When old Sternhold Baskette in the joy of his heart poured out wine in gallons, spirits in casks, and beer in rivers, he baptised his son Marese, the Child of the People. And it bore fruit at this great distance of time.
John Marese Baskette was, as we know, a clever man; he had a still more subtle man at his elbow. Between them they composed his address and his first oration. Be sure they did not forget the memory so dear to the people. Not one single thing was omitted which could tend to identify Marese Baskette with the populace. The combination of capital against them, the hard winter and price of provisions, all were skilfully turned to advantage; and, above all, the beer. When the publicans had read his address they one and all said, “He’s our man.” Licensed victuallers, beer-house keepers, “off the premises” men, gin-palace, eating-house, restaurant, hotel—all joined hands and marched in chorus, praising the man who promised to turn on the beer.
For he’s a jolly good fellow,
And so say all of us!
But Marese Baskette did not wholly rely upon the poorer classes: he gained the goodwill, or at least the neutrality, of two-thirds of the middle classes, by openly declaring that when he came into his property, as he grandly designated half the city, he should devote one-third of it to the relief of local taxation, to form a kind of common fund for sewers, gas, water, poor-rates, paving, etc. He went further—this he did not promulgate openly, but he caused it to be spread industriously abroad from house to house—and said that, when he inherited his rights, the house rents should be reduced from their present exorbitant figure.
Now it was notorious that the companies only waited to see whether they could tide over the year of expiration of their leases before they raised the rents. The arrow therefore went home. Baskette had hit the nail upon the head. The other party began to threaten petitions for bribery—contending that these promises were nothing short of it.
The Daily Post published a leader on “Glaring Corruption and Wholesale Venality.” Baskette and Theodore smiled. What would be the use of unseating him if, as they clearly saw, the opposite party was gone to utter destruction?
Baskette met with a triumphant reception at his first meeting. Whenever he appeared in the streets he was cheered to the echo.
The building societies and the Corporation were desperately alarmed. Though so bitterly opposed to each other at ordinary times, a common fear gave them unity. They held a secret meeting—at least they thought it was secret, but such things are impossible in our time. The pen is everywhere—its sharp point penetrates through the thickest wall. They united, formed themselves into an association, voted funds—secret also—hired speakers and hired roughs.
It all leaked out. The Stirmingham Daily News—Baskette’s paper—came out with a report and a leader, and held up the poor heir to the commiseration of the people. See what a combination against him!—anything to keep him out of his rights. Hired speakers to talk him down—hired roughs to knock him on the head. Vested interests arrayed against him—poor heir! How deeply to be pitied! How greatly to be sympathised with! The paper used stronger language than this, and hinted at “gangs of foul conspirators,” but that was not gentlemanly.
The exposure was worth a thousand votes to Baskette. But though exposed, the Corporation and the companies never ceased their efforts. Between them they comprised almost all of the rich employers of labour. They had one terrible engine—a fearful instrument of oppression and torture—invented in our modern days, in order that we may not get free and “become as gods.” They put on the screw.