Ragged Trousered Philanthropists/Chapter 34
CHAPTER XXXIV
The Wise Men of the East
About the middle of October an event happened which threw the town into such a state of wild excitement, that the comparatively unimportant matters of unemployment and distress were almost forgotten.
Sir Graball D'Encloseland had been chosen for an even higher post in the service of his country, and his promotion made it necessary for him to resign his seat and seek re-election. The ragged trousered Tory workmen, as they loitered about the streets with empty stomachs, said to each other that it was a great honour for Mugsborough that their member should be promoted in this way. They boasted about it, and assumed as much swagger in their gait as their broken boots permitted. They stuck election cards bearing Sir Graball's photograph in their windows, and tied bits of blue and yellow ribbon, Sir Graball's colours, on their under-fed children.
The Liberals were furious. They said that an election had been sprung upon them; they had been taken a mean advantage of; they had no candidate ready. It wasn't fair either, because while they, the leading Liberals, had been treating the electors with contemptuous indifference, for months past Sir Graball D'Encloseland had been most active amongst his constituents, cunningly preparing for the contest. He had really been electioneering for the past six months. Last winter he had kicked off at quite a number of football matches, besides doing all sorts of things for the local teams. He had joined the Buffaloes and the Druids, been elected president of the Skull and Crossbones Boys Society, and, although he was not himself an abstainer, he was so friendly to Temperance that he had on several occasions taken the chair at teetotal meetings, to say nothing of the teas to the poor school children and things of that sort. In short, he had been quite an active politician in the Tory sense of the word for months past, and the poor Liberals had not smelt a rat until the election was sprung upon them.
A hurried meeting of the Liberal Three Hundred was held, and a deputation sent to London to find a candidate, but as there was only a week before polling day they were unsuccessful in their mission. Another meeting was held, presided over by Mr Adam Sweater, Rushton and Didlum also being present.
Profound dejection prevailed as the meeting listened to the delegates' report. The sombre silence that followed was broken at length by Mr Rushton, who suddenly started up and said that he began to think they had made a mistake in going outside the constituency at all to look for a man. Precious time had been wasted running about all over the country, begging and praying for a candidate, and overlooking the fact that they had in their midst a gentleman, a fellow townsman, who, he believed, would have a better chance of success than any stranger. Surely they would all agree, if they could only prevail upon him to stand, that Adam Sweater would be an ideal Liberal Candidate!
While Mr Rushton was speaking the drooping spirits of the Three Hundred were reviving, and at the name of Sweater they all began to clap their hands and stamp their feet. Loud shouts of enthusiastic approval burst forth, and cries of 'Good old Sweater' resounded through the room.
When Sweater rose to reply, the tumult died away as suddenly as it had commenced. He thanked them for the honour they were conferring upon him. There was no time to waste in words or idle compliments; rather than allow the enemy to have a walk over, he would accede to their request and contest the seat.
A roar of applause burst from the throats of the delighted Three Hundred.
Outside the hall in which the meeting was being held, a large crowd of poverty-stricken Liberal working men was waiting to hear the report of the deputation, and as soon as Sweater had consented to be nominated, Didlum rushed and opened the window overlooking the street and shouted the good news down to the crowd, which joined in the cheering. In response to their demands for a speech, Sweater came to the window and said a few words, reminding them of the shortness of the time at their disposal, and intreating them to work hard in order that the Grand Old Flag might be carried to victory.
At such times these people forgot all about unemployment and starvation in their enthusiasm about 'Grand Old Flags'. Their devotion to this flag was so great that the fact that they had carried it to victory so often in the past without obtaining any of the spoils did not seem to damp their ardour in the least. Being philanthropists, they were content, after winning the victory, to let their masters do the looting.
At the conclusion of Sweater's remarks the philanthropists gave three frantic cheers, and then someone in the crowd shouted: 'What's the colour?' After a hasty consultation with Rushton, who being a 'master' decorator was thought to be an authority on colours, green, grass-green was decided upon, and the information was shouted down to the crowd, who cheered again. Then a rush was made to Sweater's Emporium, and several yards of cheap green ribbon were bought and divided up into little pieces, which they tied into their button-holes, and thus appropriately decorated, they formed themselves into military order, four deep, and marched through all the principal streets, up and down the Grand Parade, round and round the Fountain, and finally over the hill to Windley, singing, to the tune of 'Tramp, tramp, tramp, the Boys are marching':
'Vote, Vote, Vote for Adam Sweater!
Hang old Closeland on a tree!
Adam Sweater is our man,
And we'll have him if we can,
Then we'll always have the biggest loaf for tea.'
The spectacle presented by these men, some of them with grey heads and beards, as they marked time or tramped along singing this childish twaddle, might have been amusing if it had been less pathetic.
By way of variety they sang several other things, including:
'We'll hang ole Closeland
On a sour apple tree.'
and:
'Rally, Rally, men of Windley,
For Sweater's sure to win.'
The town was soon deluged with mendacious literature, and smothered with huge posters:
'Vote for Adam Sweater!
The Working-man's Friend!'
'Vote for Sweater and Temperance Reform.'
'Vote for Sweater—Free Trade and Cheap Food,'
or
'Vote for D'Encloseland: Tariff Reform and Plenty of Work!'
This beautiful ideal—Plenty of Work—appealed strongly to the Tory workmen. All they desired for themselves and their children was 'Plenty of Work.' They marched about the streets singing their Marseillaise: 'Work, Boys, Work and be contented,' to the tune of 'Tramp, tramp, tramp the Boys are marching'; and at intervals as they tramped along they gave three cheers for Sir Graball, Tariff Reform, and Plenty of Work!
Both sides imported gangs of hired orators, who held forth every night at the corners of the principal streets and on the open spaces from portable platforms, motor cars and lorries. The Tories said that the Liberal Party in the House of Commons was composed principally of scoundrels and fools; the Liberals said the Tory Party were fools and scoundrels. A host of richly dressed canvassers descended upon Windley in carriages and motor cars, and begged for votes from the poverty-stricken working men who lived there.
One evening a Liberal demonstration was held at the cross roads on Windley hill. Notwithstanding the cold weather there was a great crowd of shabbily dressed people, many of whom had not had a really good meal for months. It was a clear night. The moon was at the full, and the scene was further illuminated by the fitful glare of several torches, stuck on the end of twelve-foot poles. The platform was a large lorry, and there were several speakers, including Adam Sweater himself and a real live Liberal Peer, Lord Ammenegg. This individual had made a considerable fortune in the grocery and provision line, and had been elevated to the peerage by the last Liberal Government on account of his services to the party.
Both Sweater and Ammenegg were to speak at two other meetings that night and were not expected at Windley until about eight-thirty, so to keep the ball rolling several other gentlemen, including Rushton, who presided, and Didlum and one of the five-pounds-a-week orators, addressed the meeting. Mingled with the crowd were about twenty rough-looking men, strangers to the town, who wore huge green rosettes and loudly applauded the speakers. They also distributed Sweater literature and cards with lists of the different meetings that were to be held during the election. These men were bullies hired by Sweater's agent. They came from the neighbourhood of Seven Dials, in London, and were paid ten shillings a day. One of their duties was to incite the crowd to bash anyone who disturbed the meetings or tried to put awkward questions to the speakers.
The hired orator was a tall slight man with dark hair, beard and moustache. He might have been called good-looking if it had not been for an ugly scar upon his forehead, which gave him a rather sinister appearance. He was an effective speaker. The audience punctuated his speech with cheers, and when he wound up with an earnest appeal to them, as working men, to vote for Adam Sweater, their enthusiasm knew no bounds.
'I've seen him somewhere before,' remarked Owen, who was standing in the crowd with Harlow and Easton.
'So have I,' said Harlow, with a puzzled expression, 'but I can't remember where.'
Easton also thought he had seen the man before, but their speculations were put an end to by the roar of cheering that heralded the arrival of the motor car containing Adam Sweater and his friend, Lord Ammenegg. Unfortunately those who had arranged the meeting had forgotten to provide a pair of steps, so Sweater found it a matter of considerable difficulty to mount the platform. However, while his friends were hoisting and pushing him up, the meeting beguiled the time by singing:
'Vote, vote, vote for Adam Sweater.'
When he was in the cart at last, and while he was recovering his wind, Rushton made a few remarks to the crowd. Sweater then advanced to the front, but in consequence of the cheering and singing he was unable to make himself heard for several minutes. When at length silence was restored, he made a very clever speech, specially written for him at a cost of ten guineas. A large part of it consisted of warnings against the dangers of Socialism. Sweater had carefully rehearsed this speech and he delivered it very effectively. Some of those Socialists, he said, were well-meaning but mistaken people, who did not realise the harm that would result if their extraordinary ideas were ever put into practice. He lowered his voice to a bloodcurdling stage whisper as he asked:
'What is this Socialism that we hear so much about, but which so few understand? What is it, and what does it mean?'
Then, raising his voice till it rang through the air and fell upon the ears of the assembled multitude like the clanging of a funeral bell, he continued:
'It is Madness! Chaos! Anarchy! It means Ruin! Black Ruin for the rich, and consequently, of course, Blacker Ruin still for the poor!'
As Sweater paused, a thrill of horror ran through the meeting. Men wearing broken boots and with patches upon the seats and knees, and ragged fringes round the bottoms of the legs, of their trousers, grew pale and glanced apprehensively at each other. If ever Socialism did come to pass they evidently thought it very probable, that they would have to go without any trousers or boots at all.
Toil-worn women, most of them dressed in other women's shabby cast-off clothing, weary, tired-looking mothers who fed their children for the most part on adulterated tea, tinned skimmed milk, bread and margarine, grew furious as they thought of the wicked Socialists who were trying to bring Ruin upon them.
The awful silence that had fallen on the panic-stricken crowd was presently broken by a ragged trousered philanthropist, who shouted out:
'We knows wot they are, sir. Most of 'em is chaps wot's got tired of workin' for their livin', so they wants us to keep 'em.'
Encouraged by numerous expressions of approval from the other philanthropists, the man continued:
'But we ain't such fools as they thinks, and so they'll find out next Monday. Most of 'em wants 'anging, and I wouldn't mind lendin' a 'and with the rope myself.'
Applause and laughter greeted these noble sentiments, and Sweater resumed his address, when another man, evidently a Socialist for he was accompanied by three or four others who like himself wore red ties, interrupted and said that he would like to ask him a question. No notice was taken of this request either by Mr Sweater or the chairman, but a few angry cries of 'Order!' came from the crowd. Sweater continued, but the man again interrupted, and the cries of the crowd became more threatening. Rushton started up and said that he could not allow the speaker to be interrupted, but if the gentleman would wait till the end of the meeting he would have an opportunity of asking his question then.
The man said he would wait as desired. Sweater resumed his oration, and presently the interrupter and his friends found themselves surrounded by the gang of hired bullies, who wore the big rosettes and who glared menacingly at them.
Sweater concluded his speech with an appeal to the crowd to deal a 'Slashing Blow at the Enemy' next Monday, and then, amid a storm of applause, Lord Ammenegg stepped to the front. He said that he did not intend to inflict a long speech upon them that evening, and as it was nomination day to-morrow he would not be able to have the honour of addressing them again during the election; but even if he had wished to make a long speech, it would be very difficult after the brilliant and eloquent address they had just listened to from Mr Sweater, for it seemed to him (Ammenegg) that Adam Sweater had left nothing for anyone else to say. But he would like to tell them of a thought that had occurred to him that evening. They read in the Bible that the Wise Men came from the East. Windley, as they all knew, was the East end of the town. They were the men of the East, and he was sure that next Monday they would prove that they were the Wise Men of the East by voting for Adam Sweater and putting him at the top of the poll with a 'Thumping Majority.'
The Wise Men of the East greeted Ammenegg's remarks with prolonged cheers, and amid the tumult his Lordship and Sweater got into the motor car and cleared off without giving the man with the red tie, or anyone else who desired to ask questions, any opportunity of doing so. Rushton and the other leaders got into another motor car and followed, to take part in another meeting down town.
The crowd now resolved itself into military order, headed by the men with torches and a large white banner on which was written in hugh black letters: 'Our man is Adam Sweater.' They marched down the hill singing, and when they reached the Fountain on the Grand Parade they saw another crowd holding a meeting there. These were Tories, and they became so infuriated at the sound of the Liberal songs and by the sight of the banner that they abandoned their meeting and charged the processionists. Both sides fought like savages, but as the Liberals were outnumbered by about three to one they were driven off the field with great slaughter; most of the torch poles were taken from them, and the banner was torn to ribbons. Then the Tories went back to the Fountain carrying the captured torches, and singing to the tune of 'Has anyone seen a German Band':
'Has anyone seen a Lib'ral Flag,
Lib'ral Flag, Lib'ral Flag.'
While the Tories resumed their meeting at the Fountain, the Liberals rallied in one of the back streets. Messengers were sent in various directions for reinforcements, and about half an hour afterwards they emerged from their retreat and swooped down upon the Tory meeting. They overturned the platform, recaptured their torches, tore the enemy's banner to tatters and drove them from their position. Then the Liberals in their turn paraded the streets singing: 'Has anyone seen a Tory Flag.'
The following evening Owen and a few others of the same way of thinking, who had subscribed enough money between them to purchase a lot of Socialist leaflets, employed themselves distributing them to the crowds at the Liberal and Tory meetings, and whilst they were doing this they frequently became involved in arguments with the supporters of the capitalist system. In their attempts to persuade others to refrain from voting for either of the candidates, they were opposed even by some who professed to believe in Socialism, who said that as there was no Socialist candidate the thing to do was to vote for the better of the two. This was the view of Harlow and Easton, whom they met. Harlow had a green ribbon in his buttonhole, but Easton wore D'Encloseland's colours.
One man said that if he had his way all those who had votes should be compelled to record them, whether they liked it or not, or be disfranchised! Owen asked him if he believed in Tariff Reform. The man said no.
'Why not?' demanded Owen.
The other replied that he opposed Tariff Reform because he believed it would ruin the country. Owen inquired if he were a supporter of Socialism. The man said he was not; and when further questioned he said that he believed if it were ever adopted it would bring black ruin upon the country. He believed this because Mr Sweater had said so. When Owen asked him, supposing there were only two candidates, one a Socialist and the other a Tariff Reformer, how he would like to be compelled to vote for one of them, he was at a loss for an answer.
At considerable danger to themselves, Owen and the other Socialists continued to distribute their leaflets and to heckle the Liberal and Tory speakers. They asked the Tories to explain the prevalence of unemployment and poverty in protected countries like Germany and America; and at Sweater's meetings they requested to be informed what was the Liberal remedy for unemployment. From both parties the Socialists obtained the same kinds of answers: threats of violence and requests 'not to disturb the meeting.'
These Socialists held quite a lot of informal meetings of their own. Every now and then when they were giving their leaflets away some unwary supporter of the capitalist system would start an argument, and soon a crowd would gather round and listen.
Sometimes the Socialists succeeded in arguing their opponents to an absolute standstill, for the Liberals and Tories found it impossible to deny that machinery is the cause of the overcrowded state of the labour market; that the overcrowded labour market is the cause of unemployment; and that the fact of there being always an army of unemployed waiting to take other men's jobs away from them destroys the independence of those who are in employment, and keeps them in subjection to their masters. They found it impossible to deny that this machinery is being used, not for the benefit of all, but to make fortunes for a few. In short, they were unable to disprove that the monopoly of the land and machinery by comparatively few persons is the cause of the poverty of the majority. But when they were faced with unanswerable arguments they would begin to shout and bluster about some utterly unimportant side issue; and in the angry wrangle that ensued the original subject would be overlooked.
Usually after one of these arguments Owen would wander off by himself, with his head throbbing and a feeling of unutterable depression and misery at his heart, weighed down by a growing conviction of the hopelessness of everything, of the folly of expecting that his fellow workmen would ever be willing to try to understand for themselves the causes that produced their sufferings. They did not want to know, they did not want to understand; it seemed as if they feared rather than welcomed the prospect of deliverance, and scorned and hated their would-be deliverers.
One night about nine o'clock Owen was in a large Liberal crowd, listening to the same hired orator who had spoken a few evenings before on the hill, the man with the scar on his forehead. The crowd was applauding him loudly and Owen again fell to wondering where he had seen this man before, and presently he remembered that this was one of the Socialists who had come with the band of cyclists into the town that Sunday morning, at the beginning of the summer—the man who had come afterwards with the van, and who had been struck down by a stone while attempting to speak from the platform. Though the Socialist had been clean shaven, and this man wore beard and moustache, Owen was certain that it was he.
At the conclusion of his speech the hired orator got down and stood in the shade behind the platform, while someone else addressed the meeting, and Owen went round to where he was standing, intending to speak to him.
All around them, pandemonium reigned supreme. They were in the vicinity of the Fountain on the Grand Parade, where several roads met. There was a meeting going on at every corner, and a number of others in different parts of the roadway and on the pavement of the parade.
Every now and then some of these poor wretches—they were all paid speakers—were surrounded and savagely mauled and beaten by a hostile crowd. If they were Tariff Reformers the Liberals mobbed them; and vice versa. Lines of rowdies swaggered to and fro, arm in arm, singing 'Vote, Vote, Vote, for good ole Closeland,' or 'good ole Sweater,' according to their colours. Gangs of hooligans paraded up and down, armed with sticks, singing, howling, cursing and looking for somebody to hit.
The walls were covered with huge Liberal and Tory posters which showed in every line the contempt of those who published them for the intelligence of the working men to whom they were addressed.
When Owen got round to the back of the platform, he found the man with the scarred face standing alone, gloomily silent, in the shadow. Owen gave him one of the Socialist leaflets, which he took, and after glancing at it, put it in his coat pocket without making any remark.
'I hope you'll excuse me for asking, but were you not formerly a Socialist?' said Owen.
Even in the semi-darkness he saw the other man flush deeply and then become very pale, while the unsightly scar upon his forehead showed with ghastly distinctness.
'I am still a Socialist,' he replied. 'No man who has once been a Socialist can ever cease to be one.'
'You seem to have accomplished that impossibility, to judge by the work you are doing at present,' remarked Owen.
'No one who has once been a Socialist can ever cease to be one,' repeated the other. 'It is impossible for a man who has once acquired knowledge to relinquish it. A Socialist is one who understands the causes of the misery and degradation around us; who not only knows the remedy, but knows that that remedy must eventually be adopted; but it does not follow that everyone who has sense enough to acquire that amount of knowledge, must, in addition, be willing to sacrifice himself in order to help to bring that state of society into being. When I first acquired that knowledge,' he continued, bitterly, 'I was eager to tell the good news to others. I sacrificed my time, my money and my health, in order that I might teach others what I had learned myself. I did it willingly and happily, because I thought they would be glad to hear, and that they were worth the sacrifices I made for their sakes. Now I know better.'
'Even if you no longer believe in working for Socialism, there's no need to work against it,' said Owen. 'If you don't want to help to bring about a better state of affairs, there's no reason why you should help to perpetuate the present system.'
The other man laughed bitterly. 'Oh, yes there is, and a very good reason too.'
'I don't think you could show me a good reason,' said Owen.
The man with the scar laughed again, the same unpleasant, mirthless laugh, and thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket drew it out again full of silver coins, amongst which one or two gold pieces glittered.
'That is my reason. When I devoted my life and what abilities I possess to the service of my fellow workmen, when I sought to teach them how to break their chains, when I tried to show them how they might save their children from poverty and shameful servitude, I did not want them to give me money. I did it for love. And they paid me with hatred and injury. But since I have been helping their masters to rob them, they have treated me with respect.'
Owen made no reply and the other man, having returned the money to his pocket, indicated the crowd with a sweep of his hand.
'Look at them!' he continued with a contemptuous laugh. 'Look at them, the people you are trying to make idealists of! Look at them! Some of them howling and roaring like wild beasts, or laughing like idiots; others standing with dull and stupid faces devoid of any trace of intelligence or expression, listening to the speakers whose words convey no meaning to their stultified minds; and others with their eyes gleaming with savage hatred of their fellow men, watching eagerly for an opportunity to provoke a quarrel that they may gratify their brutal natures by striking someone—their eyes are hungry for the sight of blood! Can't you see that these people, whom you are trying to make understand your plan for the regeneration of the world, your doctrine of universal brotherhood and love, are for the most part, intellectually, on a level with Hottentots? The only things they feel any real interest in are beer, football, betting and, of course, one other subject—their highest ambition is to be allowed to Work. And they desire nothing better for their children! These are the people who you hope to inspire with lofty ideals! You might just as well try to make a gold brooch out of a lump of dung! Try to reason with them, to uplift them, to teach them the way to higher things, devote your whole life and intelligence to the work of trying to get better conditions for them, and you will find that they themselves are the enemy you will have to fight against. They'll hate you, and, if they get the chance, they'll tear you to pieces. But if you're a sensible man you'll use whatever talents and intelligence you possess for your own benefit. Don't think about Socialism or any other "ism." Concentrate your mind on getting money, it doesn't matter how you get it. If you can't get it honestly, get it dishonestly; but get it! It is the only thing that counts. Do as I do—rob them, exploit them, and then they'll have some respect for you!'
'There's something in what you say,' replied Owen after a long pause, 'but it's not all. Circumstances make us what we are. And anyhow the children are worth fighting for.'
'You may think so now,' said the other, 'but you'll come to see it my way some day. As for the children, if their parents are satisfied to let them grow up to be half-starved drudges for other people, I don't see why you or I need trouble about it. If you like to listen to reason,' he continued after a pause, 'I can put you on to something that will be worth more to you than all your Socialism.'
'What do you mean?'
'Look here: you're a Socialist. Well, I'm a Socialist too: that is, I have sense enough to believe that Socialism is practical and inevitable and right. It will come when the majority of the people are sufficiently enlightened to demand it, but that enlightenment will never be brought about by reasoning or arguing with them, for these people are simply not intellectually capable of abstract reasoning; they can't grasp theories. You know what the late Lord Salisbury said about them when somebody proposed to give them some free libraries. He said: "They don't want libraries: give them a circus." You see these Liberals and Tories understand the sort of people they have to deal with; they know that although their bodies are the bodies of grown men, their minds are the minds of little children. That is why it has been possible to deceive and bluff and rob them for so long. But your party persists in regarding them as rational beings, and that's where you make a mistake; you're simply wasting your time.
'The only way in which it is possible to teach these people is by means of object lessons, and those are being placed before them in increasing numbers every day.
'The trustification of industry, the object lesson which demonstrates the possibility of collective ownership, will in time compel even these to understand, and by the time they have learnt that they will also have learned, by bitter experience and not from theoretical teaching, that they must either own the trusts or perish; and then, and not till then, they will achieve Socialism. But meanwhile we have this election. Do you think it will make any real difference, for good or evil, which of these two men is elected?'
'No,' replied Owen.
'Well, you can't keep them both out, you have no candidate of your own, why should you object to earning a few pounds by helping one of them to get in? There are plenty of voters who are doubtful what to do. As you and I know, there is every excuse for them being unable to make up their minds which of these two candidates is the worse. A word from your party would decide them. Since you have no candidate of your own you will be doing no harm to Socialism, and you will be doing yourself a bit of good. If you like to come along with me now, I'll introduce you to Sweater's agent, no one need know anything about it.'
He slipped his arm through Owen's but the latter released himself.
'Please yourself,' said the other with an affectation of indifference; 'you know your own business best. You may choose to be a Jesus Christ if you like, but for my part I'm finished. For the future I intend to look after myself. As for these people, they vote for what they want; they get what they vote for, and, by God, they deserve nothing better! They are being beaten with whips of their own choosing, and if I had my way they should be beaten with scorpions! For them, the present system means joyless drudgery, semi-starvation, rags and premature death. They vote for it all and uphold it. Well, let them have what they vote for, let them drudge, let them starve!'
The man with the scarred face ceased speaking, and for some moments Owen did not reply.
'I suppose there is some excuse for your feeling as you do, he said slowly at last, 'but it seems to me that you do not make enough allowance for the circumstances. From their infancy most of them have been taught to regard themselves and their own class with contempt, as inferior animals, and to regard those who possess wealth with veneration, as superior beings. The idea that they are really human creatures, naturally absolutely the same as their so-called betters, is an idea they have been taught to regard as preposterous. Your resentment should be directed against the deceivers, not the dupes.'
The other man laughed bitterly.
'Well, go and try to undeceive them,' he said, as he returned to the platform in response to a call from one of his associates; 'go and try to teach them that the Supreme Being made the earth and all its fulness for the use and benefit of all His children. Go and try to explain to them that they are poor in body and mind and social condition, not because of any natural inferiority, but because they have been robbed of their inheritance. Go and try to show them how to secure that inheritance for themselves and their children—and see how grateful they'll be to you.'
For the next hour Owen walked about the crowded streets in a dispirited fashion. His conversation with the renegade seemed to have taken all the heart out of him. He still had a number of the leaflets, but the task of distributing them had suddenly grown distasteful, and after a while he discontinued it. All his enthusiasm was gone. Like one awakened from a dream he saw the people who surrounded him in a different light. For the first time he properly appreciated the offensiveness of most of those to whom he offered the handbills: some, without even troubling to ascertain what they were about, rudely refused to accept them; some took them and after glancing at the printing threw them away, or rejected them with contempt or abuse.
Monday was polling day and the result was to be shown on an illuminated sign at the Town Hall at eleven o'clock at night. Long before that hour a vast crowd gathered in the adjacent streets, and, in spite of the rain, increased in numbers as the time went by. At a quarter to eleven the shower changed to a terrible downpour, but the people remained waiting to know which flag had been carried to victory. Eleven o'clock came and an intense silence fell upon the crowd, whose eyes were fixed eagerly upon the window where the sign was to be exhibited. To judge by the extraordinary interest manifested on all sides one might have thought the saturated multitude was waiting to hear of some great personal benefit, instead of being perfectly aware that this election would make no more difference to them than former ones had done. At a quarter past eleven the sign was illuminated but the figures were not yet shown. Next the names of the two candidates slid into sight. The figures were still missing but D'Encolseland's name was on top, and a hoarse roar of triumph came from the throats of his admirers. Then the two slides with the names were withdrawn, and the sign was again left blank. After a time the people grew unable to restrain their frantic impatience, and some of them began to groan and hoot.
After a few minutes the names again slid into view, this time with Sweater's name on top, and the figures appeared immediately afterwards.
| Sweater | ....4221 |
| D'Encloseland | ...4200 |
It was several seconds before the Liberals could believe their eyes: it was too good to be true. It is impossible to say what actually inspired the wild outburst of frenzied enthusiasm that followed, but, whatever the reason, they were all cheering and dancing and shaking hands with each other, and some of them were so overcome with joy and emotion that they were literally unable to speak.
A few minutes after the declaration Sweater appeared at the window and made a sort of a speech, but only fragments of it were audible to the yelling crowd who at intervals caught such phrases as 'Slashing Blow,' 'Sweep the country,' 'Grand old Liberal Flag,' and so on. Next D'Encloseland appeared, and he was seen to shake hands with Mr Sweater, whom he referred to as 'My friend'.
When the two 'friends' disappeared from the window, the part of the Liberal crowd that was not engaged in hand to hand fights with their enemies the Tories made a rush to the front entrance of the Town Hall where Sweater's carriage was waiting, and as soon as he had placed his plump rotundity inside they unharnessed the horses and, amid frantic cheers, dragged it through the mud and pouring rain all the way to 'The Cave'; but as most of them were accustomed to acting as beasts of burden the experience brought no novelty with it.
Then, having successfully carried the 'grand old flag to victory,' the electors, drenched, exhausted and covered with mud from head to foot, toiled back to their wretched homes.