Part 33 (1/2)

”I'm a Socialist, you see,” said Sid. ”I don't 'old with Wealth. What _is_ Wealth? Labour robbed out of the poor. At most it's only yours in Trust. Leastways, that 'ow _I_ should take it.” He reflected. ”The Present distribution of Wealth,” he said and stopped.

Then he let himself go, with unmasked bitterness. ”It's no sense at all. It's jest d.a.m.n foolishness. Who's going to work and care in a muddle like this? Here first you do--something anyhow--of the world's work, and it pays you hardly anything, and then it invites you to do nothing, nothing whatever, and pays you twelve hundred pounds a year.

Who's going to respect laws and customs when they come to d.a.m.n silliness like that?” He repeated, ”Twelve hundred pounds a year!”

At the sight of Kipps' face he relented slightly.

”It's not you I'm thinking of, o' man; it's the system. Better you than most people. Still----”

He laid both hands on the gate and repeated to himself, ”Twelve 'undred a year.... Gee-Whizz, Kipps! You'll be a swell!”

”I shan't,” said Kipps with imperfect conviction. ”No fear.”

”You can't 'ave money like that and not swell out. You'll soon be too big to speak to--'ow do they put it?--a mere mechanic like me.”

”No fear, Siddee,” said Kipps with conviction. ”I ain't that sort.”

”Ah!” said Sid, with a sort of unwilling scepticism, ”money'll be too much for you. Besides--you're caught by a swell already.”

”'Ow d'you mean?”

”That girl you're going to marry. Masterman says----”

”Oo's Masterman?”

”Rare good chap I know--takes my first floor front room. Masterson says it's always the wife pitches the key. Always. There's no social differences--till women come in.”

”Ah!” said Kipps profoundly. ”You don't know.”

Sid shook his head. ”Fancy!” he reflected, ”Art Kipps!... Twelve 'Undred a Year!”

Kipps tried to bridge that opening gulf. ”Remember the Hurons, Sid?”

”Rather,” said Sid.

”Remember that wreck?”

”I can smell it now--sort of sour smell.”

Kipps was silent for a moment with reminiscent eyes on Sid's still troubled face.

”I say, Sid, 'ow's Ann?”

”_She's_ all right,” said Sid.

”Where is she now?”

”In a place ... Ashford.”

”Oh!”

Sid's face had become a shade sulkier than before.