It is not customary, at least in England, to undertake the responsibilities of married life without a probability of being able to carry them out, and at the time I had come into Upsidonia I had not been in what is called a position to marry. In that country my position was quite satisfactory in this respect, but I did not propose to spend the rest of my life in Upsidonia.
So I now had to think seriously about acquiring that independence which would sweeten the existence that I looked forward to, with dear Miriam as my life-long companion. I was as happy as a king in her garden, but having achieved the step of being invited into it, I now looked forward eagerly to the next step, which was to get out of Upsidonia by the way I had come, and to take her with me.
She was quite ready to go, after our marriage. Indeed, the Highlands, where it was supposed that we should settle down, was so cut off from communication with the rest of Upsidonia that a separation was taken for granted, both by herself and her family.[30]
"Tell me about the sort of house we shall live in," said Miriam, as we sat together on a seat in her garden, under the shade of a sweet-smelling lime.
"My dear," I said, "we shall be able to live in any sort of house we want to. It is delightful to think of. All the beautiful places in the world are open to us, and we need be tied to none of them."
"I don't want more than one house," said Miriam. "I can't get it out of my head, in spite of everything you have told me, that more than one would be a bother. Besides, you wouldn't know which to call your home."
"Quite right," I said. "Even with us, morethan one house might quite well be a bother; and to enjoy your possessions you want to have them all around you."
"I suppose Ishallget to enjoy possessions," she said dubiously. "But I don't want too many of them, John dear."
"You shall have just as many, or just as few, as you please. We shall enjoy ourselves immensely in acquiring them."
"Do you think we shall? I shall try and like what you like. But it is a little difficult."
"You shall have some beautiful frocks, Miriam. I know you will like that."
She laughed. "How wicked it sounds!" she said. "Don't tell mother that I shall like having beautiful frocks. Are yousurethat other girls—other married women—won't look down on me if I am well-dressed? I shouldn't like to be looked down upon, foryoursake."
"My dear, get all that out of your head. The more you spend the less likely you are to be looked down upon."
"It sounds so funny. But it sounds rather nice too. Of course, it isn't reallywrongto like spending money, rather, if everybody else does it."
"Not a bit. Not if you've got it to spend. And weshallhave. I am going to see about that. Well, shall we live in the country?"
"That would be rather nice, John. In a dear little house with a pretty garden, and no labour-saving appliances."
"I don't think you will wantto live in a little house when you get to England. I thought, perhaps, we might find some very delightful old-fashioned country house, in a beautiful part of the country, with a few thousand acres of land, good shooting, and a model home farm, which I could tackle myself."
"Do you know anything about farming?"
"Not much; but I should rather like to try it."
"Isn't it rather dangerous? Mightn't you make a lot of money over it?"
"I think I could escape the danger. How would you like an old red-brick house, with a moat, and beautiful carving and plastering and all that sort of thing inside? I know of one near where I was born that we might be able to get."
"Is it in a village, with nice people in it?"
"It is near a charming village, which would belong to us. There aren't any other big houses very near."
"Would the other people call on us, and be friendly?"
"Oh, yes. There are a lot of good houses all about. The neighbours would all call on us."
"Yes, the rich neighbours. But the people in the village? Would the vicar's wife call on us, if we lived in a house like that?"
"I expect she would, if the vicar has a wife, of which I am not sure."
"And the labourers' wives—would they call?"
"Probably not. No, I don't think the labourers' wives would call."
"Then shouldn't we feel rather out of it?"
"You could call on them if you wanted to. They would be very pleased to see you.Anybody would be pleased to see you."
"Dear old boy!" she said affectionately. "You think far too much of me. But I like you to. Somehow I don't think I should like to live in a house like that, John. For one thing, I shouldn't like to be always going to see people who wouldn't come and see me. Couldn't we live somewhere among our own sort of people—the people who are well-off, andyetwell-educated, that you told me about—well, likeweshould be?"
"You don't want to live in London, do you?"
"That's where you live, isn't it?"
"Only because my work makes it convenient."
"But you wouldn't give up your work?"
"I should give up some of it, that I do at present. I don't say I should give upallwork."
"Oh no, you couldn't do that."
"But I shouldn't have to live in London in order to work. I would much rather live out of it, and have it to go to."
"That is what I really feel about Culbut. If we could live here, just as we do, without feeling that we were different from other people, I should like it better than living in Culbut itself. Do they look down on the rich people living in the suburbs near London, as they do here?"
"There is a tendency that way," I admitted. "How would you like to live at Cambridge? I should be amongst friends, and there would be plenty to do there."
"I think it would be delightful from what you have told me about it. You could do your work there, couldn't you?"
"Yes, I could do a lot of work, if I wanted to; and I could always get a game of some sort."
"I thought it was only the undergraduates who played games. You couldn't row in theboat, could you?"
"I could rowyouin a boat. We could get a lot of fun in Cambridge, and we could always go to London when we wanted to."
"And we could get a pretty house there—not too big?"
"Yes, we could get that. I think perhaps you're right about the big house. Whoever loves the golden mean will avoid a palace as much as a hovel. Horace says that, or something like it, and what is good enough for Horace is good enough for me, also for my sweet Upsidonian bride. Miriam, I adore you, and it is at least a quarter of an hour since I had a kiss."
So we settled to live in Cambridge when we got to England, in the prettiest house we could find, with the prettiest garden, and I prided myself greatly on the moderation of my desires, while Miriam wondered whether we were not laying up trouble for ourselves, when I said that we should want at least four servants in the sort of house I had in my mind.
A day or two after Miriam had first invited meinto her garden the invitation was made public in the fashionable intelligence of the Culbut newspapers, and she and I were the recipients of many congratulations from the numerous friends and relations of the Perrys.
We were entertained by not a few of them. We went to Sunday mid-day dinner with the Earl and Countess of Rumborough, in the parlour behind their shop, over which an aroma of jaded cauliflower lay more in evidence than is customary in the mansions of the great. We drank tea again with the Earl and Countess of Blueberry, and this time the head of the house was present, and treated me with a stately courtesy that impressed me a good deal with the dignity of the family with which I was about to connect myself. I also dined with the Viscount Sandpits, at the mess of his gang, sitting on a plank in the middle of one of the busiest streets in Culbut, and drinking beer out of a tin can.[31]A married sister of Mr. Perry's, not bitten with philanthropic ideas, gave a theatre party for us, and we sat in the front row of the pit, after an agreeable wait of an hour outside the door, and ate oranges between the acts. And we conferred a much-appreciated honour on a rich relation of Mr. Perry's by accepting an invitation to a dinner-party at her house. Her husband had been unfortunate in the coal business, and had sunk from a clerkship in a colliery company to owning the whole concern. Most of our fellow guests were melancholy and rather subservient people who had made a similar mess of their lives, and were pathetically envious of the bright prospects that were opening out before Miriam and me.
And finally, Mrs. Claudie Chanticleer, who had turned up one morning at Magnolia Hall, in a bedraggled and hectic state, to take away a few scraps from the dustbin, invited us to a picnic in the country, to meet all that was smartest and dirtiest in the exclusive set of which she was an ornament.
We were a little doubtful about accepting this invitation, gratifying as it was. It was Mr. Perry who pressed us to do so. He said thathe hated the dirty set and all their ways. It was not through such as they that the regeneration of Upsidonian society would come. At the same time, they included amongst them some of the most aristocratic families in the country, and it would give us acachetto have our names in the papers as having taken part in one of their entertainments. When we still demurred, he pointed out that my social investigations could not be considered complete unless I mixed with all classes of the community. So at last we accepted the invitation.
Mr. Perry refused it for himself, as he said he had a touch of rheumatism and was afraid of the damp grass; but Edward accepted, saying that he had been working very hard lately and wanted recreation; and Mrs. Perry went to chaperon Miriam. Mrs. Eppstein, who had seen the announcement of the coming function in the papers, came round to hear all about it, and said that she had not for a moment expected that Tricky Chanticleer would have askedher, although they had been at school together, and in those days nobody thought anything of Tricky, who had always had a red nose.
Most of us walked to the place appointed for the picnic, which was on a stretch of grass beside a high-road; and we were the dirtiest and most disreputable-looking company I have ever been in. But Mrs. Perry, and some of the older ladies, went in the Duchess of Somersault's caravan, which was hung round with baskets and brooms and wicker chairs; and there werea few donkey carts as well, and an organ barrow for the younger children who could not be left behind. Mrs. Claudie brought what was necessary for the picnic in an old perambulator, which she wheeled herself.
We were accompanied all the way by a crowd of rich sightseers, and a favourite amusement of the younger and sprightlier members of our party was to get a ride behind the carriages, and for the others to cry "Whip behind!" and to shriek with laughter at them.
The food consisted of scraps wrapped up in pieces of newspaper, but tea was made in an old tin pot over a fire of sticks, and everyone had brought what they wanted in the way of mugs and utensils for themselves. I must confess that if one didn't eat, or only ate the eggs and fruit which some of the young bloods had raided from the farmhouses that we passed on the way, the entertainment was amusing enough. It was rather annoying to be surrounded by a crowd of gaping sightseers, but the company seemed to be used to it, and, indeed, to prefer it to seclusion, or they would not have fixed upon so public a spot. Newspaper reporters were a good deal in evidence, and cameras were directed on us from allsides, as we sat on the grass and enjoyed ourselves.
There were many quite intelligent people there. The company, ragged and filthy as it was, was superior to that which I had met in Mr. Perry's club, or to the people I had come across in the large houses in which I had gone slumming with Mrs. Perry.
I happened to sit on the grass next to a travelling tinker, who told me that he had been Master of a college at Coxford, but had given it up because he wanted to see more of life.
"I have often been accused of being a snob," he said, "especially by those who are envious of the fine company I keep. It is true that my birth would not entitle me to a place in this brilliant society, but I consider that my learning ought to gain me an entrance into any society, and it has as a matter of fact gained me an entrance into this. I consider that this is the best society that can be had, not because it is aristocratic and exclusive, but because it opens up larger vistas of life. Purely learned society does not do that, and after spending over thirty years of my life in Coxford, I grew tired of it, and set out to play my part in the great world."
Finding himself possessed of a sympathetic listener, he expatiated further on the advantages of his present life. He had not seen his way to denuding himself of all property. He had acquired his tinker's outfit because his previous life had unfitted him for the purest form of idleness. "One has to be born and brought up to that," he said, "and, as I told you, I do not pretend to have had the advantages of some of our friends about us here."
"But isn't work a good thing?" I asked; for here he seemed to be denying one of the basic principles of Upsidonian philosophy.
"It is not one of the best things in itself," he said, "although for the great mass of mankind it is necessary. Freedom and knowledge are the best things; and freedom is even better than knowledge."
"I shouldn't have thought that all the people about us here were remarkable for their love of knowledge," I said.
"Not perhaps of knowledge to be learnt from books," he said, "though a good many of them are not lacking in that. But in knowledge that comes from going about in the world, and seeing human nature denuded of all its trappings,there is hardly any one of those you see around you who is not superior to the most learned scholars of the universities. They know the simple facts of life, as none who do not enjoy the freedom of extreme poverty can possibly know them; and the simple facts of life are the great facts of life."
"Do you consider poverty to be an end in itself?" I asked, mindful of the criticisms I had heard directed against the dirty set.
"It is so near to being an end," he said, "that there is no harm in considering it so. It is only by denuding yourself of everything that you can possess everything—beginning with yourself, which is the only possession really worth anything, and the only one which those foolish people who cannot make up their minds to do withoutsomeform of property never can attain to. Why should I want more than the whole earth? It is mine, if I do not shut myself up in one little corner of it and put a fence round me. The moment I do that I lose all the rest. I have exchanged the world for a building plot. With every possession I permit myself, I gouge out a weak place in my armour; I am vulnerable at that point. Possessing nothing, I am impervious to attack."
"You can't possess absolutely no thing," I said. "You must have clothes, for instance."
"You must, as society is at present constituted; and you are vulnerable, as I said, at that point. If anybody takes away my clothes, I lose my freedom. I cannot go about till I have found some more. And if anybody takes away my tinker's barrow, I lose the work that my training has unfitted me to be without. It is not, strictly speaking, the barrow that I am vulnerable over, because if I could do without it I should have practically my only burden removed; it is the habits I have acquired that are the unfortunate possession there. And that is why book-learning would be considered an evil in a purer state of society. Books themselves are, of course, the most odious form of bondage, and even in my tied-down days I never would acquire them for myself, but borrowed those I could not do without, and committed what was necessary to memory."
"Why should book-learning be considered an evil?" I asked.
"Because it is an acquisition. You are vulnerable in your memory, in which you have stored it. The only knowledge that is worth having is that which impresses itself on the collective mind of mankind. Nobody can take thataway from you, because you share it with all the rest. It is all about you."
"Excuse my touching upon a possibly delicate subject," I said, "but do you object to the name that is commonly fastened on to you?"
"The dirty set? Not at all. Why should I? Cleanliness is only a habit, and a very binding and inconvenient one. If you can break yourself of that one habit alone, you are well on the way to realise what freedom means. You have broken the chain that keeps you circling round in the narrow orbit of the soap-dish and the water-jug, and can wander where the spirit leads you. I have not taken a bath since I left Coxford, and all desire to do so has now left me."
The fact had obtruded itself upon me to such an extent that the desire on my part to leavehimnow became insistent, and as there came a general movement at the moment towards the cocoanut shies, put up by Sir Sigismund Rosenbaum, I withdrew myself from his society. But he was an interesting man, and had given me something to think over.
It was at this point that Lord Potter came upon the scene. He had, I believe, refused Mrs. Claudie's invitation, but whether he could not bear to be left out of any important society function, or whether he had made up his mind to take this opportunity of making himself publicly unpleasant to me, he came shuffling along the road, with his toes sticking out of his boots, and was greeted with acclamations by the distinguished company.
I happened to be standing next to Mrs. Claudie when he came up to her, and he favoured me with an indignant and contemptuous glare before he showed me his shoulder, shook hands with her, and said in a loud voice: "And where is the fortunate gentleman from the Highlands? I should like to be introduced to him."
Mrs. Claudie indicated me. "This is Mr. Howard," she said. "Let me introduce you to Lord Potter."
Lord Potter affected an air of intense astonishment. "This fellow!" he exclaimed. "My dear lady, you have been victimised. This is an impudent adventurer, who spent his first night in Culbut in a gaol. He may be good enough company for Mr. Perry, but I am more surprised than I can say to find him here."
There was an awkward silence, which I broke by saying: "I am just as surprised to see Lord Potter here as he can be to see me. He knew perfectly well who I was. He could have stopped away if he didn't want to meet me."
Lord Potter ignored this speech. "I am very sorry to have to cast a cloud over your pleasant party, Mrs. Chanticleer," he said, "but this fellow is not what he pretends to be. He is no more a Highlander than I am. When I get back to town I shall put the police on to him. I expect it will be found that he has absconded from some big house and has left a lot of money behind him. He is masquerading as a poor man, but he will certainly get into trouble over it. I should advise you to pack him off, and have no more to do with him."
Fortunately, Miriam was not near us at the time, but I saw Edward shouldering his way through the group of puzzled and rather scandalised people who surrounded us. Nobody seemed inclined to say anything, and I had had time during Lord Potter's speech to reflect that he could not know that I was not a Highlander, and that he had put a weapon into my hands by his affectation of not knowing who I was.
"I will certainly leave your party if you wish me to, Mrs. Chanticleer," I said. "Lord Potter and I have come up against one another before. It is true that when I first came into Culbut he managed to get me arrested for playing rather a foolish practical joke upon him, which he does not seem able to forget. But when he tells you he is sorry to disturb your party, he is not speaking the truth, because he can't have come here for any other purpose. He knew that he would find me here, and has not scrupled to break in on your brilliant and memorable gathering, with the object of ruining its success by his absurd charges."
There were murmurs among the aristocratic dames who were gathered about us. Although Lord Potter was the dirtiest of the dirty, and held a high position among the men of the set, I heard afterwards that he was not popular among the ladies, not only because of his arrogance, but because, being a most eligible bachelor, he had omitted to marry so many of their daughters. Besides, Mrs. Claudie's party had gone with such a swing so far that it was felt to be too bad of him to come in in this way and try to spoil it.
But Mrs. Claudie showed herself full of tact and resource. She laughed lightly. "I reallycan't be expected to settle a silly quarrel between two men," she said. "I have all my own quarrels to settle, and most of my women friends' besides. Come and have a shy at Siggy Rosenbaum's nuts, Lord Potter; and, Mr. Howard, you go and find Miriam and take her to have a few s'rimps."
Perhaps Lord Potter would have allowed himself to hold over his account with me for the time being, and I certainly had no wish to carry it on then or at any time. But unfortunately Edward had by this time arrived fully on the scene, and with all his excellent qualities he was a trifle too weighty for a situation that wanted delicate handling.
"Mr. Howard is a guest in my father's house," he said, his face pale and determined from the stress of the moment, "and I cannot allow him to be insulted."
"Oh, my dear Edward, nobody wants to insult anybody," said Mrs. Claudie. "Please let us go to the cocoanuts."
But Lord Potter's temper had been aroused by the challenge. "I have nothing to do withyou or your father," he said disagreeably. "You have both unclassed yourselves. You can keep what company you please, as far as I am concerned. But when you take into your house a highly suspicious character, you ought to keep him to yourselves, and not foist him on to respectable company."
Edward was about to reply hotly, but I didn't want to leave my case in his hands; he knew too much about me, and might give it away in his unthinking annoyance.
"How do you know I am staying with Mr. Perry?" I asked quickly. "You pretended just now to be surprised to find I wasthatHoward. And yet you heard my name when we first met, and you saw me go away with Mr. Perry."
"I will settle with you later, sir," he said furiously. "You have been going about in expensive clothes, and I have reason to believe you are an impostor, and are wanted by the police."
"Oh, do leave off and come to the cocoanuts," cried poor Mrs. Claudie, desolated at the prospect of a disturbance. But the situation was now beyond her.
"Perhaps you will say that my father and I are impostors, because we go about in clean clothes," said Edward angrily. "Mr. Howard is studying social conditions, as we are. He is a gentleman, as anyone can see, whatever he chooses to wear."
Perhaps it is rather conceited of me to mention it, but there were murmurs of approval here. In my old Norfolk jacket and weather-beaten hat, I must have appeared all that was desirable in the matter of fashionable attire, according to Upsidonian standards.
Encouraged by these murmurs, I stuck to my point with Lord Potter. "Will you answer a plain question?" I asked him. "Did you know who I was when you came and tried to break up this delightful party, or did you tell Mrs. Chanticleer a lie?"
It was not much of a point, but it settled him. There were more murmurs, and Mrs. Claudie said reproachfully: "You know you did refuse my invitation, Lord Potter. And if you did know who Mr. Howard was, it is not very friendly of you to come after all, and try to spoil our fun."
The Duchess of Somersault, who was a great enough lady not to stand in awe of anybody, and had already married off all her daughters, now intervened:
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Hezekiah Potter," she said in a loud clear voice. "Anybody would think this was a reception by the wife of a millionaire by the way you poke yourself in on it and try to start a vulgar brawl. I shall be very pleased to welcome Mr. Howard at any time to my van, and I am not in the habit of receiving adventurers there."
Such a bold, and, to me, almost overwhelming, offer of recognition from so great a lady naturally turned the tables completely in my favour. Lord Potter shrugged his shoulders, one of which could be plainly seen through the discoloured cloth of his filthy jacket, muttered something into his ragged beard, and shuffled off in the dust towards Culbut. Mrs. Claudie instantly collected a party of young people to throw at Sir Sigismund's cocoanuts; and the incident appeared to be completely at an end.
But I could see that people were talking about it for the rest of the afternoon, and as we made our way homewards later on, and I very much fear that Mrs. Claudie Chanticleer wept tears of disappointment when she retired to her railway arch that night, over this unfortunate interruption of what would otherwise have beenthe most talked-of assembly of the now waning season.
As far as I was concerned, I was made to feel that I had come out of my engagement with Lord Potter with credit. I had stood up to a great man, and he had been driven off the field by a great lady. I was even something of a lion for the rest of the afternoon, and if I had wished could have taken my place then and there as a popular addition to the dirty set, and enjoyed all the advantages of that enviable condition.
But Edward's gloomy brow, as he ranged apart with his hands in his pockets, warned me that there was trouble ahead, and I had not been too busily engaged with Lord Potter to miss the spectacle of excited newspaper reporters edging in amongst the spectators and busily taking down all that was said in their notebooks.
What was quite certain was that I could no longer expect to be able to hide such light as I might give forth under a bushel. It would be known all over the country to-morrow that I had been denounced as an adventurer, and accused of representing myself as coming from a place which I had never seen.
A nice young reporter, more enterprisingthan the rest, who had hurried off on their bicycles to hand in their copy, did try to interview me, and I wished I had been in a position to give him the information for his paper that he asked for. It was only for my address in the Highlands, and a statement of why and how I had come to Culbut, and would have settled the matter for me, if I had really been the completely misunderstood person that I was supposed to be.
But I had to send him away empty, and I am sorry to say that he was annoyed with me, and hinted in his account of the fracas that there was more in Lord Potter's charges than appeared on the surface.
I was also somewhat disturbed by a conversation I had with the Duchess of Somersault, sitting proudly on the tail-board of her van, in sight of everybody.
She said that she had never crossed the mountains in her wanderings, but had been pretty close to them, and she mentioned the names of several members of the Highland aristocracy with whom she was acquainted. She seemed a little disappointed when I showed myself ignorant of all of them, but was not, I think, suspicious, as she might have been. She talked, during most of my visit to her, in a full-bodied voice that was evidently music in her own ears, and though she plied me with questions she provided most of the answers to them herself. She wore a magenta gown, a violently checked shawl, and an enormous feathered hat, and sat with her knees wide apart and her elbows on them, smoking a clay pipe, while she talked to me. She was of massive form and highly equiline features, and looked every inch of her agrandame.
"I met Lord McGillicuddy the last time the Duke and I were up north," she said. "Of course you know him. A grand old man, is he not? The Master of McGillicuddy is on his way to Culbut now, with a flock of sheep, and if he arrives before we go out of town I shall ask a few friends to meet him, and I hope you will make one of the party, Mr. Howard. And, of course, dear Miriam too. If he does not arrive in time we shall no doubt meet him, for we take the north road this summer, I am happy to say. There is always a great demand for wicker cradles on it; in the north they are more prolific than we are—as of course you know. I shall certainly tell him what a pleasure it has been to meet you, and get him to look you up. He will be able to support you if you have any more trouble with that tiresome Hezekiah Potter, who seems to think he can behave exactly as he pleases, and must, I am afraid, have given you a poor opinion of our pleasant little society here."
I assured her Grace, as seemed to be expected of me, that she herself had dissipated any unfortunate ideas I might have formed on that subject. She dismissed me with an agreeable smile, and an assurance of her continued support, for whatever it might be worth.
Miriam returned in the Duchess' van. She was a favourite with the Duke, who asked her to sit up beside him, while he drove his old toastrack of a horse.
I walked with Edward, who was much disturbed in his mind over what had happened. He said that Potter's insolence was beyond all bearing, and he had been seriously considering whether it was not his filial duty to seek him out with a horsewhip and give him a sound thrashing.
"To think that my dear good old father should be subjected to the foul insults of such a man as that!" he said. "It positively makes my blood boil. On the one side you have a manwhose whole being radiates self-sacrifice and benevolence, and on the other a wretched cur snarling at his heels. What am I to do, Howard? I don't want to be sent to prison, but upon my word I feel inclined to risk it for the pleasure of assaulting that scoundrel."
"I should treat him with the contempt he deserves," I said. "It is a case of dignity and impudence. Surely, your father's noble life speaks for itself! Nothing that you could do to such a contemptible person as Potter would make it shine with brighter effulgence."
He turned to me and wrung me warmly by the hand. The tears were in his eyes, and he was too much moved to speak for the moment. "Thank you for those words," he said presently, in a low voice. "I am sure they were spoken from the heart, and I shall not forget them. There are few who are blessed with such fathers as mine, and I have the pleasure of feeling that he will soon be your father too, and that you will revere him as he deserves. Tell me, Howard, didn't that count with you, when you made up your mind to propose to my sister?"
"Well, perhaps I was thinking more aboutherat the time," I said. "But naturally Icongratulate myself on the prospect of having such a father-in-law."
Edward was so taken up with the insult offered to his father that he did not notice as we came to the tramway terminus, from which the road to Magnolia Hall branched off, a newspaper placard on which were displayed the lines:
Well, if that question was going to interest the inhabitants of Upsidonia, it seemed about time for me to be making arrangements for the modest competency that would enable me to leave the country.
I woke up the next morning without that sense of something delightful about to happen to me to which I had grown accustomed since my arrival in Upsidonia, but soon brightened again as I laid my plans for acquiring an easy and immediate fortune. I knew that a rich man in Upsidonia would present me with twenty or thirty thousand pounds as readily as a poor man in England would allow me to present him with it, and would thank his lucky stars at finding a fool big enough to take it. I only had to find the rich man.
It seemed to me that I already knew who to apply to. I had made the acquaintance of a very rich man indeed, when I had gone district visiting with Mrs. Perry. His name was Hobson, and he had not always been as rich as he was at present. Mining speculations had ruined him. He could not touch a thing that turned out right. So sure as he bought shares in a mine that was supposed to have no gold in it, it turned out to be one of the richest ever heard of. And even silver played him false; he had come his biggest cropper over a worked-out silver mine, in which antimony or some such metal was discovered the moment the shares seemed to be worth nothing, with the consequence that they had jumped up again to unheard-of altitudes.
When the crash had come Mr. Hobson had put a bold face on it, and his wife had behaved nobly. She had given up the confined home in which she had been so happy without a murmur, and had bought every stick of furniture that she could cram into a large house. She had bought silks and laces, furs and jewels, for herself, and clothed her young children in the richest attire; and she had given up without flinching the household work in which she had taken such a delight, and engaged a large staff of servants. All Mr. Hobson's debtors had been allowed to pay him in full, and he and his family had retired to their mansion, with a name free of all reproach, it is true, but to such misery as only people of refinement could experience from such a change in their surroundings.
And that was not the worst. Mr. Hobson was a kind husband and an affectionate father. But he had the gambler's fever in his blood, and the hard lesson he had received had not sufficed to purge him of it. Since his downfall he had continued to speculate, but with no greater success than before, and it was much to be feared that unless some help came to him, not only he, but his blameless wife and his innocent young children, would sink into yet deeper depths of degradation, and be obliged at last to go to the playhouse.
Mrs. Perry had come home one afternoon from a round of her district, full of the troubles of the Hobsons. Mr. Hobson had broken out again, and had risked a small fortune, not this time in mining, but in a patent for increasing the amount of petrol to be used in motor-cars. His excuse was that he had some mechanical knowledge, and had spotted an error in the invention which he thought would make it useless. But, unfortunately, he had mentioned his discovery to others, the errors had been pointed out to the patentees, and they had succeeded in putting them right. Or, as was darkly hinted, there had been no error at all, and Mr. Hobson had fallen into a trap. But, in any case, he had had to realise at a high figure, and had come out of the deal more overloaded with wealth than ever.
We had all sympathised deeply over the picture of misery that Mrs. Perry had drawn. Mr. Hobson, she said, was overcome with remorse, and like a man distracted. He had sat in his overfurnished dining-room with his head in his hands, while his wife, scintillating with diamonds, though it was early in the afternoon, had tried to comfort him, her face pale but full of courage. It had been almost insupportableto hear the children crying at the table loaded with provisions, and to think that the father, the bread-loser of the family, was powerless to help them.
"Cannot we do something for them, Samuel?" Mrs. Perry cried.
But her husband shook his head sadly, and said he was afraid not. "Hobson has himself to thank for it," he said, "and I fear he is incorrigible. If we were to take the burden of this mistake on our shoulders he would only make another one. The fact is, he is unfitted for business affairs. You can lose more money in the city than anywhere else, but you have to get up very early in the morning to do it, and the men who are successful at it, and lose large fortunes, are a good deal cleverer than poor Hobson."
I had offered then and there to look into the case and see if I could do anything to help. But although everybody said that it was very generous of me, they all tried to dissuade me from risking the small number of debts I already possessed. Edward did more. He rather annoyed me by taking me aside and telling me that my duty wasnow towards Miriam, and that it would not be right for me to be charitable at her expense, which was what it would come to if I tried to straighten out the Hobsons' badly involved affairs.
But I had now made up my mind that nothing should stand in the way of my charitable instincts. I was not in a position to do much. I could not set the unfortunate Hobson on his feet again as a poor man. But I could go and see him, and come away leaving him a good deal poorer than he was before.
My heart glowed as I thought of the blessings I should call down upon my head from him and his sorely tried family. I should be almost in the position of a walking miracle, bringing relief that must have been despaired of. The warm gratitude of that unfortunate family would follow me wherever I went, even if I went out of Upsidonia, as I fully intended to do, after having relieved Mr. Hobson of part of his burden.
As I jumped out of bed I had already made up my mind. I would go and see him that very morning. When one has decided upon an errand of mercy one should lose no time in setting about it.
I got downstairs earlier than usual, and found Tom roaming about, with ten minutes or so on his hands before he went off to school.
He greeted me affably, for we were now very good friends. I had taught him to bowl "googlies," which were unknown in Upsidonian cricket before my arrival, and he had got into the first eleven of his school on the strength of it. He was properly grateful to me, and had quite forgiven me for my white flannel suit.
"I say, old boy," he said, "you've been going it! Biffed old Potter in the eye yesterday, didn't you?"
"I didn't biff him in the eye, Tom," I replied. "I rather wish I had. How do you know about it?"
"I read it in the paper. I can't show it to you because old Blother has taken it off into hispantry. But it said that Potter and you had had a scrap, and he said you were a fraud; and they don't think you come from the Highlands at all."
"Wheredothey think I come from?"
"They don't know, but they're going to find out. They think it may have been you who committed the burglary."
"The burglary! What burglary?"
"Why, it was at Muffin's Rents, about a fortnight ago, just before you came. The people woke up and found a lot of family plate in the dining-room. A burglar had broken in in the night and left it there. A cheeky beggar he was too, for he had left them a bottle of Bass and half a game pie as well. I thought it was just the sort of sporting thing that you would have done."
"My dear Tom, I assure you I didn't. Why did they think it might have been me?"
"Well, they seemed to think you might have cleared out from some big house or other, because you were fed up with it, and got rid of your plate in that way."
"What a ridiculous idea!"
"Yes, it is rather. But I say, old boy, I wonder where you do come from."
I stared at him.
"Of course, I know you were a bit barmy before you came here, and don't remember anything about it," he went on to say. "It's a rummy thing altogether."
It seemed to me a very rummy thing that Tom should have any idea that I was supposed to have been what he called barmy.
"Who told you that?" I asked him.
"Oh, I heard them talking about it."
"Heard who talking about it?"
"Edward and old Blother. Old Blother said you seemed to be a very respectable young fellow, but he wasn't quite easy in his mind about your marrying Miriam, and he wanted to know more about you. He said you didn't talk like a Johnny from the Highlands. So then Edward said you didn't really remember where you had come from, and told him that you had been a bit touched in the upper story, but you were all right now."
"Well, I hope that satisfied Mr. Blother," I said, mentally confounding his impudence, and furious with Edward for publishing his silly idea, which I had only allowed him to hold because I thought he would keep it to himself.
"Oh, yes," said Tom. "He said if that was it, he supposed it was all right, and he shouldn't interfere unless he saw any further reason."
"Very kind of him indeed! Does anybody else know about this ridiculous idea of Edward's?"
"Oh, yes, everybody knows."
"What, Miriam?"
"Yes, she knows all right. I don't think she minds. I expect she thinks it's rather a lark. But, I say, I must be getting off. Good-bye, old boy! don't forget you promised to bowl to me this afternoon."
When I went into breakfast Miriam greeted me as usual, and showed none of that shrinking that might have been expected from a girl in the face of a lover whom she had discovered to have been at one time what Tom called barmy; I was greatly relieved at this, though determined to have it out with Edward at the first opportunity.
When Mr. Blother had shaken hands with us all, and asked us how we had slept—little attentions which he never omitted—he expressed himself with great indignation at the line taken by the newspaper over the occurrence of the day before.
Apparently, Edward's explanation of any eccentricities of mine that had disturbed him had been quite satisfactory. Mr. Blother and I had always got on well together, and I was pleased to remember that only a few days before I had demanded of him a handsome tip, saying that I had been in the house for some time and was afraid that I had not given him much trouble. He was quite on my side, and expressed himself strongly about the impertinence of the newspaper in throwing doubt upon me.
"We shall have to announce the truth," he said, as he bustled about while the rest of the family took their seats. "Our young friend here set out to walk to Culbut, and either had a touch of sunstroke, or else forgot himself and became intoxicated—which would be reprehensible, but not altogether inexcusable in one of his youth—and cannot give an account of himself. No doubt his memory will come back, but until it does we must all stand together and protect him from these suspicions. If there is one thing that is quite clear, it is that he has never been a rich man. Although his accent is not quite what one would expect from a Highlander, I believe myself that heisone, because it was quite plain from the first that he had never seen a servant in his life, and had no idea of how to treat them. Now if you are all sure that you have everything that you want, I will go and get on with my work. Don't leave quite so much on your plates as you did yesterday, please—I don't mean you, Perry. And it is quite time that this ham showed more signs of wear."
With a cheery laugh Mr. Blother left the room, and Edward came in as he did so. He was generally up early, and had already been in to Culbut that morning.
He was in a state of considerable excitement,but not over the affair that was in all our minds, which he put aside as of no account.
"Oh, that will all blow over," he said. "There is something far more serious now to engage people's attention."
We all looked at him expectantly. He was much agitated, and seemed at first incapable of speech. But when he had gulped down a little tea, he said in a voice vibrant with emotion: "This day will never be forgotten in Upsidonia. The social revolution has commenced."
We all looked towards Mr. Perry. It rested with him—the head of the family, and a man with a whole life of benevolent wisdom behind him—to indicate the line to be taken in face of this startling intelligence.
He kept his eyes fixed on his plate, but looked very grave, and shook his head slowly.
There was a moment's silence, and then he said: "It is an extraordinary thing that with all the improvements in communication we never can get our fish perfectly fresh. Mollie, will you take this away and give me some kidneys and bacon. I beg your pardon, Edward—you were saying—?"
Edward launched himself into an almost violent flood of speech. "I have felt it coming for a long time," he said. "I have done what I could to stem the tide, and to confine it in safe channels, such as I knew you, dear father, would approve of. But the torrent has been too strong. It has broken through all the puny obstacles I have set up. We are now launched on its full flood, and heaven help those who are not to be found on the right side."
"My dear Edward, tell us what has happened," said Mrs. Perry. "You are keeping us on tenterhooks."
Edward calmed himself a little and said: "It is Mr. and Mrs. Bolster who have put the match to the powder. I am proud to call them friends of mine. The name of Bolster will ring through the ages as that of people who did not shrink from taking a foremost place in the battle of freedom. And I trust that the name of Perry will go down with it."
"Bolster is a very respectable fellow," said Mr. Perry. "I have nothing whatever to say against Bolster, except that he has always been rather a grumbler. But I donot want our name to ring through the ages with his, Edward. Bolster and Perry! It would not sound well."
"What have they done, Edward?" asked Mrs. Perry. "Nothing foolish, I hope."
"Last night," said Edward, consenting at last to be drawn into a plain story, "Bolster came home to find that the inspectors had paid his house a visit. It seems that the cook had given information that the housekeeping bills had not been kept up to the level that the Bolsters are assessed upon. They made a scene with Mrs. Bolster, and refused to accept her explanation that her son, to whom she chiefly looked to help them in their meals, was away at Coxford, and the servants had all along refused to consume their proper share. The inspectors went away, and directed all the Bolsters' tradespeople to supply the house with double the quantity of goods ordered until further notice."
"They had no right to do that," said Mr. Perry. "They ought to have told Mrs. Bolster to do it, and left an inspector there to see that the goods were consumed. They have acted against the law."
"What do they care about the law?" exclaimed Edward bitterly. "The law in Upsidonia is for the poor, not for the rich. Bolster has taken the law into his own hands, and I amglad of it. I respect and honour him for his noble stand. When he came home and learnt what had happened, he threw every ounce of food in the house out into the garden. He did more than that. He is a big man, as you know, and he forced his butler to get up all the wine out of his cellar and pour it down the stable drains. The servants were in a terrible state of anger, but they could do nothing with him. He turned them out of the house neck and crop, and told them they could go and complain to the police. He didn't care where they went or what they did. He stood up to them all, men and women. Then he barricaded all the doors and windows; but before he did so he threw out all the money in the house and all the plate. He is now shut up with Mrs. Bolster and quite prepared to stand a siege. I hope that thousands will follow his example. It will be the end of this stifling tyranny. The rich will be able to breathe once more, and the selfish poor will have to shoulder their burdens and learn what misery they have inflicted so callously on their unfortunate fellow creatures."
"I am afraid Bolster will get into trouble," said Mr. Perry calmly. "I should not mix myself up with it, Edward, if I were you. We must go on quietly in our own way, without setting class against class. The methods of anarchy are not for such as us. My dear, anothercup of tea, if you please."
Edward choked down his emotion, and succeeded in making a fair breakfast. But I thought that in this matter he did not see eye to eye with his father. In his opinion the time for anarchyhadcome, and he was nerving himself to take a more prominent part in the struggle he saw coming than the more cautious and experienced Mr. Perry would approve of.
However, he gave us no hint of any intentions he may have formed while we were together, and directly he had finished his meal left the room.
I followed Edward as soon as I could, for I had a crow of my own to pick with him.
But I found him quite unable to discuss anything but the startling and courageous behaviour of his friend, Mr. Bolster. He was goingto his house at once, and I said that I would go with him.
Mr. Bolster lived in a large house not far from Magnolia Hall, and as we walked there I insisted upon Edward listening to my complaint.
"Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked impatiently. "You don't know where you come from, and I don't know either. My explanation is almost certainly the right one, and youmusthave some explanation of yourself ready. What are you complaining about?"
"I'm complaining of your having told Miriam that I am an escaped lunatic."
"My dear fellow, I'm pretty certain she suspected it. It was the nonsense you talked to her when you first came that made me tell her the truth. Now that she has the explanation she doesn't mind. No sensible girl would. She knows you are all right at present, and she'll see that you don't go wrong again."
I had to leave it at that. There was no satisfaction to be got out of the officious Edward.
Mr. Bolster's house was a pretentious building in the Italianate Gothic style, with Byzantine and other features. It stood in an extremely ugly garden, with asphalt paths, and stretches of grass cut up into beds of the shape of crescents, triangles, starfishes, Prince of Wales' feathers, interrogation marks, all elaborately planted to imitate carpets or rugs of the worst possible design. Wherever there was room for it, there was a large glass-house, and apparently Mr. Bolster had employed some of the hours of his self-imposed incarceration in throwing things at them; for there was hardly a pane within range that was left intact, and the ground about them was littered with lumps of coal and with the smaller articles of household furnishing, with which he, and possibly Mrs. Bolster, had missed their aim. The things with which they had been more fortunate were inside the glass-houses, which presented a picture of destruction that showed the seriousness of the battle now being waged.
Scattered about on the flower-beds, and on the grass near the house, was a curious assortment of articles, which included joints of meat, silver épergnes, brocaded cushions, cooking utensils, wearing apparel, pictures, clocks, and indeed every article of luxury that such a house as this might contain.
We were not the only people who had come to gaze at this extraordinary scene. There was awell-dressed ill-mannered crowd hanging about and looking up at the shuttered windows; and more were driving up every minute. Many of them gathered round Edward, who was generally recognized, and gave him such items of news as they thought might interest him.
"You'll see 'im in a minute," said one excited gentleman. "'E put 'is 'ead out of that window just now. 'Ad a cock-shy at one of the bobbies, wiv a boot-tree. There it is."
"Have the police been here?" asked Edward. "Where are they now?"
"Gorn off to git some more. Lor lumme! it ain't 'arf a circus, is it?"
The opulent-looking overfed ladies and gentlemen around us seemed more amused than impressed with what was going on. But Edward's face was very grave. "Poor creatures!" he said aside to me. "They are hardly capable of taking anything seriously. They lead such terrible lives that anything is a distraction to them. When a chance of emancipation comes, they are too sunk in misery to take it."
They did not appear to me to be preciselysunk in misery, and but for their fine clothes and the smart-looking equipages in which they had arrived, and which were now gathered round the gates waiting to take them away again, they were exactly like a careless, rather noisy London crowd, come out to see some fun.
As Edward was speaking there was a shout, and, looking up at a sort of Florentine balcony stuck on to a crenellated tower, I saw the now notorious Mr. Bolster, standing with his arms folded, surveying the crowd. He was in shirt-sleeves, and had not brushed his hair. Possibly he had thrown all the brushes in the house at the conservatories.
The crowd cheered him, and he bowed repeatedly with an air of self-satisfaction, but presently held up his hand to command silence, and then made a short speech.
"Fellow men and fellow women," he said. "I've begun, and now it's for you to carry on. Down with servants! Down with luckshry! Down with the pore!"
The renewed cheers with which this stirring address was received caused Edward's eyes to brighten. "Their hearts are in the right place," he said. "They only want a leader." Then he raised his voice and shouted: "Three cheers for Bolster and his noble wife!"
The cheers were given, and Mrs. Bolster, attired in what I believe is called a peignoir, appeared by the side of her husband and acknowledged them with him. Then both of them retired from the balcony.
Edward now set himself to turn the enthusiasm of the crowd in a practical direction. He did not address them collectively, but spoke to one here and there, and presently had round him a number of people who showed that they also recognized that Mr. Bolster's demonstration had sprung from a state of affairs intolerable to them as well as to him.
"Look 'ere, what do yer think of this?" asked one man. "Me and the missus was going to the theaytre, and my second coachman was adrivin' of us. Well, 'e took us round to where a old aunt of the cook's lived, and there we 'ad to set in the kerridge for 'alf an hour, while 'e yarned with 'er ladyship about a dinner-party they were giving in the servants' 'all, and 'oo was to be invited, and all such things as them. And 'er taking no more notice of us than if we wasn't there!"
"Yuss, it's just like 'em," said another. "My groom of the chambers 'auled me over the coals the other day for not usin' up the stationery quicker. Blarst 'im and 'is stationery,I sez, and I'd a good mind to tell 'im so."
"Why didn't you?" asked Edward. "If you were all to make a stand against this tyranny to which you are subjected, you could end it to-morrow. See what Bolster has done! It isn't all talk with him; it's action."
But, much as they no doubt approved of Bolster's bold stand, they seemed to shrink from taking any steps to follow his lead. Edward, who now began to go round among them with a note-book to take the names of those who were ready for concerted action, got more refusals than promises of support.
"What's the good?" asked one man. "They'll git 'old of Bolster all right, you'll see, and 'e'll be worse off than 'e was before. I ain't agoing to risk my luxurious 'ome, and run myself into trouble, not till I see a lot more of 'em chucking things about. It's all very well for Bolster. 'E ain't got a lot o' kids depending on 'im. A pretty thing if I was to leave mine to get through all the grub by themselves, while I was sent to chokey! 'Cos they don't let you order in no less. I've got a good appetite so far, and I can stand it better nor what they can."
That was the trouble with most of these long-suffering people. They were fighting their dailybattle against profusion, not for themselves alone, but for dear ones dependent on them; and I could not find it in my heart to blame them for shrinking from throwing themselves into Edward's campaign.
But now there came a diversion. A butcher's cart drove up to the house, driven by an aristocratic-looking young man in a blue coat. Mr. Bolster appeared again on the Florentine balcony, and let down a basket, into which was put a large assortment of fleshy delicacies. These he hauled up. When he had collected them all around him, he held up four lamb cutlets for us to see, and handed them to his wife. Then he began to bombard the butcher with the rest of the lamb cutlets, sweetbreads, lumps of suet, and everything else that he had so carefully taken from him; and so accurate was his aim that the young man swung off down the drive, shielding his well-greased head with his arm, and exhibiting every sign of resentment. When he was out of range, he pulled up and addressed Mr. Bolster most injuriously, threatening him with all sorts of penalties. But the crowd, heartened by the exhibition, jeered at him, and presently he drove away.
He had no sooner gone than the performance was repeated with a grocer, then with a poulterer, and at intervals with other tradespeople.Mr. Bolster kept the minimum of sustenance for himself and his wife, and used everything else as a projectile; and I think he must have gone rather short afterwards, for he was evidently enjoying himself, and seemed to keep back very little.
Whilst the various tradespeople were thus being ignominiously driven off the field, the coachmen and footmen and chauffeurs, who were waiting in full view of what was happening, not only took no part in the fray, but affected to ignore it completely.[32]They showed, however, a mild degree of interest, and there was a considerable stir amongst the now rapidly increasing crowd, as a squad of police marched on to the ground, and with them seven or eight men and women in the dress of indoor servants. It presently appeared that these had come, not to insist upon being taken back again, or to demand their wages, which, no doubt, they were pleased to go without, but to get such clothes as they wanted from the house.
But Mr. Bolster was ready for them. Whenever they congregated somewhere to make an entrance, he appeared at a window above them, and poured down water on their heads. And the police, who had evidently come to put an end to the whole business, were no more successful in forcing a way into the house. The lower part was built to resemble a mediæval prison, and stout iron bars and massive oak met them everywhere and defied their efforts.
At last they marched off, drenched to the skins to get reinforcements; but the inspector in charge of them remained, and in an authoritative voice ordered the crowd to disperse.
The crowd, now greatly encouraged by Mr. Bolster's determined resistance, refused to do so, though it showed a disposition to avoid the inspector's eye; and he got angry, and threatened to make arrests when his men returned.
He came up to Edward and said: "I would advise you not to mix yourself up in this, Mr. Perry. I mean business, and if you are here when my men come back, it will be my duty to arrest you first of all."
Edward hesitated a moment, and then turned abruptly on his heel and walked off. I followed him, and he said as we went down the drive: "I shan't shirk being arrested when the time comes, but it will be for something more serious than refusing to move on when I am told to."
As we left the garden I turned back and saw Mr. Bolster showering from an upper window articles of feminine apparel, which, floating amply down the breeze, roused the crowd to renewed merriment.