A Minimum Wage: a socialistic novel

Front matter

A SOCIALISTIC NOVEL. BY ALFRED MORRIS. 'THE LABOURER IS WORTHY OF HIS HIRE." CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited: LONDON, PARIS Sf MELBOURNE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] rRHrACH Having arrived at the conclusion that nothing but State Intervention with regard to the remuneration of labour would effectually solve the great soda problem, and feeling sure that to attain this end the movement would have to emanate from the work ing-classes themselves, I resolved to present my ideas in the shape of a story containing characters and scenes from real life, trusting that in this way the book would be more acceptable to those from whom the necessary help must come, by means of an intelligent use of their votes at Parhamentary elections. While these pages were being printed, many opinions therein enunciated were — much to my surprise — endorsed, in the Encyclical recently issued by the Pope, in reference to Social Questions, more especially concerning the establishment of the prin ciple of * A Minimum Wage."

A. M. -—- . ..- . _".. ?.. lie i. CONTENTS. -H--H- PAGE Chapter I. The Stranger i ,, II. The Vicarage 13 ,, III. The Conversation 25 ,, IV. The Vicar's Son 33 ,, V. Eric Morton's Ideas ..... 45 ,, VI. Eric Morton's Ideas Discussed ... 57 ,, VII. Cyril Argues 70 ,, VIII. Religion 83 ,, IX. The Letter 97 ,, X. Eric Morton Disappears .... 109 ,, XI. In London 122 ,, XII. More London Life 134 ,, XIII. The Hospital 144 ,, XIV. Cyril Tiddswell's Ideas on Temperance . 153 ,, XV. Captain Hargreaves' Suit .... 163 ,, XVI. Followers of Christ 174 ,, XVII. An Apparition 186 ,, XVIII. Explanations 194 ,, XIX. A Social Programme ..... 205 ,, XX. Conclusion

Chapter I The Stranger

BARCOMBE had an excitement : nothing very im portant, it must be admitted, and perhaps none but those accustomed to the monotony of a quiet country life would have seen anything very interesting in the arrival of a stranger — a young man — at the least important inn which the village possessed. But such was the case, and the curiosity evinced was somewhat increased by the report that the stranger, having in the first instance alighted at the " Rose and Crown," the only " hotel " that Barcombe could lay claim to, had summarily left it on finding that the landlord was assisted in his business by his two daughters, who were considered the belles of the village. At least so gossips said, and there seemed to be some truth in the rumour, inasmuch as the young man shunned all society, which at Barcombe was certainly limited, for besides the squire, a few retired army men, and some successful worn-out men of business (that is if men who have worn themselves out in the pursuit of wealth can be called successful), there was B little or no society, the rest of the population being composed of fishermen and their families.

There was no railway, so that the place did not stand any chance of becoming a seaside resort, and was consequently known only to a few, who, with a large share of human selfishness, kept the information to themselves, or appeared to do so at any rate, for it was seldom that any fresh visitors arrived to take possession of the few rooms available for their use. It was, perhaps, .on account of this fact that the present arrival caused any remark, for the young man was evidently a complete stranger, and appeared to wish to remain so, for he courted no acquaintance beyond that of the fishermen. For these humble folk he seemed to entertain a certain affection, and in an incredibly short space of time they had shown that they appreciated and returned his regard for them. He sailed in their boats, played with their children, and after some week or ten days, had volunteered to nurse an old man who had been for some time ill and disabled.

He even went so far as to prescribe some medicine for a sick child in the absence of the doctor, who had been called away to a neighbouring village. A doctor's life in a country district is no sinecure, and the remuneration is not sufficient to encourage competition, so that the poor are often obliged to shift for themselves, and anyone with a little know ledge of medicine or surgery is much in requisition. The stranger's time then was not entirely wasted, for here, as everywhere, there was plenty of work for willing hands to do, and many were the little kind nesses he was able to render in a quiet way without attracting much attention, till one day hearing that the regular doctor of the vicinity urgently required help in performing a surgical operation, he boldly avowed that he himself was a doctor too, and proved his words by giving the needed assistance.

After this he was the district doctor's frequent companion, and as no one else could claim his friendship, the doctor was asked many a question during his rounds as to who and what the stranger was. But the curious were doomed to disappointment, for he could tell them nothing, saying that no information had been offered him, and not being an inquisitive man, he hadn't asked any questions himself. It was not to be wondered at that a strong attachment soon sprang up between these two men, and as the doctor was a bachelor and lived alone, whenever he could spare an evening — which was not often, for his duties extended many miles around — he either walked down to the inn to see his new friend, or asked him to spend a few hours with him at his house. A month or so had passed away, and the stranger was still the main theme of curiosity, for it became generally known that he intended remaining for some time at Barcombe, being charmed with the place and everything connected with it.

The squire himself was amongst the curious, and one day when the doctor received a summons to the Hall, he was not a little surprised to find that he was invited to lunch and not wanted to physic the butler, B who was his usual patient, nor the master who was a rarer one. The Hall was an old-fashioned place com manding a fine view of the sea. It was surrounded with grand and picturesque trees, and in the early spring, at which time our narrative begins, the foliage was of the freshest green ; the copses were sweet with primroses and violets, and the air was full of a thousand notes from birds of all descriptions. Bright coloured flowers seemed to vie with each other in exquisite forms and colours, and the whole scene was one which, to a lover of nature, made earth at least a reminder of a heaven.

So thought the doctor, as he approached the squire's house, to find his services required in a different way to that for which he was usually summoned. " I wanted to see you, Burton " (that was the doctor's name), " to ask about that assistant of yours, for I hear he now practises regularly in the village amongst the fishermen, which, unless he is a certificated doctor, must be put a stop to." The squire said this in rather a depreciating tone, at the same time motioning the doctor to take a seat in the library, to which the oft-suffering butler had conducted him instead of waiting to consult him about his usual ailments. " I am glad I am required for nothing worse," answered the doctor with a smile, " for I have satisfied myself on that point." " I hadn't much doubt but that you had done so," continued the squire, "but I think something else should be done, as, for aught we know to the contrary, he may be little more than a quack or ad venturer."

" I don't think he's either," said the doctor, " for I have had ample proof of his skill ; and as to an adventurer, well, as a rule, those sort of gentlemen want to make money out of the business, while my friend Morton takes no remuneration." " Morton is his name, is it ? " said the squire, " and you call him your friend — rather quick, isn't it, to give a man that title ? Be careful you don't find yourself deceived. I should require to know a man much longer than a few weeks before I should call him my friend." The doctor thought from all appearances it would take more than a lifetime, but simply remarked that perhaps in a professional capacity he had a sort of fellow-feeling for Mr. Morton, and finding him to be a true gentleman in every sense of the word, he was glad to extend the hand of friendship, especially as he was a stranger.

At this point, the vicar of the parish, the Reverend Mr. Tiddswell, was introduced, and welcomed by the squire as an intimate friend. He shook hands also with the doctor, and joined in the conversation respecting the stranger. " This Mr. Morton, I hear/' said the vicar, "not only doctors the people's bodies, but at the same time tries to sow seeds of discontent among them." " Indeed," said the squire, waxing angry, for he looked upon it as a personal affront for anyone to meddle with the ideas of the people of the village, whom he seemed to look upon as his own private property ; " if such is the case we must take prompt means to stop him. Were you aware of this, Burton ? " said he, turning to the doctor. " I was not aware that he was sowing seeds of dis content," said the doctor, " but I know he has some very advanced ideas on certain subjects."

" Advanced ideas," retorted the squire, " advanced fiddle-sticks ! And I tell you what it is, Burton," he continued, "this liberality of ideas on your part is a mistake, and instead of countenancing anything of the sort, you should do all you can to discourage it. You know well what a lazy, improvident lot these common people are, and if they are not kept in their place we shall develop into a pretty state of things — a sort of hell upon earth." " Well, if what Morton tells me is correct con cerning the state of things in the poor neighbour hoods of London and other large towns, there exists a sort of hell upon earth for those who have to bear it. He has spent most of his life since manhood, he tells me, at the east end of London in the vicinity of the docks, and one would scarcely believe it credible that such depths of misery exist as he describes."

"Oh.no doubt there is a lot of misery," interrupted the squire, "but it's chiefly the fault of the people themselves. We have ample evidence of that, for the more you help them the worse they get ; in my opinion they are a good-for-nothing set, and anyone who takes their part, depend on it, is as bad as they are." " Perhaps you would think a little differently if you heard what Morton has to say upon the subject,'' replied the doctor. " He says, as you say, that it's not much good helping them in the way that many philanthropic people do." " What does he propose then ? " said the squire. " Is he one of those clever people who have a remedy for every evil and can put all things right ? " " I don't think he lays claim to that," was the doctor's quiet rejoinder, " but he evidently believes it possible to effect a change, which, however, he says, must come from the people themselves, and I believe his object in seeking seclusion in a country place is to write pamphlets, and books, for the education of the public up to this point.

He began doing so in London, but his health broke down, so he is seeking rest, or rather change, in the way that suits him best. A man of his temperament could never be absolutely idle, and I think he shows a good deal of sense in employing his time and recovering his health by the means that he adopts. As to his books and opinions, I don't know much about them yet, as he does not force his ideas on anyone, and I have only learnt what I have told you by questioning him myself. I candidly admit that I feel a great deal of interest in these theories, for it is an undoubted fact that much misery and sickness exist which could be alleviated if proper means were taken, and I, for one, should not allow any prejudices to stop me from probing these questions with my friend, if he should be disposed to go into the matter with me."

The squire appeared by no means pleased by this open avowal, so the vicar, who was a man of tact, essayed to change the conversation by asking the squire if he had any news of his son who was an officer in the army, and at present abroad with his regiment. " I am glad to say he is well," replied the squire, " and will, I hope, be in England again shortly. I am not getting younger, and since the death of his mother, I feel the want of a constant companion. I can't expect a young man, however, to bury himself all the year round in a country place, so I shall live up in London for a part of the year. My only sister has a large house in town which I think of sharing with her, and she will share the Hall with me in return. I have often wanted her to do so, but she wished to remain in London for the sake of the education of her two children, a son and daughter, who will be some society for their cousin, not to speak of myself, as a man grown tired of living alone.

My nephew is at present travelling on the continent, but my niece will be coming down here next week, and as she is about your daughter's age I hope they will become good friends." " I hope so, indeed," replied the vicar, who was an old college friend of the squire, with whom he was on very intimate terms, especially as he agreed with him in ideas political and religious, and lived a some what secluded life, having been left a widower, with a son and a daughter ; the former, a curate in a London parish, the work of which being very arduous, neces sitated frequent visits to Barcombe for rest and change of air. " I am expecting Cyril down shortly, too," con tinued the vicar, " so we shall be quite merry for a time." The conversation having thus taken a more pleasant turn, and lunch being announced, nothing further was said about the stranger till the doctor begged to be excused on account of professional duties.

The squire shook hands with him heartily, but at the same time repeated his warning that a man should never look upon a stranger as a friend, or evil would surely come of it. The doctor completed his rounds and got home tired and hungry, but was pleasantly surprised to find his friend Morton comfortably installed in a spacious arm-chair awaiting his arrival. " Very glad to see you," said the doctor, and his warm grasp of the hand proved his words to be truly spoken. " I have had a long day, and this warm weather takes it out of a fellow. Besides, I feel rather depressed, having during my walk been thinking over the subjects of our recent discussions ; and then to-day the squire sent for me for no other reason than to ask a few questions about yourself. He seems to think, and perhaps with reason, for most of the land round about here belongs to him, that he is responsible for all that goes on, and hearing you were practising among the poor fishermen as well as rendering me occasional aid, he wanted to know whether I had satisfied myself that you were a qualified doctor, and at the same time he asked for a little more in formation about you generally, seeing that you take upon yourself the cloak of a social reformer."

" What did you tell him ? " asked Morton, with a smile. " It's something new for me to learn that people are interesting themselves on my behalf. I am rather sorry for it, too," he added, " as I have reasons for not satisfying their curiosity to a very full extent. Not that I shall object to telling you," he continued quickly, evidently fearing the doctor would misconstrue his words. " I will explain all whenever you wish ; in fact it might be better to do so now." He never spoke a truer word, but the doctor cut him short with a request to do nothing of the sort. " Some other time, my friend ; some other time ; not now. If it's anything of a private nature, I would rather not know it ; for as long as I can say I know nothing, when asked impertinent questions by some of my inquisitive patients, I can without fear of offending them plead utter ignorance.

When you are more accustomed to a country place you will see the wisdom of my precaution, for one of the curses of a quiet place like this is its gossip. Every man has his secrets, and I have no desire to pry into matters which do not concern me. I flatter myself I know a gentleman when I see him, and if I misplace confi dence at any time then I myself must be the one to blame. Thank you, however, for offering to five me a little more information about yourself, which is in fact sufficient guarantee that you have nothing to tell that could affect my regard for you. Your presence is a proof that you had both father and mother, and, like most of us, I suppose you have or have had some brothers and sisters?" " No sisters, but a brother, yes, and it is in relation to him that I may have something to tell you later on.

It's not a pleasant subject for me, I candidly avow, and since you are so kind as to accord me so much confidence, we will not mention the matter until I may perhaps have occasion to reopen the question myself." Oh, fatal decision ! Upon what threads our destiny sometimes hangs without the slightest suspicion cross ing our minds that we have prepared a rod for our own backs. But such is life ; and when pondering on this subject, but for the comforting thought which we involuntarily bring to our minds that " all things work together for good," we might almost fear to take another step on the journey of our ex istence. Unaware of the shaft that an inscrutable fate had prepared to inflict a deadly pain on others as well as on themselves, the doctor and his friend sat down to a frugal but satisfying repast, and out of their recent discussions found plenty of subjects on which to con verse.

When their meal was over, the doctor asked his friend to play him a tune on the flute which he frequently carried with him, being an accomplished performer. Morton agreeing, proposed that they should saunter in the woods where at that late hour he could play undisturbed. That night, and many a night afterwards, the cottagers who lived near enough sat at their doors, listening to the soft and silvery tones which the evening breeze wafted to their ears.

Chapter II The Vicarage

THE Vicarage, comfortably nestled in a miniature valley some little distance from the church, was a model of neatness and order, for besides the old and careful gardener, the vicar's daughter was there to give a helping and a well-skilled hand to the flowers, which, like the village children, almost seemed to worship her. At any rate, the sweet and delicate blooms appeared brighter in her garden than in any other, and seemed to demonstrate that plants, like human beings, may have their existence rendered more fruitful by tender and loving care. Early one morning this young lady herself was in the garden evidently expecting someone, for she occasionally walked to the gate and looked down the lane approaching the house, when she was surprised by a merry laugh from the other side of the hedge in an opposite direction.

" You don't suppose I should take the trouble to walk all the way round while there are such lovely fields one can roam over," said the new-comer, who was none other than the squire's niece, and who, after a few days' acquaintance with the vicar's daughter, had struck up one of those friendships which only girls know how to make. " Well, Alice," replied the vicar's daughter, whose name was Agatha, " I didn't know that they taught you in town how to jump over ditches and five-barred gates." "Well they don't," replied Alice, "and I have made myself in a fine mess — just look," and from underneath her dainty dress she produced a daintier foot enclosed in what might have been a pretty shoe, had it not been covered with mud, which she ex plained to her friend was occasioned by jumping into a ditch instead of over it.

"You must come in and get it dried," said Agatha, leading the way, " and I will lend you another pair in the meantime." They entered the house and ascended to that sanctum of sanctums, a young lady's bedroom, the walls of which were nearly hidden with miniature paintings and photographs, sea-shells and seaweed neatly mounted, and a variety of knick-knacks, the existence of which is unknown to ordinary individuals and can only be seen to advantage in an apartment devoted to individual tastes. Curtains, deftly ar ranged here and there round some bust or small statue, formed an agreeable effect in drapery to the artistic eye. A harp in a corner of the room showed that the vicar's daughter pursued more than one accomplishment in this quiet home. " Oh, play me something," said Alice, after having changed her shoes.

" I am so fond of music, and do you know that since I have been here I have heard some of the most lovely flute playing you could possibly imagine ? Nearly every night after dinner, when we are all sitting out on the terrace overlooking the woods, we hear, soon after dark, the most glorious music possible. Uncle says it must be some visitor in the village, as he knows of no one down here who can play the flute." " It is a visitor," said Agatha ; " it's Doctor Burton's friend, a gentleman named Morton, who came here about six weeks ago and has created quite a sensation — -in fact, he's a sort of mystery." " Oh, tell me all about it," said Alice ; " I do so like mysteries, and anything of that sort must be quite a god-send in a place like this ; I like Bar combe very much," she added, seeing the reproachful look in her friend's eyes, " but after London, you know, it does seem so dreadfully slow ; indeed, if it hadn't been for you, I don't think I could have stood it even for the short time I have been down here."

" Well, I don't know much," said Agatha, " as I have never spoken to him ; but father says he's a sort of socialist and atheist ; the latter I don't believe, for only a few days ago I was sitting behind the hedge over there, which runs along the road, and I saw the ' mystery ' — as we called him before we knew his name — coming along with a bundle under his arm. It was evidently his lunch, and he appeared to be going for one of his long walks ; when just as he got to the gate he passed a tramp who asked him for some money to get a glass of beer. He stopped, and I heard him say to the man that beer would do him no good ; to this the tramp replied that a pennyworth of beer would be both meat and drink, and if he could get that he would not want anything to eat. Mr. Morton then asked him if he was hungry, and on the man replying that he hadn't tasted any meat for a month, he asked him to come and sit down in the shade under the hedge in the field, and he would share his lunch with him.

I dared not move for fear of being heard, and they came just close to where I was sitting on the other side of the hedge. I never heard a man talk so kindly to anyone as he did to that tramp, asking him where he came from, and why he did no regular work ; all the time making him partake of the food of which he himself ate very sparingly, for the man kept on saying to him, ' I say, guv'nor, you ain't eating nothing.' " "Why didn't he give it all to him, I wonder?" said Alice. " Well, he did practically, but that's what struck me as being more Christianlike than atheistical, to sit down and eat, or pretend to cat, with him. I told father of it in the evening, and asked him not to call him such a name again until he was sure, and he said he wouldn't, but he was quite certain there was some truth in it, as Mr. Morton never went to church, and he had heard amongst the fishermen, many of whom scoff at religion, that he was one of the right sort, meaning, he presumed, that Mr. Morton was a scoffer also, but I reminded him that Christ was called a scoffer by the orthodox of his day."

" What did your father say to that ? " said Alice. " Oh, he told me that I was speaking about things I did not understand, but I shall tell Cyril all about it to-morrow when he comes." " Cyril is the brother you were telling me about, isn't he, and now I suppose I shall not be able to see so much of you, as, of course, he will want you to be with him ? " " Oh, that won't be so at all, as when he's here he is like the ' mystery,' always out walking. I go with him sometimes, but not very often, as he walks too far and too quickly for me. I go on the sea-shore very often with him, and then we stroll along picking up sea-weed and shells, which he takes home to the poor in his parish." " Oh, dear, how wicked I must be ! " said Alice ; " I have never done a thing for anyone but myself, but I think it must be very nice to feel one has made some one else's life happier.

Amongst our set, however, in town, there is no chance ; it's dances, dinners, theatres, or something every night in the season, and when the season is over we go into the country to amuse ourselves. I did not think how selfish it was until I saw you last Sunday taking your Sunday school class out for a walk ; that's rather funny, isn't it ? I thought you always taught them in school, and were mightily glad when it was all over ; at least that is what a governess we had used to say, and she took a class in our church school." " It is unfortunately the way with a great many people," said Agatha ; " but I have tried taking them out for a walk for a long while now, and C you have no idea how interesting it is. Of course when it's wet we stay indoors, and then I try to make it interesting also for them.

At first father did not like my method much, and some of the people in the church spoke about it, but I said if I couldn't take it in my way I would not take it at all, and so now they say nothing. They think me very unorthodox though, but I don't care a straw." "You would make a good companion for your ' mystery,' " said Alice, looking slyly at her friend. Agatha laughed, and said he might be quite a different sort of man to what she imagined, when anyone knew him. After having played on her harp, at her friend's repeated request, they both went into the garden again, and as Alice's shoes were still wet she consented to stay to lunch. The vicar came in and welcomed his guest cor dially, but was very quiet all through the meal, after which he volunteered to accompany her to the Hall, as he wished to see her uncle.

The squire was in the library reading, but the vicar was at once admitted, and immediately entered into the subject of his visit. " This young fellow, Morton," he began, " is making quite a stir amongst the fishermen and farm labourers of the district. I have brought you one of the pamphlets he writes on social questions " — he handed the squire a small book entitled " Workmen's Rights " — " I must say it's written very differently to the ordinary revolutionary literature, but still the moral is bad, for it tends to make the people dis satisfied, and I think we ought to put a stop to it, although I don't exactly see how." The squire glanced at the first page, and then threw the book angrily down on the table. " If he were staying at the ' Rose and Crown,' I would soon put a stop to it by giving Thomas, the landlord, notice to quit if he permitted this scoundrel to remain in his house, but the inn belongs to Burton, who is not one with us on this subject, as he had the impudence to tell me I was a boycotter, for refusing to employ Jones, the carpenter, who, together with the shoemaker Hicks, joined the Salvation Army.