“Oh, rent is nothing, if everything else were right, but nothing is right,” said Job. “In the first place, a farmer is the only trader who has no security for his capital.” “Ah! you want a lease?” “I should be very sorry to have a lease like any that I have seen,” replied Job. “We had one once in our family, and we keep it as a curiosity. It is ten skins long, and more tyrannical nonsense was never engrossed by man.” “But your family, I believe, has been on this estate for generations now,” said Ferrars, “and they have done well.” “They have done about as well as their stock. They have existed,” said Job; “nothing more.” “Your father always gives me quite the idea of a prosperous man,” said Mr. Ferrars. “Whether he be or not I am sure I cannot say,” said Job; “for as neither he nor any of his predecessors ever kept any accounts, it is rather difficult to ascertain their exact condition. So long as he has money enough in his pocket to pay his labourers and buy a little stock, my father, like every British farmer, is content. The fact is, he is a serf as much as his men, and until we get rid of feudalism he will remain so.” “These are strong opinions,” said Mr. Ferrars, drawing himself up and looking a little cold. “Yes, but they will make their way,” said Job. “So far as I myself am concerned, I do not much care what happens to the land, for I do not mean to remain on it; but I care for the country. For the sake of the country I should like to see the whole thing upset.” “What thing?” asked Mr. Ferrars. “Feudalism,” said Job. “I should like to see this estate managed on the same principles as they do their great establishments in the north of England. Instead of feudalism, I would substitute the commercial principle. I would have long leases without covenants; no useless timber, and no game.” “Why, you would destroy the country,” said Mr. Ferrars. “We owe everything to the large towns,” said Job. “The people in the large towns are miserable,” said Mr. Ferrars. “They cannot be more miserable than the people in the country,” said Job. “Their wretchedness is notorious,” said Mr. Ferrars. “Look at their riots.” “Well, we had Swing in the country only two or three years ago.” Mr. Ferrars looked sad. The reminiscence was too near and too fatal. After a pause he said with an air of decision, and as if imparting a state secret, “If it were not for the agricultural districts, the King’s army could not be recruited.” “Well, that would not break my heart,” said Job. “Why, my good fellow, you are a Radical!” “They may call me what they like,” said Job; “but it will not alter matters. However, I am going among the Radicals soon, and then I shall know what they are.” “And can you leave your truly respectable parent?” said Mr. Ferrars rather solemnly, for he remembered his promise to Farmer Thornberry to speak seriously to his son.