“Oh! ho! the shoe pinches there—does it,” cried Mr. Podgson, in the vulgar triumph effected by wealth over the popular interests. “I tell you what, sir—and I shall not attempt to disguise the matter:—we monopolists, as you call us, have got the railways in our own hands—and we mean to keep ’em—aye, and to do with ’em just as we like! Do you know how many hundred miles of railway I’ve got under my control? Ask the first person you happen to meet—and you’ll be sure to find out. Well—do you think I won’t use my rights and privileges,—I may almost say prerogatives—eh, Mr. Styles?”
“Oh! decidedly, my dear sir,” exclaimed that gentleman, approvingly.
“Well,” resumed the Railway Lion,—“do you think I won’t use my prerogatives as I choose and fancy? If Mrs. Podgson wants even so trifling a thing as a new-laid egg from any particular station, the train shall wait for it. Talk to me about people’s time—what the devil do I care for it? People must put up with things as they find ’em. They can’t help themselves: we’ve knocked all the coaches off the roads—and you have no alternative but to go with us. But perhaps, when a train is late at starting, or when it is kept as it was yesterday, some of you knowing gentlemen will be after taking a post-chaise at the Company’s expense? I’d just advise you to do it! You’d have to sue us for the amount—and we’d ruin you in return. To recover five guineas you should have to pay as many hundreds in law costs. Why, sir—it is perfect madness to think of fighting great Public Companies;—and we’ll let the people know it too.”
Having arrived at this liberal and enlightened determination, the Railway Lion ceased through sheer exhaustion,—the volubility of passionate declamation not suiting his guttural voice.
“Although, sir, I obtain at your hands no satisfaction for the infamous delay to which the train was subjected yesterday,” said Mr. Villiers, who had listened with calm and gentlemanly attention to the furious mouthings of the upstart,—“I am nevertheless pleased that I should have taken the trouble to call upon you in reference to the matter. I have learnt a lesson which I had not expected. I find that the sudden acquisition of wealth is calculated to set a man who rises from the People, against the People; and that monopoly is a more tremendous engine of oppression in the hands of narrow-minded and self-sufficient persons than even its greatest haters could have conceived. I do not envy you your riches, sir—nor your sovereign sway over many miles of railroad—no, nor even the title with which a fulsome and contemptible flattery has invested you:—for the poorest mechanic who does his duty towards his fellow-creatures, is a worthier and more estimable being than you.”
With these words—uttered not savagely, but in a tone of firm and measured reproach—Clarence Villiers retired from the presence of the Railway Lion, who appeared for the moment to have had “a calf’s skin” thrown about “his recreant limbs,” so astounded and amazed was he at the language which his visitor had dared to address to him.
“This is the most atrocious proceeding I ever knew in the whole course of my life!” at length exclaimed Mr. Bubbleton Styles, who in reality had been much amused by the scene.
“I suppose that the riff-raff—as I always call the People—will be telling us next that railways are public property!” cried Mr. Podgson: “but we’ll show ’em the difference—eh, Mr. Styles?—won’t we, Mr. Styles?”
And the Railway Lion condescendingly thrust his fingers in a jocular way into the small speculator’s ribs;—and then the great man and the little man had a hearty laugh together—that of the former being in the boisterous “ho! ho! ho!” style, and that of the latter in the more respectful and submissive “he! he! he!” fashion.