.
Will you let me have her?"
"I don't know Mary's feelings about the matter," said Mr. Bolitho.
"But supposing you win this election, will you do your best for me?"
There was a kind of challenge in Ned's voice as he spoke.
"I'll promise not to oppose you, anyhow."
"No, that will not do," said Ned, and his voice became tremulous.
"Look here, this is a tremendous business to me. I want you to
understand that life, happiness, everything depends upon my being able
to win Mary. With her I feel I could do great things. I could go into
Parliament myself, ay, and make a name too. I'm not a fool, Mr.
Bolitho. There are but few men who know more about Lancashire life
than I do, I am intimately acquainted with every detail of Lancashire
business, and although I ought not to say it, since I've been made a
partner in our firm, I have more than doubled our income. I have a
great deal of power, Mr. Bolitho, too, more than you think; I could
cause you to lose this election, and I can make you win it."
"How?" asked the other. His voice was keen and sharp.
"I will not tell you how," replied Ned. "But I can make you win it.
Perhaps there's not another man but myself that can. And you shall,
too, if you'll promise to do your best for me with Mary. Is it a
bargain?"
Mr. Bolitho did not speak. For the moment he was under great
excitement. The fear that he would lose the seat had entered his
heart, and, as he had more than once said, the desire to win in
everything he undertook was a kind of passion with him. He would do a
great deal, and give a great deal, to win this election, not because he
thought it would add much either to his fame or to his position, but
because the eagerness to be conqueror was almost like a disease.
"Come, now," repeated Ned. "Is it a bargain? If I win you this
election, will you do your best for me with Mary. Of course, I don't
ask you to force her--she's not a girl to be forced--but will you do
your best? Mind you, I love her like my own life, and I'll devote
every power I have to make her happy!"
"I'll say this," said Mr. Bolitho, still labouring under great
excitement, "I'll not oppose you, and if I can make the way easy for
you, I will--there!"
"Very well," cried Ned, with flashing eyes. "That's a bargain, then.
You may regard the seat as safe!"
Within a week from that time there were strange rumours in Brunford.
It was said that the financial position of Stepaside and Preston was
not safe. They were only rumours at first, and people paid little
attention to them, but they grew in volume, grew in directness of
statement. Five days before the election Preston came to Paul with a
white face. He looked as though he had spent a sleepless night. "Look
here, Paul," he said. "You must give up this political business!"
"Give it up!" said Paul. "I cannot. We are only five days from
polling, and I cannot spare a minute for anything else."
"I tell you you must give it up!" cried Preston. "And even now you
must come and give me two hours right away!"
Paul shook his head. "I've got to meet my committees, my canvassers.
I wouldn't lose this fight now for a thousand pounds."
"It means more than the loss of a thousand pounds, it means the loss of
everything!"
"Everything!"
"Yes, everything. Look here, Paul, you know we've kept ourselves hard,
and we've overdrawn at the bank, because we felt sure our stuff was
going up. Well, it hasn't gone up. There's been a sudden drop in it!
Look here." And he showed him that morning's newspaper. Paul looked
at his watch. "I must go to these committee meetings," he said.
"But you can't," urged Preston. "I am not strong enough to deal with
these things. Only you can get us out of this hole, and I doubt
whether it's not too late even now! There's something at the bottom of
this, Paul, and you must go into it. There's an enemy in the camp
somewhere. There's no reason why our stuff should go down, the demand
for it is greater than ever, but somebody's underselling us. Why, it
can't be manufactured at the price mentioned there." And he pointed to
the paper.
"Very well," said Paul, "you go round to the committee-rooms and tell
them I can't be there to-day."
He went towards his office with a great fear in his heart. Before the
day was out he realised the truth of Preston's words. He found that,
unknown to them, someone else had gained the secret of the special
stuff that they had been manufacturing. That, unknown to them, a large
amount of it had been placed upon the market, and placed upon it at
such a price that even if they sold every piece they manufactured they
would have to do so at a very great loss. Indeed, it seemed to him as
though ruin stared him in the face! He hurried from Brunford to
Manchester, then back again--he went from mill to mill, and had various
interviews with the most important people in the town, and everywhere
he was met with the same difficulty.
Still, he would not give up the political fight. More than
money--honour, life were at stake, and he must carry the thing through.
Three days before the election every voter in the town received, not
merely their usual election literature, but an anonymous circular. It
made no statements, but asked a series of questions concerning the
financial obligations of Messrs. Stepaside and Preston. It showed the
most minute knowledge of all Paul's liabilities, of the work he had
undertaken, of the position in which he stood. Before the day was out
there was not a voter in Brunford but who had read and discussed the
circular which had been sent. No libellous statement had been made,
and yet a hundred things had been suggested--inability, carelessness,
ignorance, fraud, chicanery had all been hinted at, and hinted at
cleverly. And yet no word of libel had been used, only the sting of
the circular lay in the tail, and it was contained in these words:
"Stepaside is the man that controls Stepaside and Preston. Is he the
man whom we can trust to represent Brunford?"
A meeting of the general committee was called next night. If anything
could be done, it must be done quickly. No one knew who had issued
this circular--the name of the printer was not there. It had come by
post from London. Who had sent it no one could tell. But here was the
fact--its contents were of the most damning nature. It hinted that
Paul was on the verge of bankruptcy, and that he owed his position to
wild speculation, if not to fraudulent dealings. Paul's face was pale
when he met the committee. "I want to face this matter fairly,
gentlemen," he said. "You know that it was under pressure that I
consented to fight for the seat, and to represent your interests. I
did so in good faith. I believed my business was on a sound basis;
nevertheless, many things in the circular are true." He then went on
to tell how he stood commercially. He described his position in terms
with which his hearers were familiar, but which I need not try and
reproduce here. Indeed, it will be well that I should not, because the
matter is still discussed in the town of Brunford. But he had no
difficulty in convincing all present that he had acted honourably, and
that an enemy had been at work. Still, what was he to do? He could
not deny the statements made, and it was, doubtless, a fact that he
stood on the verge of ruin. His supporters, moreover, were mainly of
the working class, and the rich men, the employers, were supporters of
Mr. Bolitho. Besides, as was natural, the bank which had backed him
was anxious concerning the whole matter.
"The question is," said Paul, "what do you wish me to do? Shall I
resign, now at the eleventh hour? If I do, it will be a sign of
weakness. It will be a confession that every word in this circular is
true. It will proclaim the fact that I am afraid to face the future."
"Can'st a face the future, Paul?" asked one.
"I believe I can," he said, "and yet it is so uncertain that I feel I
must place myself in your hands."
"And let t'other side beat us?" cried an old weaver. "Nay, nay, Paul.
We mun fight to the end!"
This was unanimously agreed upon, but Paul knew that a deadly blow had
been struck, struck by an unseen hand, and in such a way that he had no
means of parrying it. He knew, too, that nothing was so fickle as
popular favour. A fortnight before, a week before, he felt sure of a
clear thousand majority, but he knew that there were thousands in
Brunford who would be influenced by what they had been discussing, and
would as likely as not turn against him. Still, now that his committee
had resolved to fight to the end, he determined he would not fail them,
and during the next few days he threw himself into the fray with
renewed ardour. He seemed to do ten men's work, and although the
clouds hung heavily over his head, he roused his meetings to tremendous
enthusiasm. At factory gates, at crossroads, in the market square and
in the public halls, he proclaimed his views, and did his best to
answer the thousand insulting queries which were constantly flung at
him. But he fought as one who despaired. He knew he was fighting a
losing battle, and even although there was ever a ring of defiance in
his voice, there was never a note of victory.
At length the polling-day came, and he watched the course of events
eagerly. Up to now he had never once come into personal contact with
Mr. Bolitho. Perhaps he had studiously avoided meeting his opponent,
and certainly Mr. Bolitho had not been anxious to meet him. They had
passed each other in the streets, but neither had taken notice of the
other, and Paul had never once made reference to the treatment he had
received at the barrister's hands years before. Let this be said, too,
as far as Mr. Bolitho was concerned, he had never, at any of his
meetings, referred to the circular which had created such commotion.
Whether he had kept silent as a matter of policy, or because he felt it
would have been striking below the belt to do so, I cannot say, but
certain it is that neither in public nor in private had he ever been
known to pass any opinion on the crisis through which Paul was passing.
The polling booths closed at eight o'clock on the fourteenth of
December, and then crowds moved towards the town hall, where the voting
papers were to be counted. It had been announced that the figures
would be known soon after eleven o'clock, and thousands of people
waited outside the huge building, wondering as to the result of the
day's voting. Of course, Paul and some of his supporters were in the
counting chamber, and Paul noticed that Mr. Bolitho passed from table
to table, talking eagerly with his friends. Evidently the voting was
very close. The little heaps of voting papers were placed along the
table, and it seemed as though neither had the advantage. More than
once Paul was within a foot of his opponent, but neither spoke a word.
It seemed as though something sealed their lips. There was something
more than parties that divided them--something deeper, something
personal, something that went down to the roots of life.
At length a hush came over the counting chamber. The last of the
voting papers had been taken from the boxes, and the little piles of
fifty were duly placed and counted. The mayor of the town was at his
post, looking very pale and important. A half-sheet of paper was in
his hand. "Gentlemen," he said, "I am now prepared to make known the
results of the day's voting. It's been a very close fight, and there
are less than two hundred votes in it." He did not know whether he was
using the correct words or not. In fact he did not care. He was,
perhaps, the most excited man in the room, not even excepting the two
candidates. "It is as follows," he went on. "Bolitho----" He went no
farther, for there was a great shout throughout the chamber. The
employers looked at each other with gladness and satisfaction--their
side had won! The working-men element looked grim and defiant.
"Silence!" proceeded the mayor. "Bolitho, 7,213; Stepaside, 7,080. It
is my duty to declare that Mr. Bolitho is elected."
For the first time Mr. Bolitho turned towards Paul, and the young man
noticed the look of triumph in his face. "You see, we've won!" he
said. "In spite of everything, we've won!"
It was not the words so much, but the tone of his voice that maddened
Paul. Throughout the day he had been in a state of intense excitement.
It seemed to him as though his nerves were raw, and he knew that he was
on the point of a breakdown. Bolitho's tones, therefore, maddened him,
and he was almost beside himself. "Yes, you have won," he said. "But
how?"
"How?" laughed the other, and he was ashamed of himself for speaking
the words, but he, too, was strangely wrought upon. "How? By honour
and fair play!"
"Gentlemen," said the mayor, "I must announce the numbers to the crowd
outside. There are thousands of people who have been waiting for hours
to know the results, and they will not go away until they hear them.
Of course, too, they will expect a few words from Mr. Bolitho and Mr.
Stepaside."
It took some minute or two to make the arrangements for this, and Paul,
smarting under the sting of what his opponent had said, burst forth,
"Honour and fair play! Was it honour and fair play to besmear my
mother's name, to throw reflections upon my birth? Was it honour and
fair play to speak of me as an atheist? Was it honour and fair play to
send out a circular, unsigned and untraceable, which threw out
innuendoes about my financial position? And, more than all, was it
honour and fair play to seek to ruin me?"
"I never once referred to the circular!" replied Mr. Bolitho.
"You never condemned it!" cried the young man. "You allowed the poison
to work, and took advantage of it! And more than that, you know as
well as I that the whole thing was arranged for. In order to win this
election, you stopped at nothing, even my ruin!"
Paul had barely ceased speaking when he saw that Mary Bolitho stood
immediately behind her father and had heard all he said. He saw, too,
that Mr. Bolitho's face had become pale as ashes, and he felt sure that
his words had wounded him.
"I did nothing to ruin you," he said at length.
"But were glad when you heard of it!" replied the young man. "And you
did not hesitate to drag in the religious business. That, at all
events, you cannot deny!"
At this the older man's face cleared, except that the mocking smile
remained on his lips.
"That, of course, was inevitable," he replied. "We had to deal with
the question of education, of religious education. How could I keep,
then, from dealing with personal matters? You believe in a mere
secular education, and proclaim your views with no uncertain voice. I,
who am convinced that a mere secular education would ruin the country,
had to oppose you, and had to deal with your personal attitude to the
whole matter. You cannot deny that! Have the courage of your
convictions, man, and stand by them!" And Paul noted the taunt in his
voice.
"I have!" he replied. "I deny nothing of what I have said, and your
attitude has made me believe less in your religion than ever.
Why"--and his voice became tense and bitter--"I'm willing to allow my
religion to be tested by this election. I have not uttered one wrong
word about you. I have done nothing to defame your character, in spite
of what has passed. And yet you have sneered at my 'ignorant atheism
and blatant unbelief.' Is that religion? Is that playing the game?
You, who profess to be a gentleman! You, who have had all the
advantages of education! You, who boast of playing the game, and not
fouling the pitch! Even if you have not openly said these things, you
have allowed your supporters to blacken my mother's name. You have
used foul gossip as a weapon with which to fight. You have allowed a
devilish circular to be sent out, and never condemned it. And you have
been willing to benefit by the attempts to ruin me!"
Paul watched Mary Bolitho's face as he spoke, and he noted the
vindictive anger in her eyes, he knew that he was alienating himself
more completely from her by the words he used. But he did not care; he
was past caring! The election was lost. He had failed in the fight.
The woman he loved and hated at the same time scorned him more than
ever--and ruin stared him in the face!
Mr. Bolitho shrugged his shoulders. He had been too long before the
public to heed attacks of this sort. He had been hardened by many a
fight in the law courts, and he knew how little such words might mean.
Besides, he was naturally in a good humour. He had won the fight. He
was Member for Brunford.
"Do not let us dwell on personalities, Mr. Stepaside!" he said. "After
all, it's the principles of our party which have won. You have fought
a good fight"--and his voice became very condescending as he
spoke--"but truth and right were too strong for you, and the country is
turning against you."
"Come, gentlemen," said the mayor. "We are all ready." And with that
he stepped through the window on to the balcony above the entrance to
the town hall, while the opponents and their supporters followed. The
whole of the street outside the town hall was brilliantly lit by
torches, and by the street lamps, so that the eager, upturned faces of
the thousands who surged between the steps of Hanover Chapel and those
of the town hall could be plainly seen. Directly they saw the mayor
the people gave a great shout, and then a silence followed like the
silence of death.
"Gentlemen," said the mayor, "I am here to announce the results of the
election. They are as follows: Bolitho-----" At that word a roar from
the people seemed to rend the heavens. With some it was a shout of
victory, with others it was a cry of defeat and anger. It was easy to
see the excitement on their faces. One could even tell what they were
saying, so vivid was the light which fell upon them. "Bolitho's in,
good!" "Stepaside is out, it's a shame!" "It's noan been a fair
fight!" "We mun 'a' a petition!" "Nay, nay, it's no use now!" And so
on. Only those close to the balcony heard the figures. The noise of
the crowd made it impossible for the people standing near Hanover
Chapel gates to bear a word which the chief magistrate had uttered.
Presently, however, a great hush came over the crowd again. The people
saw Mr. Bolitho step forward, but only one sentence was heard,
"Gentlemen," he said, "we have fought a good fight, and we have won
it!" Of course, his supporters shouted wildly, but the cries of
antagonism were stronger. Voices became more and more angry. It might
seem as though a riot were possible.
Mr. Bolitho, however, continued his speech, which, although the people
in the street could not hear, was plain to those who stood on the
balcony. He thanked the people for supporting him. He remarked that
he had come there a stranger, and was now their friend. He declared
that his duty was no longer to a part but the whole of the voters, that
he should recognise no difference between one section of the people and
another. It was for him to represent the town as a whole, which he
intended to do faithfully and loyally. He desired, also, to compliment
his opponent on the spirit in which he had conducted his part of the
battle, and for the straight fight which had been the consequence. He
referred to a few of his most prominent supporters, and then, raising
his voice so loudly that it reached to the extreme limits of the crowd,
he said: "It may seem bad taste on my part to refer to one without whom
I should never have won this election." At this even the most
turbulent became silent again, they wanted to hear what he had to say.
"I owe my victory," he said, "and you owe your victory, to my daughter,
Mary." And placing his hand upon her shoulder, he drew her forward.
"Here!" he cried, "is your real victor in the battle!"
There was great cheering at this, and even his bitterest opponents did
not resent it. The light fell strongly upon the girl's face, and even
Paul could not help reflecting how beautiful she looked. Her eyes were
flashing with excitement, her lips wreathed with smiles. No wonder she
had fascinated him, no wonder, in spite of the fact that he hated her
father, he almost worshipped her, even while he hated her.
"Speech, speech!" yelled the crowd. "Speech from Miss Mary Bolitho!"
She looked at her father, who nodded, and then the girl stepped
forward, while every ear was strained so as not to miss a word she
should say. It was a picture long to be remembered. Even to this day
it is talked about in Brunford. She only spoke a few words, but her
voice rang out clearly in the still air.
"I am glad I ever came to Brunford," she said. "I have learnt to love
the people, and--thank you!"
That was all, but the laugh on her face, the laugh in her voice, her
girlish presence, her winsome manner had done a great deal to soften
the hardest heart. Indeed, many believed that she had kept thousands
from angry words, and perhaps from angry deeds, by her presence.
"Ay, but oo is bonnie!" "No wonder her feyther is proud on her!" "A
gradely lass and a'!" was heard everywhere. And then a silence fell
upon the crowd again, which was followed by another mighty shout,
louder than any which had yet been heard.
Paul Stepaside came forward, his face pale to the lips, his eyes
burning like coals of fire. Black rage was in his heart, for he felt
himself to be ignominiously beaten, and yet, with that stubborn
persistency which characterised him, and a pride which rose above
everything, he would not show it. "My good friends and comrades," he
said, "we've been beaten this time, but we'll win yet. If you will
have me, I mean to be Member for Brunford, in spite of everything. Mr.
Bolitho has won this time, but it will not be for long. He and I will
meet again, for I'm not one who gives up. For the moment I'm under a
cloud, but only for a moment. The stars in their courses are on the
side of those who are on the side of right. And we are on the right,
and I've fought a straight battle. Yes, Mr. Bolitho and I will meet
again--it may be under circumstances different from these, but we shall
surely meet, and always to fight! He must not think, because he has
gained this victory, that he will always be victorious. If I'm not
your Member to-day, I will be to-morrow. And the time will come when
he will not rejoice in the victory to-day as he has rejoiced in it
to-night!"
Afterwards Paul was angry with himself that he had said this. He had
meant to utter no vindictive word, and yet he knew that every sentence
he uttered contained a threat, a threat which at that time seemed to
him to have no meaning. He felt ashamed of himself, too, and it seemed
to him on reflection that he had been churlish even almost to
childishness. And yet the words came to him in spite of himself, and
he had flung them out eagerly, almost triumphantly. Even Mr. Bolitho
felt a shiver pass through his body as Paul spoke. His speech seemed
to contain a kind of prophecy. There was something ominous about it.
It seemed to tell of dark days to come, of tragedy--why, he could not
understand, but so it was.
It was all over at length. The crowd broke up and wended their way
towards their various homes. Mr. Bolitho went to the club, supported
by his followers, while Paul also resorted to the gathering-place most
frequently used by the class whose cause he had hoped to represent.
For hours there was speechifying and loud talking. For hours words
were bandied, explanations offered, and threats made. At length,
however, silence reigned in the town; and Paul was about to find his
way back to his lodgings, when his partner, George Preston, came to
him, accompanied by a man whom they had employed to try and find out
the secret cause of the ruin which stared them in the face.
"Paul," said Preston, "you've finished now. Can I go with you to your
lodgings?"
"Yes," replied Paul. "What is it?"
"Something that will keep till we are alone," replied the young man
laconically. "On the whole, I'm glad we didn't know two days ago what
I know now. It's best as it is, Paul. I can see you are terribly
disappointed at not getting in, but, for my part, I'm glad. After all,
business, with me, is more than politics. You should have waited, lad,
waited till our position was safe, before you started this fight.
Still, you couldn't help it. It was not your fault that the election
came on this year instead of next, and the chaps meant to have you."
"But tell me, what is it?" asked Paul. His mind had become so confused
by the scenes of excitement through which he had passed that he could
not realise the drift of his partner's words.
"No," replied the other sternly; "let's wait until we get to your
lodgings. We must be alone. I tell you, if you knew what you'll know
now, when you were speaking from the balcony, there would have been a
row. But, never mind, it's best as it is."
They walked on through the narrow, comparatively deserted streets,
until presently they arrived at a comfortable-looking house in the
Liverpool Road, where Paul's rooms were now situated.
"Now, then, tell me," said the young man, when they were seated.
"Is everybody here gone to bed?" asked Standring, the man who had
accompanied them, but who had not yet spoken.
"Hours since," replied Paul. "No election ever fought would keep them
out of bed after eleven o'clock."
"That's well." And he took out a bundle of papers from his pocket and
laid them on the table.
"You don't expect me to read them to-night?" said Paul. "I tell you, I
couldn't. My brain's too fagged."
"No," replied Standring, "they need not be read tonight, but I put them
there in case you should want to refer to them. They are proofs of
what I'm going to tell you." Paul noted that this young fellow's voice
was set and stern; he realised that the matter he wished to discuss was
serious. He was a pale-faced, quiet-looking young fellow, this Enoch
Standring, not given to talking much, or to assert himself to any great
degree. Up to a year before he had been a book-keeper in one of the
mills, and Paul, recognising in him what others had failed to see, had
given him a position of trust in his own employ. Directly the circular
to which I have referred was sent out to the voters of Brunford, Paul
had instructed him to discover what it meant and who was the man who
was responsible for it. Enoch Standring had something of the
sleuthhound in his nature. For three days and nights he had worked.
Almost without sleep, and with but little food, he had laboured
quietly, unobtrusively, never arousing suspicions, but always
effectively. And now he was prepared to give the result of that work.
"You must cast your mind back a bit, Mr. Stepaside," he said, "and then
ask yourself one thing. Is there anyone in Brunford who has a grudge
against you?"
"Yes," said Paul. "It's known, is that grudge. It is well known that
several years ago Ned Wilson and I had a quarrel which neither of us
have forgotten."
"Yes," said Enoch, "and remember what's happened since. There was a
riot, and you were dragged into it in spite of yourself."
"I know," said Paul. "But surely you don't mean----"
"I mean nothing," replied Standring. "I only ask you to bear it in
mind. You were dragged into it in spite of yourself. Although you
tried to dissuade the chaps who were engaged in it from doing anything
rash, it seemed as though you were the ringleader. For that you were
sent to Strangeways Gaol for six months. Who employed Bolitho for the
prosecution? I needn't go into particulars about it; but that's one
fact. Then there's something else. When you came out, you decided to
start manufacturing, and you got the promise of a factory, with some
looms and power, cheap. Then, without any reason, you were told you
couldn't have it. Somebody else got it. Who got it? We know. I make
no comment, but there it is. Presently the election came on, and nasty
stories got to be afloat about your birth and parentage. It was
whispered about that you were a come-by-chance child, and your mother
was a bad woman. Who was responsible for that? We don't know, or, at
least, we can't prove; but, put two and two together. In spite of
everything you began to gain ground. People began to support you, and
it looked very bad for the other side. You know that; everyone knows
it. And then came this other affair. You didn't know that anyone else
was manufacturing what you manufactured. You thought it was your
secret; but the secret leaked out. I don't say who betrayed you, but
there it is. But this I've found out: an old, disused mill was taken
the other side of Manchester. Who took it? The name of the owner was
kept quiet. It was said to be run by a little private company. That
was some time ago now, and ever since that mill was taken there's been
a kind of secret as to who owned it. But I've discovered this: they
manufactured the same stuff that you manufacture. But they did not try
to sell it. They kept piling it up in their warehouses. Can you see
the meaning of this? It was kept quiet, mind; as quiet as death.
Nobody seemed to know the stuff they were turning out. Then suddenly
that stuff was pushed on the market at a price which left no margin for
profits; nay, they offered it at a price less, far less, than you can
manufacture it for. For months they had been piling it up in the
warehouses, and they were able to flood the market. Now you know why
the prices went down, and why you could not sell your stuff except at a
ruinous loss!"
Paul listened to the young man with pale face and set features. He
spoke no word, but it was easy to see that he grasped every detail
which the young man mentioned. He saw the purport of his words too.
"I see," he said quietly. "And have you found out who the owner of
that factory is?"
"Yes," replied Enoch Standring, "I have found out."
"Ned Wilson, of course," said Paul.
"Ay," replied the other laconically.
"And you have proofs?"
"Yes, I have proofs. They are all here docketed and numbered. I will
go into them whenever you're ready. They are all there."
For a few seconds a silence fell upon them, and both Enoch Standring
and George Preston watched Paul's face eagerly. They were wondering
what he was thinking. Standring felt sure that he was planning some
scheme of revenge.
"I'll be even with him for this!" said Paul presently.
Neither of them answered. They felt it was no use talking.
"But," continued Paul, "I can hardly see through it. Ned Wilson is a
man capable of the riots trick. That's just the kind of thing he would
do, but is he the man to lose money in order to satisfy his hatred?"
"Yes," said Standring, "the kind of hatred he has towards you. You
see, he's a deeper chap than you think, is Ned Wilson. I've known him
from a boy. He would carry a grudge for years. But he's been a chap
who's always been noted for paying off old scores, and he's paid you
off."
"You've not told me all yet, Standring," said Paul. "Ned Wilson had
other motives than that of paying off an old score. I see--I see!"
And he clenched his fists angrily. "Why didn't I see it before? Yes,
that's it."
"What's it?" asked Preston.
"Never mind what it is; but I see it plainly. Yes, I understand, and
he shall rue it."
For an hour they discussed the matter, and then, when presently the
others had left him, Paul sat alone thinking. It seemed to him as
though the day marked an epoch in his history. It was an end and it
was a beginning. For hours he lay in his bed, sleepless. He was
thinking of his plans for the future, thinking of the work he had to do.
The next morning he was up betimes. His mind was made up, for he saw
his way clearly now. Knowing the enemy he had to fight, he selected
the weapons that he must use, and he was no longer afraid. He went
quietly to his mill, and for hours studied his position. After that he
went to the bank and had a long talk with the manager. Then he paid a
visit to an old manufacturer who had retired, and who had shown great
friendliness towards him. After that his face cleared somewhat. The
crisis was over, at least for a time. He would have six weeks in which
to move, and in six weeks he believed that the complexion of everything
would be changed.
"No," he said to himself, "it will not be ruin. I know my man. If I
make no sign Ned Wilson is not the man who will continue to lose money
for me. He thinks I'm ruined, and so he will take this opportunity of
making his pile. He thinks he has a corner in this particular stuff.
Well, he hasn't, and this will be my opportunity."
He was some little distance from Brunford as these thoughts passed
through his mind. Old Abel Bowyer to whom he had gone, lived some
three miles from the town and he was returning from his house now.
Indeed he was entering the footpath where he had met Mary Bolitho long
months before, and he had only gone a short distance when he saw her
coming towards him.