The Secret of the League: The Story of a Social WarBramah, Ernest
Science
The Secret of the League: The Story of a Social War
Bramah, Ernest
Dystopias -- Fiction; Great Britain -- Politics and government -- Fiction; Social classes -- Fiction
"Not in the end. It was argued that hotels existed for the convenience
of the monied classes, and that they ought to pay for it. So a large
number of hotels are closed altogether; others work with a reduced
staff, and a great many servants have been thrown out of employment."
Miss Lisle laughed unpleasantly. "A good thing, too," she remarked. "I
hate hotel servants. So does everybody. It is the only good thing I have
heard of the Labour Government doing."
"I am sure I don't hate them," said Mrs Lisle, looking round with
pathetic resignation, "although they certainly had become rather
grasping and over-bearing of late. But it was quite an unforeseen
development of the scheme that so many should lose their places. Indeed
the special object of the tax was to create a fund--'earmarked' I think
they call it--out of which to meet the growing pension claim, now that
so few of the servant class think it worth while to save."
Miss Lisle laughed again, this time with a note of genuine amusement.
("A most unpleasant girl, I fear," murmured the lady who had raised the
white costume question, to her neighbour in a whisper: "so odd.")
"It made a great difference at the registry offices. There are a dozen
maids to be had any day where there were really none before. Only one
cannot afford to keep them now."
There was a word, a sigh, and an "Ah!" to mark this point of agreement
among the four ladies.
"I am afraid that the Government confiscation of all dividends above
five per cent. bears very heavily on some," remarked one after a pause.
"I know a poor soul of over sixty-five, nearly blind too, whose husband
had invested all his savings in the company he had worked for because he
knew that it was safe, and, having a good reserve, intended to pay ten
per cent. for a long time. When he died it brought her in fifty pounds a
year. Now----"
There were little signs of sympathy and commiseration from the group.
The sex was beginning to take an unwonted interest in terms
financial--per centage, surrender value, trustee stock, unearned
increment, and so on. They had reason to do so, for revolutionary
finance was very much in the air, or, rather, had come tangibly down to
earth at length: not the placid city echoes that were wont to ripple
gently across the breakfast-table a few years earlier without leaving
any one much better or much worse off, but the galvanic adjustment that
by a stroke made the rich well-to-do, the well-to-do just so-so, the
struggling poor, and left the poor where they were before. The frenzied
effort that in a session strove to tear up the trees of the forest and
leave the plants beneath untouched; to pull to pieces the intertwined
fabric of a thousand years' growth and to create from it a bundle of
straight and equal twigs; in a word, to administer justice on the
principle of knocking out one eye in all the sound because a number of
people were unfortunately born or fallen blind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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