‘I wish to propose to the lecturer seven questions. I will read them in order; I have taken some pains to word them clearly.’
Richard has his scrap of paper on his knee. He jots a word or two after each deliberate interrogation, smiling.
Other questioners succeeded. Richard replies to them. He fails to satisfy the man of seven queries, who, after repeating this and the other of the seven, professes himself still unsatisfied, shakes his head indulgently, walks from the room.
The debate is opened. Behold a second inevitable man; he is not well-washed, his shirt-front shows a beer-stain; he is angry before he begins.
‘I don’t know whether a man as doesn’t ‘old with these kind o’ theories ‘ll be allowed a fair ‘earin—’
Indignant interruption. Cries of ‘Of course he will!’—‘Who ever refused to hear you?’—and the like.
He is that singular phenomenon, that self-contradiction, that expression insoluble into factors of common-sense—the Conservative working man. What do they want to be at? he demands. Do they suppose as this kind of talk ‘ll make wages higher, or enable the poor man to get his beef and beer at a lower rate? What’s the d—d good of it all? Figures, oh? He never heered yet as figures made a meal for a man as hadn’t got one; nor yet as they provided shoes and stockings for his young ‘uns at ‘ome. It made him mad to listen, that it did! Do they suppose as the rich man ‘ll give up the land, if they talk till all’s blue? Wasn’t it human natur to get all you can and stick to it?
‘Pig’s nature!’ cries someone from the front benches.
‘There!’ comes the rejoinder. ‘Didn’t I say as there was no fair ‘earing for a man as didn’t say just what suits you?’
The voice of Daniel Dabbs is loud in good-tempered mockery. Mockery comes from every side, an angry note here and there, for the most part tolerant, jovial.