“But you are not high-rented!”
“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.”