Part 36 (1/2)

Uncle was nearly as much upset as the 'bus. The gallant fellow offered his services to his sister.

”Look 'ee here, Susan. I be a man o' parts. 'Tis no trick for me to larn motor-drivin'. To use a figure o' speech, I be a born shover, clever, as you be, wi' my brain and my fingers. Such a thatcher as Habakkuk Mucklow be fit for anything. I feel it in me, dear, to command armies. Say the word, and I'll declare war wi' Saint Willum; I'll downscramble 'un in two jiffs.”

Mrs. Yellam thanked him, but the word was not said.

She appeared to accept misfortune with grim resignation. Not even to Fancy dared she unveil her heart. Alone with Solomon, she permitted a few words to escape.

”My faith, Solly, be on the wing again. Why should G.o.d Almighty raise His hand against an old 'ooman? He might ha' seen fit to cripple me wi'

rheumatics. I could ha' borne that wi'out whimpering. But why do He exalt Willum Saint? That's what tears me, my dog.”

Solomon spared no effort of mind or body in the attempt to a.s.sure his mistress that these high matters were apprehended by all dumb animals.

Conscious of failure, he became very dejected.

A letter from Alfred heartened her a little.

”Dear Mother:” (he wrote) ”I hope this finds you in the pink, as it leaves me. Don't worry about the old 'bus! _I don't, not a bit._ I have a notion that if you worry much 'twill be bad for Fancy and for Somebody Else, you know who I mean. As for William Saint, I say this--take a squint at his face! I wouldn't have his liver for the best carrying business in the world. If you've set your dear heart on my punching a rascal's head, I'll do it, so soon as I get back, and make a job of it, too. Hard blows hurt them as get them; hard thoughts hurt them as think them. I puzzled that out in the trenches, where we be making very merry again. You'll worry too about the loss of money. I say to that--_Napoo_!

That's French. I parleyvoo with the best of them, but when it comes to buying stuff, they do me in a fair treat....”

Mrs. Yellam read and re-read the letter. Fancy was at the Court when it came. Then she said to Solomon:

”Wherever does that boy o' mine get his Christian principles? Not from me, Solly, not from me. Wag tail, little man, and I'll tell 'ee for why.

Willum Saint, next Christmas, maybe, 'll take such a head to Salisbury as never was.”

Sol barked.

Alfred's sentence about merry-making in the trenches provoked much thought. Mrs. Yellam had talked freely with scores of wounded Tommies.

They came, they conquered all reserves, they went. Some actually complained that life in Nether-Applewhite seemed ”dull” after the ”fun”

in the dug-outs. At first, she suspected ”leg-pulling,” but she limped to the slow conclusion that the high spirits of these gallant fellows came _from_ the trenches, and were not, as she had supposed at first, a natural result of finding themselves snug and safe after sh.e.l.l-fire.

Possessing the qualities which distinguish a ”tufting” hound--a good nose for a scent, staying powers, and tenacity in sticking to her quarry, Mrs. Yellam decided, ultimately, that millions of young men and women were living, like gnats, for the pa.s.sing hour, buzzing gaily here and there, utterly regardless of past and future.

Could she bring herself to so happy a condition of mind?

”Take no thought for the morrow.”

That injunction couldn't be ignored. Nevertheless, she had ignored it all her life. Hence, from a material point of view, her sound economic condition. She was independent of the 'bus.

Such thoughts were obsessing, also, the parson of the parish.

Hamlin was quite as handicapped as Mrs. Yellam by principles adopted long ago which he deemed, before the war, to be bomb-proof. He had pinned his faith to the ma.s.ses, dismissing the cla.s.ses as effete and lapped in luxury and indifference. All workers appealed to him irresistibly; men and women of leisure rather exasperated him. He held with Matthew Arnold that conduct was three-fourths of life, whereas culture might or might not claim the odd quarter.

The ma.s.ses had disappointed him. The cla.s.ses seemed to have justified their claim to superiority not in mere education but in a capacity and willingness to sc.r.a.p self-interest which astounded him. He had expected, too, a tremendous upward movement from German Socialists. Indeed, he had regarded the Socialists of Europe as a band of brothers prepared to stand shoulder to shoulder against autocracy.

And they had not done so.

He could find for the ma.s.ses, not at the front, all the excuses which fell so glibly from the lips of Democracy's champions. Strikers complained of lack of good faith on the part of the Government, of local injustices, of this and that, but the fact remained that self-interest swayed them, as it had swayed the privileged cla.s.ses before the war. The tables seemed to be turned. Aristocracy, governed possibly by its fine motto, ”_n.o.blesse oblige_,” hurled self-interest to the void; Democracy picked it up and hugged it. Indisputable evidence exhibited Labour as rejoicing in an increased wage, and spending pounds a week upon luxuries, many actually praying that the war might continue, because they believed that the end of it would mean a return to dull, grinding pre-war conditions.

And Hamlin admitted sorrowfully to himself that if the war did end suddenly, leaving Labour triumphant, insatiate for more and more wealth, and in a position to dictate terms to Capital, that the country would be plunged into abysmal depths, depths in which new tyrants would impose a new slavery without any of the restrictions which culture and tradition had prescribed upon the former autocrats and plutocrats.

He envisaged England at the mercy of the mob!