CHAPTER X.

THE QUEER LOOK OF THINGS.

"THERE was another meeting of the men last night, Peter," said Mr. Hughes one morning, in a thoughtful tone, as he paced the garden-path.

"Werry important meeting, sir," said Stuckey.

"Were you there yourself?"

"I was, sir. It's interestin' to watch an' see the course which matters is a-takin'."

Peter spoke in a contemplative tone, gazing straight over the top of the Rector's hat.

"What course are they taking?" asked Mr. Hughes, amused.

"An' that's the werry question, sir," responded Peter, moving his head to and fro, with an air of profound consideration.

"Did Pope address the men?"

"And he did, sir; an' told the men a lot of things in werry uncommon fine language. Pope speaks a deal finer than you do, sir."

"He does, does he?" laughed Mr. Hughes.

"Werry much finer, only it ain't by a long chalk so clear to the understandin'. For why, sir? Peter Pope, he strings together a lot of fine words, like children do with glass beads, and those that listens is none the wiser. But he does a deal of butterin', and that's what the men likes. They likes the butter laid on thick, and no mistake, sir."

"Human nature, I'm afraid. Most people have no objection to a certain amount of flattery."

"Just my own view of the matter, sir. As I was a-telling of Holdfast this very morning: 'They likes a good spread o' butter, Holdfast,' says I; 'and they don't know, not they, as it's rancid butter, calc'lated to do 'em no good.'"

"What did Pope say to them yesterday, Peter?"

"Telled 'em what a splendid set of manly fellows they all was, sir, to be sure, and what a cowardly lot of sneaking chaps they'd got over 'em. Telled 'em too they'd got everything in their own hands—sort of general management of the whole world, you know—and all they'd got to do was to strike, an' strike, an' strike again, and drive the wages up as high as ever they liked. That's what he says! Telled 'em the masters 'ud soon give in, and then they'd have another strike, and the masters 'ud give in again. All as easy as b—a—ba, sir!"

"And the men believed him!"

"Well, I don't know as I can 'xactly say that, sir. There is some among the men as has too much sense to be altogether so easy bamboozled with a lot of clap-trap. But any way, they do like uncommon to hear it all. Sort of tickles and soothes 'em, you know."

"Was Holdfast there?"

"I've a notion not, but I ain't sure. Any way, he's spoke up bravely once, and I make no doubt he'll do it again. I'm not sure as I won't take up the line myself some day."

"Which line?" Mr. Hughes asked.

"Speechifying, sir, for the good of them as is ignorant," Peter said loftily.

"You think you have a gift that way?"

Peter scratched his head, divided between modesty and assurance.

"Well, sir, my old mother, she were knowing and no mistake, and she'd used to say I had a gift for most things, whatever I chose to take up."

"Perhaps a little practice beforehand would be advisable, before adventuring yourself in public," suggested Mr. Hughes.

"Just the werry identical same conclusion as I comed to myself," asserted Peter. "Nothing in the world like practice for giving of a man confidence, sir. And it's confidence as does it. It ain't the gift only; it's confidence, and practice leads to confidence."

"Have you begun your practising?"

"It ain't my way, sir, for to go a-puttin' off when I sees a duty plain afore me. Soon 's I sees my way, I up and does it. Yes, I was a-practising yesterday evening; an' I'd just got to that 'ere point, sir, as I'd worked up a picture-like of a lot o' men round, all a-listenin' as meek as lambs, and I a-giving out o' my opinions—I'd got to that 'ere point, sir, when Mary Anne she come in, an' says she,—"

"'Why, Peter,' says she, 'whatever are you after,' says she, 'a-hitting out at the candlestick like that?' says she."

"'That's action,' says I. 'A fine thing is action,' says I, 'and Pope's got a lot of it. Gives him a sort of hold-like on people's minds, Mary Anne,' says I."

"Mary Anne she didn't see it, and she fell a-laughing at me, fit to bu'st; but there's no manner o' doubt it is so, sir. Nor action ain't hard to get, neither. It's just a swing, an' a stamp, an' a bang of the feet now and agin, and a deal o' tossing about o' the arms between times. Just a sort of emphaticallizing of the words by means o' the body, you see, sir. I've been a-telling Holdfast he's got to work up his action, afore he speaks agin. The men likes a lot of action."

"I shouldn't recommend either you or Holdfast to take Pope for your model," said the much diverted Mr. Hughes, as he moved away. "A statement, well worded, may be quite as emphatic without the swing or the stamp."

Peter stood motionless, weighing this parting utterance. He rubbed his forehead more than once in dubious style.

[Illustration: "'A fine thing is action,' says I, 'and Pope's got a lot of it.'"]

"Don't know as I can give in to that 'ere notion neither. There ain't no doubt as the men likes action. A speaker as didn't stir a finger wouldn't make no way with our chaps. They likes a stamp and a bang, once and agin. Same time, they did listen pretty patient to Holdfast; for all he'd no action, nor didn't lay on the butter."

"It's a queer thing now—come to think of it!—A werry queer and extraordinary thing, to see all these able-bodied fellows hanging about idle for weeks an' weeks, an' bringing their families to the brink o' starwation—and for why? 'Cause they're told! That's why! Peter Pope tells 'em to do it, and they does it! Not as they wants to do it, most of 'em! There's hundreds this minute as 'ud be glad and thankful to give in, an' be at work again! But no! They're bid to hold out, and hold out they will. They'll hold out, and they'll do all they can to make others hold out, and maybe punish them as don't."

"And all the while they're sick at heart, poor fellows, knowing; all they've lost an' must lose, and knowing the misery at home! Supposing the masters do give way. What then! Think a bit of a rise in their wages 'll ever make up for what they've gone through these weeks? Not it! An' the men knows that—many of 'em—as well as I do; for they've sense down below. But they haven't the courage to speak out, nor to act for themselves. Talk of independence! They're like a flock of sheep, everybody a-running after the rest."

"Yes, it is a werry queer state of things indeed. But if it hadn't ha' been for that there accident, I'd ha' been among 'em now, scuttling after Pope, like to the rest."

"'Tain't so amazin' the members of a Union holding out when they're bid. Whether it's wise or foolish orders they has, and whatever they thinks privately, they gets an allowance, and they're helped through. But it's mighty queer to see them hundreds of men who don't belong to no Union, nor don't get a penny from it saving by way of charity, all knuckling down alike. Werry advantageous for Pope! It's a fine increase of income as he's been getting all through the strike, which 'll stop when the strike stops."

"So it ain't surprising that Peter Pope is sort of anxious to keep the strike a-going! And it ain't so werry surprising that the unionists shouldn't mind a bit longer holiday, an' being kept without havin' to work for their living. But it's most surprising an' altogether remarkable, when a lot of poor starving chaps, who don't get no extra income nor don't belong to no Union, should be so wonderful ready to do just as they're bid, and take the bread out of their children's mouth's to put jam an' pastry into Peter Pope's mouth! Don't seem fair on the children, though!"

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