"I'm going this road," said Darius, when they were safely out of the
Bank, pointing towards the Sytch.
"What for?"
"I'm going this road," he repeated, gloomily obstinate.
"All right," said Edwin cheerfully. "I'll trot round with you."
He did not know whether he could safely leave his father. The old man's
eyes resented his assiduity and accepted it.
They passed the Old Sytch Pottery, the smoke of whose kilns now no
longer darkened the sky. The senior partner of the firm which leased it
had died, and his sons had immediately taken advantage of his absence to
build a new and efficient works down by the canal-side at Shawport--a
marvel of everything save architectural dignity. Times changed. Edwin
remarked on the desolation of the place and received no reply. Then the
idea occurred to him that his father was bound for the Liberal Club. It
was so. They both entered. In the large room two young men were
amusing themselves at the billiard-table which formed the chief
attraction of the naked interior, and on the ledges of the table were
two glasses. The steward in an apron watched them.
"Aye!" grumbled Darius, eyeing the group. "That's Rad, that is! That's
Rad! Not twelve o'clock yet!"
If Edwin with his father had surprised two young men drinking and
playing billiards before noon in the Conservative Club, he would have
been grimly pleased. He would have taken it for a further proof of the
hollowness of the opposition to the great Home Rule Bill; but the
spectacle of a couple of wastrels in the Liberal Club annoyed and shamed
him. His vague notion was that at such a moment of high crisis the two
wastrels ought to have had the decency to refrain from wasting.
"Well, Mr Clayhanger," said the steward, in his absurd boniface way,
"you're quite a stranger."
"I want my name taken off this Club," said Darius shortly. "Ye
understand me! And I reckon I'm not the only one, these days."
The steward did in fact understand. He protested in a low, amiable
voice, while the billiard-players affected not to hear; but he perfectly
understood. The epidemic of resignations had already set in, and there
had been talk of a Liberal-Unionist Club. The steward saw that the
grand folly of a senile statesman was threatening his own future
prospects. He smiled. But at Edwin, as they were leaving, he smiled in
a quite peculiar way, and that smile clearly meant: "Your father goes
dotty, and the first thing he does is to change his politics." This was
the steward's justifiable revenge.
"_You_ aren't leaving us?" the steward questioned Edwin in a half-whisper.
Edwin shook his head. But he could have killed the steward for that
nauseating suggestive smile. The outer door swung to, cutting off the
delicate click of billiard balls.
At the top of Duck Bank, Darius silently and without warning mounted the
steps of the Conservative Club. Doubtless he knew how to lay his hand
instantly on a proposer and seconder. Edwin did not follow him.
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