England -- Fiction; Socialism -- Fiction; Socialists -- Fiction
The Princess took her seat with an air of much dejection. Her pretty
lips grew mutinous; she pushed her plate away.
‘No supper for me! The idea of cold meat without a pickle.’
‘What’s the time?’ cried Daniel. ‘Not closing time yet. I can get a
pickle at the “Duke’s Arms.” Give me a glass, Mrs. Mutimer.’
Alice looked up slily, half smiling, half doubtful.
‘You may go,’ she said. ‘I like to see strong men make themselves
useful.’
Dan rose, and was off at once. He returned with the tumbler full of
pickled walnuts. Alice emptied half a dozen into her plate, and put
one of them whole into her mouth. She would not have been a girl of her
class if she had not relished this pungent dainty. Fish of any kind,
green vegetables, eggs and bacon, with all these a drench of vinegar was
indispensable to her. And she proceeded to eat a supper scarcely less
substantial than that which had appeased her brother’s appetite. Start
not, dear reader; the Princess is only a subordinate heroine, and
happens, moreover, to be a living creature.
‘Won’t you take a walnut, Miss Vine?’ Daniel asked, pushing the tumbler
to the quiet girl, who had scarcely spoken through the meal.
She declined the offered dainty, and at the same time rose from the
table, saying aside to Mrs. Mutimer that she must be going.
‘Yes, I suppose you must,’ was the reply. ‘Shall you have to sit up with
Jane?’
‘Not all night, I don’t expect.’
Richard likewise left his place, and, when she offered to bid him
good-night, said that he would walk a little way with her. In the
passage above, which was gas-lighted, he found his hat on a nail, and
the two left the house together.
‘Don’t you really mind?’ Emma asked, looking up into his face as they
took their way out of the square.
‘Not I! I can get a job at Baldwin’s any day. But I dare say I shan’t
want one long.’
‘Not want work?’
He laughed.
‘Work? Oh, plenty of work; but perhaps not the same kind. We want men
who can give their whole time to the struggle--to go about lecturing and
the like. Of course, it isn’t everybody can do it.’
The remark indicated his belief that he knew one man not incapable of
leading functions.
‘And would they pay you?’ Emma inquired, simply.
‘Expenses of that kind are inevitable,’ he replied.
Issuing into the New North Road, where there were still many people
hastening one way and the other, they turned to the left, crossed the
canal--black and silent--and were soon among narrow streets. Every
corner brought a whiff of some rank odour, which stole from closed shops
and warehouses, and hung heavily on the still air. The public-houses had
just extinguished their lights, and in the neighbourhood of each was a
cluster of lingering men and women, merry or disputatious. Mid-Easter
was inviting repose and festivity; to-morrow would see culmination of
riot, and after that it would only depend upon pecuniary resources how
long the muddled interval between holiday and renewed labour should drag
itself out.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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