_Wednesday, June 11th_.--Left Billsbury last Saturday, having in DICKY
DIKES's words "broken the back of the blooming canvas." During my
last night's round we went into a small house in one of the slums. The
husband was out, but the wife and family were all gathered together
in the back room. There were five children, ranging in age from ten
down to two, and the mother looked the very picture of slatternly
discomfort. We asked the usual questions, and I was just turning to
go, when I heard a violent fit of convulsive coughing from a dark
corner. The mother got up and went to the corner. I couldn't help
following, and saw the most miserable spectacle I ever set eyes on. In
a sort of cradle was lying the smallest, frailest and most absolutely
pinched and colourless baby choking with every cough, and gasping
horribly for breath. I don't know what I said, but the mother turned
to DIKES and said, "He haven't much longer to cough. I shall want the
undertakers for him soon." I asked her if nothing could be done, but
she merely replied, "It'll be better so. We've too many mouths to feed
without him." I couldn't stay longer after that, but fairly bolted out
of the house.
Our people are jubilant about our prospects. The canvas shows, they
say, a steady increase in our favour, the registrations have been
uniformly good, and, best of all, Sir THOMAS CHUBSON again voted and
spoke on the wrong side, when the Billsbury Main Drainage Bill came on
for Second Reading in the House the other day. Our point is of course
that, if this scheme were carried out, there would be a great deal of
work for Billsbury labourers, and, somehow or other, a large amount
of money would be spent in the town. We have rubbed this well in at
every meeting we have held lately, and found it a most effective
point during the canvas. CHUBSON and the Radicals talk about a great
increase of the rates which would follow on it; but we pooh-pooh this,
and point out that the ultimate saving would be enormous, and that the
health of the town must be benefited. They don't like the business at
all, and feel they've made a mistake.
Have been made on successive nights a Druid, a Forester, and a Loyal
and Ancient Shepherd. All these three are Benefit Societies, and the
mysteries of initiation into each are very similar. Colonel CHORKLE
(who ought to have gone through the business long ago) was made a
Druid with me. I never saw anybody so nervous. All the courage of
all the CHORKLES seemed to have deserted him, and he trembled like a
Volunteer aspen. I told Major WORBOYS on the following day that his
Colonel, who I was sure might be trusted to face a hostile battery
without flinching, had been very nervous when he was made a Druid.
WORBOYS sneered, and said that he'd be willing to take his chance of
CHORKLE's facing the battery or not, if CHORKLE would only learn to
ride decently. "Give you my word of honour," said WORBOYS, "when the
General inspected us last year, CHORKLE's horse ran away with him
three times, and at last we had to march past without him. One of the
tamest horses in the world, too. My boy JACK rides it constantly." But
WORBOYS despises CHORKLE, and thinks he ought to command the regiment
himself. He spread it all over Billsbury that CHORKLE was found hiding
under a table when he was summoned to be initiated, and was dragged
out screaming piteously for mercy.
On my last morning I was interviewed by a deputation from the
Billsbury Branch of The Women's Suffrage League. The deputation
consisted of Mrs. BOSER, the President of the Branch, Miss AMY
GINGELL, the Secretary, and two others. It was a trying business. Mrs.
BOSER is the most formidable person I ever met. I felt like a babe
in her hands after she had glowered at me for five minutes. Finally
I found myself, rather to my own astonishment, promising to vote for
a Women's Suffrage Bill, and adding that Mrs. BOSER's arguments had
convinced me that justice had in this matter been too long denied to
women, and that for my part, if elected, I should lose no opportunity
of recording my vote on the side of women. They seemed pleased,
but the _Meteor_ of the next day had a frightful leader about the
"shameful want of moral fibre in a Conservative Candidate who was thus
content to put the whole Constitution into the melting-pot, if by so
doing he could only secure a few stray votes, and get the help of the
women in his coal-and-blanket expeditions."
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