“Because it can’t be done!” cried Crass fiercely. “It’s impossible!”
“You’re always sayin’ that everything’s all wrong,” complained Harlow, “but why the ’ell don’t you tell us ’ow they’re goin’ to be put right?”
“It doesn’t seem to me as if any of you really wish to know. I believe that even if it were proved that it could be done, most of you would be sorry and would do all you could to prevent it.”
“’E don’t know ’isself,” sneered Crass. “Accordin’ to ’im, Tariff Reform ain’t no bloody good—Free Trade ain’t no bloody good, and everybody else is wrong! But when you arst ’im what ought to be done—’e’s flummoxed.”
Crass did not feel very satisfied with the result of this machinery argument, but he consoled himself with the reflection that he would be able to flatten out his opponent on another subject. The cutting from the Obscurer which he had in his pocket would take a bit of answering! When you have a thing in print—in black and white—why there it is, and you can’t get away from it! If it wasn’t right, a paper like that would never have printed it. However, as it was now nearly half past eight, he resolved to defer this triumph till another occasion. It was too good a thing to be disposed of in a hurry.
Chapter 8
The Cap on the Stairs
After breakfast, when they were working together in the drawing-room, Easton, desiring to do Owen a good turn, thought he would put him on his guard, and repeated to him in a whisper the substance of the conversation he had held with Crass concerning him.
“Of course, you needn’t mention that I told you, Frank,” he said, “but I thought I ought to let you know: you can take it from me, Crass ain’t no friend of yours.”
“I’ve know that for a long time, mate,” replied Owen. “Thanks for telling me, all the same.”
“The bloody rotter’s no friend of mine either, or anyone else’s, for that matter,” Easton continued, “but of course it doesn’t do to fall out with ’im because you never know what he’d go and say to ol’ ’Unter.”