When the door had closed behind him, Mr. Johnson said, "What is that person's name?"
"Does anybody know it?" said Mr. Chubb.
A few noes were heard.
"I've heard him speak like a downright Reformer, else I should have looked a little sharper after him. But you may see he's nothing partic'lar."
"It looks rather bad that no one knows his name," said Mr. Johnson. "He's most likely a Tory in disguise—a Tory spy. You must be careful, sirs, of men who come to you and say they're Radicals, and yet do nothing for you. They'll stuff you with words—no lack of words—but words are wind. Now, a man like Transome comes forward and says to the workingmen of this country: 'Here I am, ready to serve you and speak for you in Parliament, and to get the laws made all right for you; and in the meanwhile, if there's any of you who are my neighbors who want a day's holiday, or a cup to drink with friends, or a copy of the King's likeness—why, I'm your man. I'm not a paper handbill—all words and no substance—nor a man with land and nothing else; I've got bags of gold as well as land.' I think you know what I mean by the King's likeness."
Here Mr. Johnson took a half-crown out of his pocket and held the head toward the company.
"Well, sirs, there are some men who like to keep this pretty picture a great deal too much to themselves. I don't know whether I'm right, but I think I've heard of such a one not a hundred miles from here. I think his name was Spratt, and he managed some company's coal-pits."
"Haw, haw! Spratt—Spratt's his name," was rolled forth to an accompaniment of scraping shoe-soles.
"A screwing fellow, by what I understand—a domineering fellow—who would expect men to do as he liked without paying them for it. I think there's not an honest man wouldn't like to disappoint such an upstart."
There was a murmur which was interpreted by Mr. Chubb. "I'll answer for 'em, sir."