Part 17 (1/2)
”I am as certain of it as that I sit here. I swear it by whatever G.o.ds there be!”
Plain, stout Mr. John Brown was changed. d.i.c.k forgot his fat, chubby hands, his round, benevolent, kindly, but commonplace face. It was a new Mr. John Brown that he saw. A new light shone in his eyes, a new tone had come to his voice, a seemingly new spirit inspired him.
”I go further,” cried Mr. Brown, ”and I say this: England--the British Isles need the same remedy. All that you have been thinking about are sticking-plasters--palliatives, and not cures. What England needs is a Revolution. All the old corrupt, crus.h.i.+ng forces must be destroyed, the old G.o.ds overthrown, and a new evangelist must proclaim a new gospel.”
”A madman's dream,” protested d.i.c.k. ”Let's talk of something else.”
”Not yet,” replied Mr. John Brown. ”Tell me this, you who long for a new heaven and a new earth--you who plead for justice, for fraternity, for brotherhood: do you believe that the programme--I mean the organised programme--of the Labour Party or the Socialist Party will ever bring about what you desire?”
d.i.c.k was silent.
”Ah, you are honest. You know it will not. In your heart of hearts you know, too, that nothing but a thorough upheaval, a complete Revolution of the bad old order of things can bring about what you desire. Patching up an old building whose walls are cracked, whose drains are corrupt, whose foundations are insecure, is waste of time and energy. If you want a new sanitary house the old place has to be demolished and the rubbish cleared away! That's it, my friend. That's what's needed in this country. The rubbish must be cleared away. That's what the people want. For the moment they are crying out for something, they hardly know what, but they will have a Revolution, and they are longing for a leader to lead them, a prophet to interpret their needs.”
”But for England to become another Russia!” d.i.c.k's response was that of a man who had not yet grasped all that was in the other's mind.
”There is no need of that. Because England has not sunk to the depths of Russia, her revolution would be less violent. There would be no need for excesses, for violence. But here is the fact, my friend: three-fourths of our population belong to the wage-earning cla.s.ses; they are the toilers and the moilers; let the true gospel be preached to them, let the true prophet and leader appear, and they would follow him.”
”And who is to be the prophet, the leader?”
”You, my friend.”
”I!” gasped d.i.c.k.
”You. Richard Faversham. You who have tasted the sweets of wealth. You who have toiled and sweated with the workers. You who have eyes to see, ears to hear. You who have the power to interpret the people's longings. You who have the qualities of the leader, who can take them to the Promised Land. You!”
”Madness!”
”You say that now. You will not say it in a few hours from now. You can understand now what I meant when I startled you an hour ago by saying that I see such a future before you as was never possible to any Englishman. You are young; you are ambitious. It is right you should be. No man who is not ambitious is worth a rotten stick to his age. Here is such a career as was never known before. Never, I say! Man, it's glorious! You can become the greatest man of the age--of all the ages!”
Mr. Brown looked at d.i.c.k intently for a few seconds, and then went on, speaking every word distinctly.
”A Labour Member, indeed! A voting machine at four hundred a year! The hack of his party organisation! Is that a career for a man like you? Heavens, such a thought is sacrilege! But this, my friend, is the opportunity of a life--of all time.”
”Stop!” cried d.i.c.k. ”I want to grasp it--to think!”
CHAPTER XX.
”THE COUNTRY FOR THE PEOPLE”
”But you are mad,” said the young man at length. ”Even if you are right in your diagnosis of the disease from which the country is suffering, if the remedy you suggest is the only one, I am not the man you need. And even if I were, the remedy is impossible. England is not where France was a hundred years ago; she is not where Russia is to-day.”
”And you are not a Lenin, a Trotsky, eh?” and Mr. John Brown laughed like a man who had made a joke.
”No, thank Heaven, I am not,” and d.i.c.k spoke quickly. ”I do not believe in the nationalisation of women, neither do I believe in the destruction of the most sacred inst.i.tutions of life.”
”Of course you don't,” replied Mr. John Brown, ”and I am glad of it. Russia has gone to many excesses which we must avoid. But what can you expect, my friend? After centuries of oppression and persecution, is it any wonder that there has been a swing of the pendulum? The same thing was true of France a hundred years ago. France went wild, France lost her head, and neither Danton nor Robespierre checked the extravagances of the people. But, answer me this. Is not France a thousand times better to-day than when under the Bourbons and the Church? Is not such a Republic as France has, infinitely better than the reign of a corrupt throne, a rotten aristocracy, and a rottener Church? Besides, did not a great part of those who were guillotined deserve their doom?”
”Perhaps they did; but--but the thing is impossible, all the same.”
”Why impossible?”
”For one thing, Lenin and Trotsky are in a country without order and law. They murdered the Tzar and his family, and they seized the money of the Government and of the banks. Such a thing as you suggest would need millions, and you could not get any body of Englishmen to follow on the Russian lines. Besides--no, the thing is impossible!”
”Money!” repeated Mr. John Brown, like a man reflecting. ”I myself would place in your hands all the money you need for organisation and propaganda.”
”In my hands!”
”In your hands, my friend. Yes, in your hands. But we have talked enough now. You want time to think over what has been said. But will you do something, my friend?”
”I don't know. I suspect not.”
”I think you will. To-night I want you to accompany me to a place where your eyes will be opened. I want you to see how deep are the feelings of millions, how strong is the longing for a leader, a guide. You, who have felt the pulses of the millions who live and act in the open, have no idea of what is felt by the millions who act in the dark.”
”I do not understand.”
”Of course you don't. You and other so-called Labour leaders, because you mingle with a cla.s.s which you call the people, think you know everything. You believe you know the thought, the spirit of the age. Come with me to-night and I will show you a phase of life hitherto unknown to you. You will come? Yes?”
”Oh yes, I will come,” replied d.i.c.k, with a laugh. The conversation had excited him beyond measure, and he was eager for adventure.
”Good. Be at the entrance to the Blackfriars Underground Station to-night at eleven o'clock.”
”At eleven; all right.”
Mr. John Brown looked at his watch, and then gave a hasty glance round the room. He saw two portly looking men coming in their direction.
”I am sure you will excuse me, Mr. Faversham. It is later than I thought, and I find I have appointments. But it has been very interesting to know your point of view. Good evening. Ah, Sir Felix, I thought you might drop in to-night,” and leaving d.i.c.k as though their talk had been of the most commonplace nature, he shook hands with the newcomers.
d.i.c.k, feeling himself dismissed, left the club, and a minute later found himself in the thronging crowd of Piccadilly. Taxicabs, buses, richly upholstered motor-cars were pa.s.sing, but he did not heed them. People jostled him as he made his way towards Hyde Park gates, but he was unaware of it. His head was in a whirl; he was living in a maze of conflicting thoughts.
Of course old John Brown was a madman! Nothing but a madman would advance such a quixotic programme! He pictured the club he had just left--quiet, orderly, circ.u.mspect--the natural rendezvous for City and West End magnates, the very genius of social order and moneyed respectability. How, then, could a respected member of such a place advance such a mad-brained scheme?
But he had.
Not that he--d.i.c.k Faversham--could regard it seriously. Of course he had during the last two years been drawn into a new world, and had been led to accept socialistic ideas. Some, even among the Socialists, called them advanced. But this!
Of course it was impossible.
All the same, there was a great deal in what John Brown had said. A Labour Member. A paid voting machine at 400 a year! The words rankled in his mind.
And this scheme was alluring. The country for the people!...
He made his way along the causeway, thinking of it.
A Revolution! The old bad, mad order of things ended by one mighty upheaval! A new England, with a new outlook, a new Government!... A mighty movement which might grip the world. A new earth....
And he--d.i.c.k Faversham?