“They’m all human creatures, and their colour don’t count for nought in the eye of Heaven,” said an ancient man who sat in the corner. He was mostly in shadow, but his nose and hands caught the red sunshine.
“We’m all corn for the Lord’s grindstones,” he continued; “black or white—oats or wheat, neighbours. Rich and poor, Christian and heathen will all be ground alike; and them with horses and carriages and servants will be scat just so small as us. And that’s a very comforting thought to me, as have suffered from the quality all my life.”
Mr Beer shook his head.
“Your Radical ideas will undo you yet, Gaffer Hext,” he answered. “But ’tis the way of Hext to be ever vexed. Principalities and powers was always a thorn in the flesh to him. Yet, when all’s said, the uppermost folk pay the wages; and where’s the workers without ’em?”
“Hext never had no luck with his wife, you see. It have soured your spirit—eh, gaffer?” asked Mr Bartley.
“That’s no reason he should be a born Socialist an’ plan what’s going to happen at the end of the world,” replied Johnny Beer. “The Last Judgment ban’t his business, I believe. An’ whether the quality will be scat in pieces is an open question, if you ax me. They’ve got plenty to put up with so well as us. Look at what Quarter Day means to them—a tragedy; no doubt. And think how income-tax scourges ’em! No; for my part I don’t reckon ’tis all fun being a man of rank. I dare say Sir Reginald envies Sim here sometimes. There’s nought like care to thin the hair, and many a red-cheeked chap as smiles at market and rides a fine hoss, be so grim as a ghost behind the scenes, when there’s nobody to see and hear him but his wife.”
The black man tapped his tumbler again. It was empty.
“He may have one more,” said Titus, “then I must set him going. Mister Vivian calls him ‘Obi’; but I think he’s invented the name. Obi is a sort of religion out there among the black people, I hear tell. There’s been an awful deal of trouble over our estates, by all accounts, and the old overseer has bolted, or something—don’t know the particulars. But there’s money in sugar yet. Only last night I heard Sir Reginald say to his son, ‘The man gives you excellent advice. I shall not stir the dark depths of that business, but appoint a new overseer immediately—one who is honest and has our interests at heart.’”