‘He told us all about that this mornin’,’ replied the authority. ‘He has friends as keeps him goin’, that’s all. As far as I can make out it’s a sort o’ subscription.’
‘Now, there you are!’ put in Daniel with half a sneer. ‘I don’t call that Socialism. Let a man support himself by his own work, then he’s got a right to say what he likes. No, no, we know what Socialism means, eh, Tom?’
The man appealed to answered with a laugh.
‘Well, blest if I do, Dan! There’s so many kinds o’ Socialism nowadays. Which lot does he pretend to belong to? There’s the “Fiery Cross,” and there’s Roodhouse with his “Tocsin,” and now I s’pose Dick’ll be startin’ another paper of his own.’
‘No, no,’ replied Mutimer’s supporter. ‘He holds by the “Fiery Cross” still, so he said this mornin’. I’ve no opinion o’ Roodhouse myself. He makes a deal o’ noise, but I can’t ‘see as he does anything.’
‘You won’t catch Dick Mutimer sidin’ with Roodhouse,’ remarked Daniel with a wink. ‘That’s an old story, eh, Tom?’
Thus the talk went on, and the sale of beverages kept pace with it. About eight o’clock the barmaid informed Daniel that Mrs. Clay wished to see him. Kate had entered the house by the private door, and was sitting in the bar-parlour. Daniel went to her at once.
She was more slovenly in appearance than ever, and showed all the signs of extreme poverty. Her face was not merely harsh and sour, it indicated a process of degradation. The smile with which she greeted Daniel was disagreeable through excessive anxiety to be ingratiating. Her eyes were restless and shrewd. Daniel sat down opposite to her, and rested his elbows on the table.
‘Well, how’s all at ‘ome?’ he began, avoiding her look as he spoke.
‘Nothing much to boast of,’ Kate replied with an unpleasant giggle. ‘We keep alive.’