Part 28 (1/2)
”And I told him to buy a new suit,” said Gorman.
”That,” I said, ”is just the kind of man that Mrs. Ascher believes in.
She was saying to me a few minutes ago that there is nothing more sordid and detestable than the wors.h.i.+p of efficiency in practical matters.”
The mention of Mrs. Ascher's name recalled Gorman to a sense of his duties as a host. The two ladies were not getting on very well together.
I imagine that Mrs. Ascher was too much excited by her Irish news to care for talking about the Naval Review we were going to see, and that was a topic which would inevitably suggest itself to Miss Gibson. Miss Gibson, though anxious to be polite, was not likely to know or care anything about Ireland. Gorman left us and joined them.
”Well,” I said to Ascher, ”what do you think of this performance in Galway?”
”Have you read the newspapers?” he said.
”The headlines,” I replied. ”I couldn't very well help reading them.”
Ascher stepped across the carriage and picked up one of the papers from the floor. It was the one which declared that civil war had broken out in Ireland.
”I wish,” he said, ”that I knew exactly the measure of my nephew's intelligence.”
”Captain von Richter?” I said.
”Yes. He may--almost anything is possible with a man like him. He may believe that.”
Ascher pointed to the words, ”Civil War.”
”I don't think you need worry about that,” I said. ”Whatever Malcolmson and his lot may do those fellows in Galway won't fight. Gorman and the priests will stop them. You can always count on the politicians and the priests. They'll prevent anything really serious. The Connaught Celt will never start a civil war; at least not unless he gives up his religion and takes to hanging Members of Parliament. He's a splendid fighting man--none better--but he won't run the risk of losing his soul for the sake of a battle. He must be told he ought to fight by some one whose authority he recognises. That's where we're safe. All the authorities are against violence.”
”I have no doubt you are right,” said Ascher. ”No civil war will be started in the way these papers suggest. I am not anxious about that. It is impossible. But I am anxious lest it should be believed possible by men who do not understand. My nephew, for instance. He will not know what you know. He may believe--and those over him in Berlin--they will not understand. They may think that the men in Ireland who have got the guns will use them. They may even have had something to do with supplying the guns. That is where the danger lies. A miscalculation--not in Ireland--but elsewhere.”
I did not like to ask whether Mrs. Ascher's enthusiasm for the cause of Ireland had led her to finance the Galway gun-running. Nor did I care to question Ascher about his suggestion that Von Richter had something to do with buying and s.h.i.+pping that cargo or the other which was landed at Larne. Ascher seemed disinclined to discuss the matter further. We joined Gorman and the two ladies at the far end of the carriage, picking up Tim on our way.
Gorman was sitting beside Miss Gibson. He was leaning forward, pointing with outstretched hand to the country through which the train was pa.s.sing.
”This is the playground of England,” he said. ”Here the rich and idle build themselves beautiful houses, plant delightful gardens, live surrounded by a parasitic cla.s.s, servants, ministers to luxury; try to shut out, succeed to a great extent in shutting out all sense and memory of real things, of that England where the world's work is done, the England which lies in the smoky hinterland.” He waved his hand with a comprehensive gesture towards the north. ”Far from all the prettinesses of glorified villadom.”
”I do think,” said Miss Gibson, ”that Surrey and Hamps.h.i.+re are sweetly pretty.”
Miss Gibson may be regarded, I suppose, as one of England's toys. It was only natural that she should appreciate the playground. It was, so she thought, a district very well suited to the enjoyment of life. She told us how she had driven, in the motor of a wealthy member of Parliament, through the New Forest. From time to time she had spent week-ends at various well-appointed villas in different parts of the South of England, and, as a nice-minded young woman should, had enjoyed these holidays of hers. She frankly preferred the playground to that other, more ”real” England which Gorman contrasted with it, the England of the midlands, where the toilers dwelt, in an atmosphere thick with s.m.u.ts.
Mrs. Ascher, of course, took quite a different view. It filled her with sadness to think that a small number of people should play amid beautiful surroundings while a great number--she dwelt particularly on the case of women who made chains--should live hard lives in hideous places. Mrs. Ascher is more emotional than intellectual. The necessity for consistency in a philosophy of life troubles her very little. As a devout wors.h.i.+pper of art she ought to have realised that her G.o.ddess can only be fitly honoured by people wealthy enough to buy leisure, that the toiling millions want bread much more than they want beauty. I have no quarrel with the description of the life of Birmingham as more ”real”--both Gorman and Mrs. Ascher kept using the word--than the life of the Isle of Wight. Nor should I want to argue with any one who said that beauty and art are the only true realities, and that the struggle of the manufacturing cla.s.ses for wealth is a striving after wind. But I felt slightly irritated with Mrs. Ascher for not seeing that she cannot have it both ways.
Gorman, of course, was simply trying to be agreeable. I pointed out--when I succeeded in seizing a place in the conversation--that if Gorman's theory were applied to Ireland Belfast would come out as a reality while Cork, Limerick, and other places like them would be as despicable as Dorsets.h.i.+re.
”Wicklow,” I said, ”is the playground of Ireland, and it returns nothing but Nationalist members to Parliament. You ought not to go back on your own side, Gorman.”
Mrs. Ascher shuddered at the mention of Belfast and would not admit that it could be as ”real” as Manchester or Leeds.
Miss Gibson broke in with a reminiscence of her own. She told us that she had been in Belfast once with a touring company, and thought it was duller on Sunday than any other city in the British Isles.
Gorman, after winking at me, appealed to Ascher on the subject of Belfast's prosperity. In his opinion the apparent wealth of that city is built up on an insecure foundation of credit. There is no solidity about it The farmers of the south and west of Ireland, on the other hand, have real wealth, actual savings, stored up in the Post Office Banks, or placed on deposit, in other banks, or h.o.a.rded in stockings.
Ascher was most unwilling to join in the discussion. He noticed, as I did, that Miss Gibson's attention was wandering. In the end, goaded by Gorman, he said that some one ought to teach the Irish farmers to invest their savings in high cla.s.s international stocks and bonds. He added that 1 notes kept in drawers and desks are not wealth but merely frozen potentialities of credit.
After that, conversation, as might be expected, became impossible for some time, although Ascher apologised humbly.