CHAPTER III.
A SUNDAY IN LONDON.
To be in London at any time is an experience that is worth having; for all good things seem to tend to this wonderful city, which is the very heart of the world! What might of power and influence it possesses! What vivid life of all kinds exists in it! Some people say it is not beautiful as Paris, Brussels, and other cities are; but they are surely mistaken. It has a beauty and a homeliness that is all its own. No parks are more green; no streets are more interesting. To Arthur Knight, as he drove from West to East on his arrival, it seemed to him the fairest, as it was certainly the dearest, of all the world. The trouble that had been put into his mind by Hancourt, though a very personal one, could not absorb his thoughts as he looked upon his fellow-countrymen in the crowded thoroughfares. “If London were Christian, there would be hope of the whole world,” he said; and his was the dream of how many devout souls beside! With his strong heart full of the enthusiasm of youth, he did not for a moment consider the dream to be impossible of realisation. And with the same buoyant hopefulness he thought that something which he had to say would hasten that consummation. He passed by the dwellings of the rich, and, measuring others by himself, he peopled them with young men who were ready to live or die in the true service of their country. He believed that the time had come for the new aristocracy to assert itself—the aristocracy of character and helpfulness—the nobility of the future, whose destiny it is to rule the world with righteousness. “This little island ought to be full of friends,” he said, echoing the thought of one of England’s greatest teachers. But when he reached the East-end the awful contrasts of the metropolis impressed and saddened him.
It was in this part of London that Arthur Knight’s home was. Mr. Knight, senior, had not followed the fashion, and sought out a suburban residence. He preferred to live near his works, and could not bring himself to believe that a railway ride every morning and evening would be a saving of time, or strength, or money. He lived in an old house, surrounded by a moderately large garden, in which, however, few things flourished but shrubs. All around the garden was a high wall, which completely shut the place out of sight; so that, but for the noise, one might have fancied himself miles away from the great city. Not only was the house an ancient one, but the furniture in it was sombre and old-fashioned. It was not a home-like house, for no woman presided over it; only a couple of servants kept it in something like order, and carried out the wishes of the master. A child’s voice was never heard making music in it, and few guests ever entered it. If people wanted to see the owner, they generally sought him at his office, because there they were the most likely to find him; and no one had come to the house by invitation for several years. There were rooms enough in it to accommodate a large family, but Mr. Knight had lived in it, after his son went away, in complete solitude. He had often felt sorry that he had sent the lad from him in anger, and had not more patiently tried to bend the young will to his own; but the anger had died away now, and he had begun to acknowledge that he felt lonely.
It was on Saturday evening that Arthur passed through the well-remembered gateway. His heart beat rapidly as he entered the house, and when he took his father’s hand in his a great wave of tender feeling swept over him. His father was all that he had in the world. Mother, brothers, sister-all were gone, and he had not yet found any one on whom he could set his heart. But he owed everything to his father, and he resolved that it should go hardly with him indeed but that he would prove a loyal and helpful son now that he had at last recalled him. The old man trembled as he met him. He was as much altered as Arthur himself, and he looked as if the years had dealt far less kindly with him than they had with his son. Arthur could see that the meeting was trying his father exceedingly, and during the evening he did his best to keep the conversation on commonplace topics.
But after breakfast the next morning he could feel that something was coming. The church bells were chiming in all directions, and the young man’s heart was drawn towards the quiet and restfulness which he knew might be reached in a few minutes. But his father wanted him, and he thought his duty was with him.
“We may as well have a talk about things, Arthur,” he said. “I suppose you don’t care about going out? I have given up my sittings in Queen-street. I used to do a great deal for the place, as you know; but latterly they had a man whom I could not get on with. He insulted me, and I don’t take an insult twice from the same person. He told me that I did not subscribe enough money, and I was not going to stand such impertinence from anybody. I always thought the Nonconformist places of worship were maintained on the voluntary principle, but I don’t call it voluntary when a man tries to bully you out of your money.”
“No, indeed. I wish the question of money had not to come so much to the front.”
“I have saved the money that religion used to cost me, that is all.”
“Could you not have gone to some other church?” asked Arthur, gravely. He could not answer his father’s chuckle with a laugh.
“Of course I could! There were enough to choose from; but I know they are all alike in one respect—they are all greedy and grasping for money.”
“It seems that nothing can be carried on without it.”
“Then let those who like such things pay for them.”
Arthur was amazed. His father was indeed changed since those old Sundays which he remembered so well, when he had been taken to prayer-meeting, Sunday-school, and service from early morning until late at night. He wondered curiously how many orthodox sermons his father must have heard, and what had been the good of them all to him.
“Trade is bad,” said the old man, after a pause.
“Is it? I am sorry to hear that.”
“I hope it will not give out just yet, because I have not done all upon which I have set my heart. I have had some heavy losses, too, and these are the things that eat into a man’s life. But, still, I have not done badly after all, and I may as well tell you at once.”
Here he stopped, as if he would arouse his son’s curiosity; but Arthur only waited in courteous deference until his father chose to say the next thing. And it was rather long in coming.
“Arthur!”
“Yes, father?”
“I am almost a millionaire!”
“Father!”
“Really and truly, if I am spared a few years longer, and a kind Providence smiles on me still, I should not wonder if you prove to be the heir to a million of money.”
Arthur stared at his father, who had spoken the last words, as indeed they deserved to be spoken, in tones that were as solemn as they were triumphant.
“A million?” he echoed.
“That is between ourselves, of course. Nobody else knows exactly, and most people would scarcely believe me if I were to tell them.” And Mr. Knight leaned back in his chair, and laughed softly.
Arthur did not laugh; and presently his father glanced keenly at him.
“Well, my son, what do you think of that?”
“I think it is an enormous fortune, and that great responsibility attaches to it.”
In fact, his thoughts were so busy that he scarcely knew what to say. It seemed to him that many of his dreams might almost at once become accomplished facts. More than enough money would be his to set in action the beneficent schemes which, night and day, had haunted him during the last two years. And what was there to prevent him from spending his life in his own chosen way? The business indeed? Surely the right thing would be to retire from it altogether. And yet,—would that be right or best? Arthur Knight hungered for people; and here in his father’s employ were several thousands of them. Nay, he would not send all these adrift, since, in a sense, he would inherit them as well as his father’s fortune.
He arose from his seat in excitement, and paced the room, his father, in the meantime, scrutinising him closely.
“Arthur, I wonder if you have much business capacity?” he said, presently. “It is harder than ever now to make money. Competition is so keen and the price of labour is so great that one must be clever to make headway now.”
“But you have made your headway, father.”
“Oh! I have not done nearly all that I want to do. Arthur,” said the old man, suddenly, “if you had your own way, and were perfectly free to choose, what would you like to do?”
“I am going to try to help you.”
“Please to answer my question, sir.”
“A young man has his dreams generally, I suppose. I should like to talk to the people.”
A very impatient grunt met this assertion.
“Do you mean that you would like to be a parson?”
“Not exactly; but don’t you think it would be a good plan if men of means gave themselves to the work of the Church, so that all the money raised could go to beneficent purposes, instead of the people having to consider the minister’s salary? However, I do not feel that I ought to be a minister.”
“A Member of Parliament, Arthur? That you might very well be. There’s a wretched set of muffs in Parliament now. They ought to interfere in some matters more than they do.”
“It is a good thing that the markets of the world are open to us,” said Arthur. “I wish, though, that some of our merchants were a little more patriotic. They are sending out such worthless goods that they are getting a bad name for England.”
“That is not their fault, but the fault of the foreign dealers who are crying out for cheap things, and will always buy at the least price. A man must in self-defence put inferior articles in circulation if people will not give the good price for the good thing.”
“But he might meet the difficulty by taking less profit for himself.”
“Why in the world should he? He has himself to look after. He offers the articles that are asked for at a price which the people are willing to give. What more can be expected of him?”
Arthur resolved to use caution in the disclosure of his thoughts on the subject. For the next hour he kept his father amused with tales of his adventures.
Later, Mr. Knight again brought business forward; and the day of rest was to Arthur a very different one from that for which he longed.
They were still talking together when an unexpected diversion arose.
The gate which formed the only entrance to the grounds of Brent House was always kept locked, and could only be opened from the inside. There was a ring at the bell, and when the boy unlocked it three men immediately stepped inside. While the porter was asking their business, one of them again opened the gate, and a dozen other men pressed in. Mr. Knight and Arthur were endeavouring to discover what it all meant, and they saw that a great crowd was in the street. The frightened porter came breathlessly into the room.
“If you please, sir, here are men who say they are a deputation, and they come on very particular business.”
“Tell them to take their particular business away, then, as fast as they can.”
The boy went out with the message, and soon came again.
“They say they are your workmen, sir, and what they have to say concerns you very much. And they say they are not going until they have had their talk with you.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it? Set the dog on them.”
Arthur rose hastily.
“May I see them, father? They seem respectful and quiet enough. Let me hear what they have to say.”
“No, Arthur; I would rather you keep out of it. Would you let them tell you what they want if you were me?”
“Yes, I certainly would.”
Mr. Knight threw up the window.
“Now, then, you fellows, what is the meaning of this?”
A man who was in the front touched his cap and cleared his throat, and began a short speech.
“Beg pardon sir, but we are come to lay our case before you, man to man. We have been given to understand that the factory in Chislehurst-street belongs to you, though it is carried on in the name of Woolton and Company. We are all employed at that factory; and we are not satisfied with the wages. We want a rise, sir, begging your pardon.”
“And so do we,” said another man, in tones that were far less respectful. “We find that a good many of them works at the back of Stepton belong to you; and it is impossible for a man to keep his family respectable on the wages you give. We’re going to strike and demand better pay, and we have come here to-day to give you notice to that effect.”
“Yes, we have,” began another, but Mr. Knight angrily stopped him.
“If you don’t clear out of this directly I will have you all arrested for trespass,” he said. “And you are very much mistaken if you think this is the way to get what you want. If you have a case, lay it before the man from whose hands you take your money, and approach me through him.”
A scornful laugh broke in here, and several voices said, “A lot of good that would do!”
“But I may as well tell you now you are here,” continued Mr. Knight, “that this is no time to ask for higher wages. Trade is bad, and the manufacturers are not getting the money they ought. If you don’t like to take the wages you can leave them. I could get your places filled to-morrow, and with better men than you. So go about your business. And remember, you are marked men. I shall know your faces again, and you needn’t be surprised if you get notice to quit.”
“Please to understand, sir,” said the first speaker, “that we come as a deputation. Pretty well all your men are at the back of us. And we was to tell you that we would give you a week to consider it. We shall be glad to state our grievances to you, and also to mention the terms we think fair, if you will appoint an interview. Our Union will back us, and we don’t mean to go on in the old way, and so we give you notice.”
Mr. Knight closed his window, and again ordered his servant to set the dog loose; but the men quietly withdrew, pulling the gate to behind them, not, however, before the owner of the house and his son had another glimpse of the waiting crowd outside.
Mr. Knight was in a rage. “What do you think of that for a piece of impertinence?” he asked.
“How much can the men earn, father?”
“Oh, different sums. Nobody has less than fifteen shillings a week.”
“I should hope not. That is very little for a man who has a family.”
“Well, the family is no business of mine. I don’t employ more men than I can help. I like women and boys better. A woman is well off if she gets ten shillings a week, and she does as much work as a man will do for a pound.”
“Have you ever thought what a fair and right thing it would be to give your workpeople a share in your profits? You know that both individuals and companies have tried the plan, and found it answer. A man who has a stake in the concern will be more likely to do his best, and to work economically and diligently, than one who has no share in it.”
“What nonsense, Arthur! They do have a share in the profits when they get their wages, don’t they?”
It was inevitable that Arthur, being a young man, should look at things differently from the old one—young men always do. But he was sensible enough to be held in check by the reflection that his father had—what he certainly had not—experience. This made him resolve to be careful of his words, and only to speak when an opportunity had been given him to prove things. He knew, however, that sooner or later he would have to tell his father what his own views were, which he would certainly put into force if he had the opportunity, because he thought it quite possible that when his father was informed he would take care that his business should be put in other hands. Arthur believed that wealth, whether inherited or won, was a trust to be used for others.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that their share is often not a fair one. For instance, if I have invented an article which meets the needs or tastes of my customers, I have the right to what of financial good it brings if I can make the article with my own hands; but if I have to employ other hands they ought to have a much larger share than usually they do. And if I am getting rich, I ought not to lay more and more by, unless I give those who help me to get rich more and more. The fact is, father, that a Christian man may not do what others may. He cannot be selfish, and keep all the good things that come in his way; he must help others, and try to find his joy in that. You know money is no real good to a man. He can only eat as much, and drink as much, and wear as many clothes as others. But if he scatter his wealth, and make a hundred or a thousand families better off because he is rich, that seems to me splendid, and the lot of that man must be the best in the world.”
Arthur glanced at his father as he finished. His words had a curious effect upon the old man. He was bitterly disappointed, and yet, as he listened to his son, he was conscious of a feeling that was more like pride and gratification than anger.
“So those are your views, are they?” he said. “I am very glad you have told me what I have to expect. But I am not going to quarrel with you to-day. I will think what is the next best thing to do. Would you not like a walk? I am going to be busy for an hour or two.”
Arthur gladly went forth to mingle for a little in the life of the metropolis. It was not much like Sunday down in the East-end of the great city, where the stalls were in the streets, and the shops were open, and there was a great tumult among the people who were buying and selling, arguing and quarrelling, and, above all, drinking and smoking. Places of worship enough there were to contain them all, but few appeared to recognise the Father’s house, or to care to enter it. The noise of London seemed to surge round the churches and chapels, which are like harbours of refuge in the stormy sea—only, most of the people preferred to be out on the waters rather than within the calm. Centres of influence and helpful service were these, every one of them. If the ministers and the members did not work together with those of other churches, they had each their own set of workers, all honestly endeavouring to meet, in the way they thought best, the needs of the neighbourhood. Many stories of heroism and self-denial could be told of those who were consecrating their life to this East-end work, and labouring on, through good report and evil report, often with scant success to encourage them. A few of the people were lifted up and out of the mass of wickedness; but so few that they seemed to make little difference, for the streets were as terrible as ever. Still bad language shocked the ears of those who did not live amongst it; still drunkenness and cruelty appeared to flourish more than anything beside. And on this day the men and women who talked together in angry voices in some of the most densely-populated places were more fierce than usual because one of their favourite public-houses had lately been closed. Arthur Knight was shocked and pained with what he saw and heard, but he was not rendered hopeless and despairing. “They ought never to have been suffered to get into this state,” he thought. “Nearly all these men and women were once in the Sunday-school. How is it that they were let to slip away from those who were their best friends? But the hope of the future is with the young. The present generation of the young must be secured somehow.” And as he half-uttered aloud these words he passed a large hall filled with boys and girls listening delightedly to a man whom he half-envied, such power had his eloquence over them. Then he thought of the latest developments of Christian endeavour, and his heart leaped with joy as he remembered that he could now become associated in these and other services to humanity, so well and wisely rendered in modern times; and it was with a happy assurance that he went home, for the words that were upon his lips was a prophecy in process of fulfilment: “The kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ.”