“Ah, poor fellow,” he murmured. “I’m afraid he went to work on the wrong principles. A little more conciliation ... but it’s difficult to blame anybody in these cases. The System’s at fault. Let us not be harsh. I quite agree with Wilkinson that the ‘Pall Mall’ to-night is very harsh.”
“Cowardly,” said Mr. Wilkinson grimly. “Rubbing it in because they have some sort of a show of a case. They’re always mum enough on the other side.”
Amory lifted her head.
“But you say this might have something to do with Cosimo’s coming back. Tell me at once what’s happened.—And put that telegram down, Walter. It’s mine.”
They had never heard Amory speak like this before. It was rather cool of her, in her own house, and quite contrary to the beautiful Chinese rule of politeness. And somehow her tone seemed, all at once, to dissipate a certain number of pretences that for the last hour or more they had been laboriously seeking to keep up. That, at any rate, was a relief. For a minute nobody seemed to want to answer Amory; then Mr. Wilkinson took it upon himself to do so—characteristically.
“Nothing’s happened,” he said, “—nothing that we haven’t all been talking about for a year and more. What the devil—let’s be plain for once. To look at you, anybody’d think you hadn’t meant it! By God, if I’d had that paper of yours!... I told you at the beginning what Strong was—neither wanted to do things nor let ’em alone; but I’d have shown you! I’d have had a dozen Prangs! But he didn’t want one—and he didn’t want to sack him—afraid all the time something ’ld happen, but daren’t stop—doing too well out of it for that ... and now that it’s happened, what’s all the to-do about? You’re always calling it War, aren’t you? And it is War, isn’t it? Or only Brimby’s sort of War—like everything else about Brimby?——”
Here somebody tried to interpose, but Mr. Wilkinson raised his voice almost to a shout.
“Isn’t it? Isn’t it?... Lookee here! A little fellow came here one Sunday, a little collier, and he said ‘Wilkie knows!’ And by Jimminy, Wilkie does know! I tell you it’s everybody for himself in this world, and I’m out for anything that’s going! (Yes, let’s have a bit o’ straight talk for a change!) War? Of course it’s War! What do we all mean about street barricades and rifles if it isn’t War? It’s War when they fetch the soldiers out, isn’t it? Or is that a bit more Brimby? And you can’t have War without killing somebody, can you? I tell you we want it at home, not in India! I’ve stood at the dock gates waiting to be taken on, and I know—no fear! To hell with your shillyshallying! If Collins gets in the way, Collins must get out o’ the way. We can’t stop for Collins. I wish it had been here! I can just see myself jumping off a bridge with a director in my arms—the fat hogs! If I’d had that paper! There’d have been police round this house long ago, and then the fun would have started!... Me and Prang’s the only two of all the bunch that does know what we want! And Prang’s got his all right—my turn next—and I shan’t ask Brimby to help me——”