The climax of all demands was reached when the drainman demanded a hundred and fifty dollars a month and four hours for each working day.
Norman looked at him in dumb confusion. He knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth and he had no answer.
The drainman bowed low in mock humility, but the proud wave of his hand belied his words.
"My calling was a humble one in the old world, Comrade Judges," he said. "I came here to climb mountain heights and find my way among the stars. You have sent me back to the sewers. I always felt that I had missed my true calling. I've always wanted to be a poet——"
The Bard shook his mane and groaned.
"I don't want this job at any price. But the sewers are choked. They have not been cleaned for two years. It must be done. I've named my price. I'll gladly yield to any man who envies my luck. If such a man is here let him speak—or forever hereafter hold his peace."
With a grandiloquent gesture the drainman swept the crowd with his eye, but no man responded.
The court granted his demand.
The Bard leaped once more to his feet and entered his protest. This time old Tom listened with interest. His concluding sentence rang with bitter irony:
"Against these absurd decisions I lift my voice once more in solemn protest. We came to this charmed island to abolish all class distinctions. You have destroyed the old classes based on culture, achievement, genius, wealth, and power. You have created a new aristocracy on whose shield is emblazoned—a dish-rag and scrubbing-brush encircled by a sewer pipe! I make my most humble bow to our new king—the drainman! I hail the apotheosis of the scrubwoman!"