CHAPTER XI.
Truth is the precious harvest of the earth. But once, when harvest waved upon a land, The noisome cankerworm and caterpillar, Locusts, and all the swarming foul-born broods, Fastened upon it with swift, greedy jaws, And turned the harvest into pestilence, Until men said, What profits it to sow?
Felix was going to Sproxton that Sunday afternoon. He always enjoyed hiswalk to that outlying hamlet; it took him (by a short cut) through acorner of Sir Maximus Debarry's park; then across a piece of common,broken here and there into red ridges below dark masses of furze; andfor the rest of the way alongside of the canal, where the Sundaypeacefulness that seemed to rest on the bordering meadows and pastureswas hardly broken if a horse pulled into sight along the towing-path,and a boat, with a little curl of blue smoke issuing from its tinchimney, came slowly gliding behind. Felix retained something of hisboyish impression that the days in a canal-boat were all like Sundays;but the horse, if it had been put to him, would probably have preferreda more Judaic or Scotch rigor with regard to canal-boats, or at leastthat the Sunday towing should be done by asses, as a lower order.
This canal was only a branch of the grand trunk, and ended among thecoal-pits, where Felix, crossing a network of black tram-roads, sooncame to his destination--that public institute of Sproxton, known to itsfrequenters chiefly as Chubb's, but less familiarly as the Sugar Loaf,or the New Pits; this last being the name for the more modern and livelynucleus of the Sproxton hamlet. The other nucleus, known as the OldPits, also supported its "public," but it had something of the forlornair of an abandoned capital; and the company at the Blue Cow was of aninferior kind--equal, of course, in the fundamental attributes ofhumanity, such as desire for beer, but not equal in ability to pay forit.
When Felix arrived, the great Chubb was standing at the door. Mr. Chubbwas a remarkable publican; none of your stock Bonifaces, red, bloated,jolly, and joking. He was thin and sallow, and was never, as hisconstant guests observed, seen to be the worse (or the better) forliquor; indeed, as among soldiers an eminent general was held to have acharmed life, Chubb was held by the members of the Benefit Club to havea charmed sobriety, a vigilance over his own interest that resisted allnarcotics. His very dreams, as stated by himself, had a method in thembeyond the waking thoughts of other men. Pharaoh's dream, he observed,was nothing to them; and, as lying so much out of ordinary experience,they were held particularly suitable for narration on Sunday evenings,when the listening colliers, well washed and in their best coats, shooktheir heads with a sense of peculiar edification which belongs to theinexplicable. Mr. Chubb's reasons for becoming landlord of the SugarLoaf, were founded on the severest calculation. Having an active mind,and being averse to bodily labor, he had thoroughly considered whatcalling would yield him the best livelihood with the least possibleexertion, and in that sort of line he had seen that a "public" amongstminers who earned high wages was a fine opening. He had prosperedaccording to the merits of such judicious calculation, was already aforty-shilling freeholder, and was conscious of a vote for the county.He was not one of those mean-spirited men who found the franchiseembarrassing, and would rather have been without it: he regarded hisvote as part of his investment, and meant to make the best of it. Hecalled himself a straight-forward man, and at suitable moments expressedhis views freely; in fact, he was known to have one fundamental divisionfor all opinion--"my idee" and "humbug."
When Felix approached, Mr. Chubb was standing, as usual, with his handsnervously busy in his pockets, his eyes glancing around with a detectiveexpression at the black landscape, and his lipless mouth compressed, yetin constant movement. On a superficial view it might be supposed that soeager-seeming a personality was unsuited to the publican's business; butin fact, it was a great provocative to drinking. Like the shrill bitingtalk of a vixenish wife, it would have compelled you to "take a littlesomething" by way of dulling your sensibility.
Hitherto, notwithstanding Felix drank so little ale, the publicantreated him with high civility. The coming election was a greatopportunity for applying his political "idee," which was, that societyexisted for the sake of the individual, and that the name of thatindividual was Chubb. Now, for a conjunction of absurd circumstancesinconsistent with that idea, it happened that Sproxton hereto had beensomewhat neglected in the canvass. The head member of the company thatworked the mines was Mr. Peter Garstin, and the same company receivedthe rent from the Sugar Loaf. Hence, as the person who had the mostpower of annoying Mr. Chubb, and being of detriment to him, Mr. Garstinwas naturally the candidate for whom he had reserved his vote. But wherethere is this intention of ultimately gratifying a gentleman by votingfor him in an open British manner on the day of the poll, a man, whetherPublican or Pharisee (Mr. Chubb used this generic classification ofmankind as one that was sanctioned by Scripture), is all the freer inhis relation with those deluded persons who take him for what he is not,and imagine him to be a waverer. But for some time opportunity hadseemed barren. There were but three dubious votes besides Mr. Chubb'sin the small district of which the Sugar Loaf could be regarded as thecentre of intelligence and inspiration: the colliers, of course, had novotes, and did not need political conversion consequently, theinterests of Sproxton had only been tacitly cherished in the breasts ofcandidates. But ever since it had been known that a Radical candidatewas in the field, that in consequence of this Mr. Debarry had coalescedwith Mr. Garstin, and that Sir James Clement, the poor baronet, hadretired, Mr. Chubb had been occupied with the most ingenious mentalcombinations in order to ascertain what possibilities of profit to theSugar Loaf might lie in this altered state of the canvass.
He had a cousin in another county, also a publican, but in a larger way,and resident in a borough, and from him Mr. Chubb had gathered moredetailed political information than he could find in the Loamshirenewspapers. He was now enlightened enough to know that there was a wayof using voteless miners and navvies at nominations and elections. Heapproved of that; it entered into his political "idee"; and indeed hewould have been for extending the franchise to this class--at least inSproxton. If any one had observed that you must draw a line somewhere,Mr. Chubb would have concurred at once, and would have given permissionto draw it at a radius of two miles from his own tap.
From the first Sunday evening when Felix had appeared at the Sugar Loaf,Mr. Chubb had made up his mind that this 'cute man who kept himselfsober was an electioneering agent. That he was hired for some purpose orother there was not a doubt; a man didn't come and drink nothing withouta good reason. In proportion as Felix's purpose was not obvious toChubb's mind, it must be deep; and this growing conviction had even ledthe publican on the last Sunday evening privately to urge his mysteriousvisitor to let a little ale be chalked up for him--it was of noconsequence. Felix knew his man, and had taken care not to betray toosoon that his real object was so to win the ear of the best fellowsabout him as to induce them to meet him on a Saturday evening in theroom where Mr. Lyon, or one of his deacons, habitually held hisWednesday preachings. Only women and children, three old men, ajourneyman tailor, and a consumptive youth, attended those preachings;not a collier had been won from the strong ale of the Sugar Loaf, noteven a navvy from the muddier drink of the Blue Cow. Felix was sanguine;he saw some pleasant faces among the miners when they were washed onSundays; they might be taught to spend their wages better. At allevents, he was going to try: he had great confidence in his powers ofappeal, and it was quite true that he never spoke without arrestingattention. There was nothing better than a dame school in the hamlet; hethought that if he could move the fathers, whose blackened week-daypersons and flannel caps, ornamented with tallow candles by way ofplume, were a badge of hard labor, for which he had a more sympatheticfibre than for any ribbon in the buttonhole--if he could move these mento save something from their drink and pay a school-master for theirboys, a greater service would be done them than if Mr. Garstin and hiscompany were persuaded to establish a school.
"I'll lay hold of them by t
heir fatherhood," said Felix; "I'll take oneof their little fellows and set him in the midst. Till they can showthere's something they love better than swilling themselves with ale,extension of the suffrage can never mean anything for them but extensionof boozing. One must begin somewhere: I'll begin at what is under mynose. I'll begin at Sproxton. That's what a man would do if he had ared-hot superstition. Can't one work for sober truth as hard as formegrims?"
Felix Holt had his illusions, like other young men, though they were notof a fashionable sort; referring neither to the impression his costumeand horsemanship might make on beholders, nor to the ease with which hewould pay the Jews when he gave a loose to his talents and appliedhimself to work. He had fixed his choice on a certain Mike Brindle (notthat Brindle was his real name--each collier had his _sobriquet_) as theman whom he would induce to walk part of the way home with him this veryevening, and get to invite some of his comrades for the next Saturday.Brindle was one of the head miners: he had a bright good-natured face,and had given especial attention to certain performances with a magnetwhich Felix carried in his pocket.
Mr. Chubb, who had also his illusions, smiled graciously as theenigmatic customer came up to the door-step.
"Well, sir, Sunday seems to be your day: I begin to look for you on aSunday now."
"Yes, I'm a workingman; Sunday is my holiday," said Felix, pausing atthe door since the host seemed to expect this.
"Ah, sir, there's many ways of working. I look at it you're one of thoseas work with your brains. That's what I do myself."
"One may do a good deal of that and work with one's hands too."
"Ah, sir," said Mr. Chubb, with a certain bitterness in his smile, "I'vethat sort of head that I've often wished I was stupider. I use thingsup, sir; I see into things a deal too quick. I eat my dinner, as you maysay, at breakfast-time. That's why I hardly ever smoke a pipe. No soonerdo I stick a pipe in my mouth than I puff and puff till it's gone beforeother folks' are well lit; and then, where am I? I might as well havelet it alone. In this world it's better not to be too quick. But youknow what it is, sir."
"Not I," said Felix, rubbing the back of his head, with a grimace. "Igenerally feel myself rather a blockhead. The world's a largish place,and I haven't turned everything inside out yet."
"Ah, that's your deepness. I think we understand one another. And aboutthis here election, I lay two to one we should agree if we was to cometo talk about it."
"Ah!" said Felix, with an air of caution.
"You're none of a Tory, eh, sir? You won't go to vote for Debarry? Thatwas what I said at the very first go-off. Says I, he's no Tory. I thinkI was right, sir--eh?"
"Certainly; I'm no Tory."
"No, no, you don't catch me wrong in a hurry. Well, between you and me,I care no more for the Debarrys than I care for Johnny Groats. I live onnone o' their land, and not a pot's-worth did they ever send to theSugar Loaf. I'm not frightened at the Debarrys: there's no man moreindependent than me. I'll plump or I'll split for them as treat me thehandsomest and are the most of what I call gentlemen; that's my idee.And in the way of hatching for any man, them are fools that don't employme."
We mortals sometimes cut a pitiable figure in our attempts at display.We may be sure of our own merits, yet fatally ignorant of the point ofview from which we are regarded by our neighbor. Our fine patterns intattooing may be far from throwing him into a swoon of admiration,though we turn ourselves all round to show them. Thus it was with Mr.Chubb.
"Yes," said Felix, dryly; "I should think there are some sorts of workfor which you are just fitted."
"Ah, you see that? Well, we understand one another. You're no Tory; nomore am I. And if I'd got four hands to show at a nomination, theDebarrys shouldn't have one of 'em. My idee is, there's a deal too muchof their scutchins and their moniments in Treby Church. What's theirscutchins mean? They're a sign with little liquor behind 'em; that's howI take it. There's nobody can give account of 'em as I ever heard."
Mr. Chubb was hindered from further explaining his views as to thehistorical element in society by the arrival of new guests, whoapproached in two groups. The foremost group consisted of well-knowncolliers, in their good Sunday beavers and colored handkerchiefs servingas cravats, with the long ends floating. The second group was a moreunusual one, and caused Mr. Chubb to compress his mouth and agitate themuscles about it in rather an excited manner.
First came a smartly-dressed personage on horseback, with a conspicuousexpansive shirt-front and figured satin stock. He was a stout man, andgave a strong sense of broadcloth. A wild idea shot through Mr. Chubb'sbrain; could this grand visitor be Harold Transome? Excuse him: he hadbeen given to understand by his cousin from the distant borough that aRadical candidate in the condescension of canvassing had even gone thelength of eating bread-and-treacle with the children of an honestfreeman, and declaring his preference for that simple fare. Mr. Chubb'snotion of a Radical was that he was a new and agreeable kind oflick-spittle who fawned on the poor instead of on the rich, and so waslikely to send customers to a "public"; so that he argued well enoughfrom the premises at his command.
The mounted man of broadcloth had followers: several shabby-looking men,and Sproxton boys of all sizes, whose curiosity had been stimulated byunexpected largesse. A stranger on horseback scattering half-pence on aSunday was so unprecedented that there was no knowing what he might donext; and the smallest hindmost fellows in sealskin caps were notwithout hope that an entirely new order of things had set in.
Everyone waited outside for the stranger to dismount, and Mr. Chubbadvanced to take the bridle.
"Well, Mr. Chubb," were the first words when the great man was safelyout of the saddle, "I've often heard of your fine tap, and I'm come totaste it."
"Walk in, sir--pray walk in," said Mr. Chubb, giving the horse to thestable-boy. "I shall be proud to draw for you. If anybody's beenpraising me, I think my ale will back him."
All entered in the rear of the stranger except the boys, who peeped inat the window.
"Won't you please to walk into the parlor, sir," said Mr. Chubb,obsequiously.
"No, no, I'll sit down here. This is what I like to see," said thestranger, looking round at the colliers, who eyed him rather shyly--"abright hearth where workingmen can enjoy themselves. However, I'll stepinto the other room for three minutes, just to speak half a dozen wordswith you."
Mr. Chubb threw open the parlor door, and then stepping back, took theopportunity of saying, in a low tone, to Felix, "Do you know thisgentleman?"
"Not I; no."
Mr. Chubb's opinion of Felix Holt sank from that moment. The parlor doorwas closed, but no one sat down or ordered beer.
"I say, master," said Mike Brindle, going up to Felix, "don't you thinkthat's one o' the 'lection men?"
"Very likely."
"I heared a chap say they're up and down everywhere," said Brindle; "andnow's the time, they say, when a man can get beer for nothing."
"Ay, that's sin' the Reform," said a big, red-whiskered man, calledDredge. "That's brought the 'lections and the drink into these parts;for afore that, it was all kep' up the Lord knows wheer."
"Well, but the Reform's niver come anigh Sprox'on," said a gray-hairedbut stalwart man called Old Sleck. "I don't believe nothing about'n, Idon't."
"Don't you?" said Brindle, with some contempt. "Well, I do. There'sfolks won't believe beyond the end o' their own pickaxes. You can'tdrive nothing into 'em, not if you split their skulls. I know forcertain sure, from a chap in the cartin' way, as he's got money anddrink too, only for hollering. Eh, master, what do _you_ say?" Brindleended, turning with some deference to Felix.
"Should you like to know all about the Reform?" said Felix, using hisopportunity. "If you would, I can tell you."
"Ay, ay--tell's; you know I'll be bound," said several voices at once.
"Ah, but it will take some little time. And we must be quiet. Thecleverest of you--those who are looked up to in the Club--must come andmeet me at Peggy Button's c
ottage next Saturday, at seven o'clock, afterdark. And, Brindle, you must bring that little yellow-haired lad ofyours. And anybody that's got a little boy--a very little fellow, whowon't understand what is said--may bring him. But you must keep itclose, you know. We don't want fools there. But everybody who hears memay come. I shall be at Peggy Button's."
"Why, that's where the Wednesday preachin' is," said Dredge. "I've beenaforced to give my wife a black eye to hinder her from going to thepreachin'. Lors-a-massy, she thinks she knows better nor me, and I can'tmake head nor tail of her talk."
"Why can't you let the woman alone?" said Brindle, with some disgust."I'd be ashamed to beat a poor crawling thing 'cause she likespreaching."
"No more I did beat her afore, not if she scrat' me," said Dredge, invindication "but if she jabbers at me, I can't abide it. Howsomever,I'll bring my Jack to Peggy's o' Saturday. His mother shall wash him. Heis but four year old, and he'll swear and square at me a good un, if Iset him on."
"There you go blatherin'," said Brindle, intending a mild rebuke.
This dialogue, which was in danger of becoming too personal, wasinterrupted by the reopening of the parlor door, and the reappearance ofthe impressive stranger with Mr. Chubb, whose countenance seemedunusually radiant.
"Sit you down here, Mr. Johnson," said Chubb, moving an arm-chair. "Thisgentleman is kind enough to treat the company," he added, looking round,"and what's more, he'll take a cup with 'em; and I think there's no manbut what'll say that's a honor."
The company had nothing equivalent to a "hear, hear," at command, butthey perhaps felt the more, as they seated themselves with anexpectation unvented by utterance. There was a general satisfactorysense that the hitherto shadowy Reform had at length come to Sproxton ina good round shape, with broadcloth and pockets. Felix did not intend toaccept the treating, but he chose to stay and hear, taking his pint asusual.
"Capital ale, capital ale," said Mr. Johnson, as he set down his glass,speaking in a quick, smooth treble. "Now," he went on, with a certainpathos in his voice, looking at Mr. Chubb, who sat opposite, "there'ssome satisfaction to me in finding an establishment like this at thePits. For what would higher wages do for the workingman if he couldn'tget a good article for his money? Why, gentlemen"--here he lookedround--"I've been into ale-houses where I've seen a fine fellow of aminer or a stone-cutter come in and have to lay down money for beer thatI should be sorry to give to my pigs!" Here Mr. Johnson leaned forwardwith squared elbows, hands placed on his knees, and a defiant shake ofthe head.
"Aw, like at the Blue Cow," fell in the irrepressible Dredge, in a deepbass; but he was rebuked by a severe nudge from Brindle.
"Yes, yes, you know what it is, my friend," said Mr. Johnson, looking atDredge, and restoring his self-satisfaction. "But it won't last muchlonger, that's one good thing. Bad liquor will be swept away with otherbad articles. Trade will prosper--and what's trade now without steam?and what is steam without coal? And mark you this, gentlemen--there's noman and no government can make coal."
A loud "Haw, haw," showed that this fact was appreciated.
"Nor freeston', nayther," said a wide-mouthed wiry man called Gills, whowished for an exhaustive treatment of the subject, being a stone-cutter.
"Nor freestone, as you say; else, I think, if coal could be madeabove-ground, honest fellows who are the pith of our population wouldnot have to bend their backs and sweat in a pit six days out of theseven. No, no; I say, as this country prospers it has more and more needof you, sirs. It can do without a pack of lazy lords and ladies, but itcan never do without brave colliers. And the country _will_ prosper. Ipledge you my word, sirs, this country will rise to the tiptop ofeverything, and there isn't a man in it but what shall have his joint inthe pot, and his spare money jingling in his pocket, if we only exertourselves to send the right men to Parliament--men who will speak up forthe collier, and the stone-cutter, and the navvy" (Mr. Johnson waved hishand liberally), "and will stand no nonsense. This is a crisis, and wemust exert ourselves. We've got Reform, gentlemen, but now the thing isto make Reform work. It's a crisis--I pledge you my word it's a crisis."
Mr. Johnson threw himself back as if from the concussion of that greatnoun. He did not suppose that one of his audience knew what a crisismeant; but he had large experience in the effect of uncomprehendedwords; and in this case the colliers were thrown into a state ofconviction concerning they did not know what, which was a finepreparation for "hitting out," or any other act carrying a due sequenceto such a conviction.
Felix felt himself in danger of getting into a rage. There is hardly anymental misery worse than that of having our own serious phrases, our ownrooted beliefs, caricatured by a charlatan or a hireling. He began tofeel the sharp lower edge of his tin pint-measure, and to think it atempting missile.
Mr. Johnson certainly had some qualifications as an orator. After thisimpressive pause he leaned forward again, and said, in a lowered tone,looking round--
"I think you all know the good news."
There was a movement of shoe-soles on the quarried floor, and a scrapeof some chair legs, but no other answer.
"The good news I mean is, that a first-rate man, Mr. Transome, ofTransome Court, has offered himself to represent you in Parliament,sirs. I say you in particular, for what he has at heart is the welfareof the workingman--of the brave fellows that wield the pickaxe, and thesaw, and the hammer. He's rich--has more money than Garstin--but hedoesn't want to keep it to himself. What he wants is, to make a good useof it, gentlemen. He's come back from foreign parts with his pocketsfull of gold. He could buy up the Debarrys, if they were worth buying,but he's got something better to do with his money. He means to use itfor the good of the workingmen in these parts. I know there are some menwho put up for Parliament and talk a little too big. They may say theywant to befriend the colliers, for example. But I should like to put aquestion to them. I should like to ask them, 'What colliers?' There arecolliers up at Newcastle, and there are colliers down in Wales. Will itdo any good to honest Tom, who is hungry in Sproxton, to hear that Jackat Newcastle has his belly full of beef and pudding?"
"It ought to do him good," Felix burst in, with his loud, abrupt voice,in odd contrast with glib Mr. Johnson's. "If he knows it's a bad thingto be hungry and not have enough to eat, he ought to be glad thatanother fellow, who is not idle, is not suffering in the same way."
Every one was startled. The audience was much impressed with thegrandeur, the knowledge, and the power of Mr. Johnson. His brilliantpromises confirmed the impression that Reform had at length reached theNew Pits; and Reform, if it were good for anything, must at last resolveitself into spare money--meaning "sport" and drink, and keeping awayfrom work for several days in the week. These "brave" men of Sproxtonliked Felix as one of themselves, only much more knowing--as aworkingman who had seen many distant parts, but who must be very poor,since he never drank more than a pint or so. They were quite inclined tohear what he had got to say on another occasion, but they were ratherirritated by his interruption at the present moment. Mr. Johnson wasannoyed, but he spoke with the same glib quietness as before, thoughwith an expression of contempt.
"I call it a poor-spirited thing to take up a man's straight-forwardwords and twist them. What I meant to say was plain enough--that no mancan be saved from starving by looking on while others eat. I thinkthat's common-sense, eh, sirs?"
There was again an approving "Haw, haw." To hear anything said, andunderstand it, was a stimulus that had the effect of wit. Mr. Chubb casta suspicious and viperous glance at Felix, who felt that he had been asimpleton for his pains.
"Well, then," continued Mr. Johnson, "I suppose I may go on. But ifthere is any one here better able to inform the company than I am, Igive way--I give way."
"Sir," said Mr. Chubb, magisterially, "no man shall take the words outof _your_ mouth in this house. And," he added, looking pointedly atFelix, "company that's got no more orders to give, and wants to turn uprusty to them that has, had better be making roo
m than filling it. Lovean' 'armony's the word on our Club's flag, an' love an' 'armony's themeaning of 'The Sugar Loaf, William Chubb.' Folks of a different mindhad better seek another house of call."
"Very good," said Felix, laying down his money and taking his cap. "I'mgoing." He saw clearly enough that if he said more, there would be adisturbance which could have no desirable end.
When the door had closed behind him, Mr. Johnson said, "What is thatperson's name?"
"Does anybody know it?" said Mr. Chubb.
A few noes were heard.
"I've heard him speak like a downright Reformer, else I should havelooked a little sharper after him. But you may see he's nothingpartic'lar."
"It looks rather bad that no one knows his name," said Mr. Johnson."He's most likely a Tory in disguise--a Tory spy. You must be careful,sirs, of men who come to you and say they're Radicals, and yet donothing for you. They'll stuff you with words--no lack of words--butwords are wind. Now, a man like Transome comes forward and says to theworkingmen of this country: 'Here I am, ready to serve you and speak foryou in Parliament, and to get the laws made all right for you; and inthe meanwhile, if there's any of you who are my neighbors who want aday's holiday, or a cup to drink with friends, or a copy of the King'slikeness--why, I'm your man. I'm not a paper handbill--all words and nosubstance--nor a man with land and nothing else; I've got bags of goldas well as land.' I think you know what I mean by the King's likeness."
Here Mr. Johnson took a half-crown out of his pocket and held the headtoward the company.
"Well, sirs, there are some men who like to keep this pretty picture agreat deal too much to themselves. I don't know whether I'm right, but Ithink I've heard of such a one not a hundred miles from here. I thinkhis name was Spratt, and he managed some company's coal-pits."
"Haw, haw! Spratt--Spratt's his name," was rolled forth to anaccompaniment of scraping shoe-soles.
"A screwing fellow, by what I understand--a domineering fellow--whowould expect men to do as he liked without paying them for it. I thinkthere's not an honest man wouldn't like to disappoint such an upstart."
There was a murmur which was interpreted by Mr. Chubb. "I'll answer for'em, sir."
"Now, listen to me. Here's Garstin: he's one of the company you workunder. What's Garstin to you? who sees him? and when they do see himthey see a thin miserly fellow who keeps his pockets buttoned. He callshimself a Whig, yet he'll split votes with a Tory--he'll drive with theDebarrys. Now, gentlemen, if I said I'd got a vote, and anybody asked mewhat I should do with it, I should say, 'I'll plump for Transome.'You've got no votes, and that's a shame. But you _will_ have some day,if such men as Transome are returned; and then you'll be on a level withthe first gentleman in the land, and if he wants to sit in Parliament,he must take off his hat and ask your leave. But though you haven't gota vote you can give a cheer for the right man, and Transome's not a manlike Garstin; if you lost a day's wages by giving a cheer for Transome,he'll make you amends. That's the way a man who has no vote can servehimself and his country; he can lift up his hand and shout 'Transomeforever!'--'hurray for Transome!' Let the workingmen--let the colliersand navvies and stone-cutters, who between you and me have a good dealtoo much the worst of it, as things are now--let them join together andgive their hands and voices for the right man, and they'll make thegreat people shake in their shoes a little; and when you shout forTransome, remember you shout for more wages, and more of your rights,and you shout to get rid of rats and _sprats_ and such small animals,who are the tools the rich make use of to squeeze the blood out of thepoor man."
"I wish there'd be a row--I'd pommel him," said Dredge, who wasgenerally felt to be speaking to the question.
"No, no, my friend--there you're a little wrong. No pommelling--nostriking first. There you have the law and the constable against you. Alittle rolling in the dust and knocking hats off, a little pelting withsoft things that'll stick and not bruise--all that doesn't spoil thefun. If a man is to speak when you don't like to hear him, it is butfair you should give him something he doesn't like in return. And thesame if he's got a vote and doesn't use it for the good of the country;I see no harm in splitting his coat in a quiet way. A man must be taughtwhat's right if he doesn't know it. But no kicks, no knocking down, nopommelling."
"It 'ud be good fun, though, if so-_be_," said Old Sleck, allowinghimself an imaginative pleasure.
"Well, well, if a Spratt wants you to say Garstin, it's some pleasure tothink you can say Transome. Now, my notion is this. You are men who canput two and two together--I don't know a more solid lot of fellows thanyou are; and what I say is, let the honest men in this country who'vegot no vote show themselves in a body when they have got the chance.Why, sirs, for every Tory sneak that's got a vote, there's fifty-fivefellows who must stand by and be expected to hold their tongues. But Isay let 'em hiss the sneaks, let 'em groan at the sneaks, and the sneakswill be ashamed of themselves. The men who've got votes don't know howto use them. There's many a fool with a vote, who is not sure in hismind whether he shall poll, say for Debarry, or Garstin, orTransome--whether he'll plump or whether he'll split; a straw will turnhim. Let him know your mind if he doesn't know his own. What's thereason Debarry gets returned? Because people are frightened at theDebarrys. What's that to you? You don't care for the Debarrys. If peopleare frightened at the Tories, we'll turn round and frighten _them_. Youknow what a Tory is--one who wants to drive the workingman as he'd drivecattle. That's what a Tory is; and a Whig is no better, if he's likeGarstin. A Whig wants to knock the Tory down and get the whip, that'sall. But Transome's neither Whig nor Tory; he's the workingman's friend,the collier's friend, the friend of the honest navvy. And if he getsinto Parliament, let me tell you it will be better for you. I don't sayit will be the better for overlookers and screws, and rats and _sprats_;but it will be the better for every good fellow who takes his pot at theSugar Loaf."
Mr. Johnson's exertions for the political education of the Sproxton mendid not stop here, which was the more disinterested in him as he did notexpect to see them again, and could only set on foot an organization bywhich their instruction could be continued without him. In this he wasquite successful. A man known among the "butties" as Pack, who hadalready been mentioned by Mr. Chubb, presently joined the party, and hada private audience of Mr. Johnson, that he might be instituted as the"shepherd" of this new flock.
"That's a right down genelman," said Pack, as he took the seat vacatedby the orator, who had ridden away.
"What's his trade, think you?" said Gills, the wiry stone-cutter.
"Trade?" said Mr. Chubb. "He one of the top sawyers of the country. Heworks with his head, you may see that."
"Let's have our pipes, then," said Old Sleck; "I'm pretty well tired o'jaw."
"So am I," said Dredge. "It's wriggling work--like follering a stoat. Itmakes a man dry. I'd as lief hear preaching, on'y there's naught to begot by't. I shouldn't know which end I stood on if it wasn't for thetickets and the treatin'."