The Remarkable History of Sir Thomas Upmore, bart., M.P., formerly known as "Tommy Upmore"Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
General
The Remarkable History of Sir Thomas Upmore, bart., M.P., formerly known as "Tommy Upmore"
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 19th century -- Fiction; Satire
"Oh, Roly," I replied, "you talk as lightly as all the men of science
did about me. I will do my very utmost to please you, I am sure. But I
never expect to be of any service to you. You are learning to smoke, and
your smoke goes up; and that makes you think that I can do the same."
"Exactly so, Tommy. A great deal of it went down, until I understood it.
And now look at that!"
CHAPTER XV.
POLITICAL OECONOMY.
By going from home, after so many years, we had not only done ourselves
no good--in the opinion of our friends, who could not go--but we had
opened the door to a swarm of changes, which came rushing in upon the
heels of each other. To me, the greatest change of all appeared to have
taken place in Maiden Lane itself; for the houses had turned black, and
the windows grimy, and the roadway and the pavement (wherever there was
any) seemed to cry aloud for washing, and the people too, unconscious as
they were of such desire.
Excitement appeared to be the main thing now, and hurry, and suspicion,
and no time to look about; whereas both at Happystowe, and
Crowton-on-the-Naze, the chief business of the natives was, to look at
one another; and when there was no more to be made of that, to consider
the meaning of the sand and sea. And taken on the whole, those folk
looked wiser, and a great deal happier than ours did.
But to dwell upon that, would be ungraceful now, when I call to mind
that our own boiling, and the agitation of my father's engine had a
great deal to do with the ferment around us. No sooner had my father
returned to business--with Joe Cowl, and the summons, wiped off his
conscience, and Billy Barlow's new devices written in his heart--than he
found on his desk, he could never tell how, a sealed invitation to
tender for soap, for the heads of all the convicts (with average
stated), in six great castles, for the improvement of our race. The
consumption of soap, per head was given, and a number of smaller
particulars, all in print and proper columns; and then the requirement
for samples, to be delivered at six places. And in pencil, very faint
upon the margin, there was written, "It must not be soft, and it must be
strong. Price not to be too low, like the Rads' stuff. Tallow will be
wanted soon. _Rub this out._" There was something so touching in this,
and so full of fine feeling, as between man and man, that my father
immediately filled his pipe, and had a good smoke to consider it. At one
time, his heart warmed up with thinking of the goodwill remaining in
politics yet, and the loyalty every one is bound to show to, and expect
from, his own side. And yet again, he could not feel sure, that he ought
to have any faith at all in this. Why should there be six samples sent,
of a stone weight each, to six different places, and all to be left
without the money? It looked like a hoax, with Joe Cowl at the root of
it, to get a paltry laugh at him; or else a swindle, to get
three-fourths of a hundredweight of soap, for nothing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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