God’s will be done!
And as there were enthusiasts on this side, too, who saw the work of the Corn Laws in the thin cheeks of children and the coffins of babes, the claims of John Barley-corn, roared from the windows of the Portcullis and the Packhorse, did not seem a convincing answer. A big loaf and a little loaf, carried high through the streets, made a wide appeal to non-voters; and a banner with, “You be taxing, we be starving!” had its success. Then, on the evening of the market-day, a band of Hatton’s men, fresh from the Three Tailors, came to blows with a market-peart farmer, and a “hand” was not only knocked down, but locked up. Hatton’s and Banfield’s men were fired with indignation at this injustice, and Hatton himself said a little more at the Institute than Basset thought prudent.
These things had their effect, and more, perhaps, than was expected. For Stubbs, going back to his office one afternoon, suffered an unpleasant shock. Bosham’s impudence had not moved him, nor the jeers of Hatton’s men. But this turned out to be another matter. Farthingale, the shabby clerk with the high-bred nose, had news for him which he kept until the office door was locked. And the news was so bad that Stubbs stood aghast.
“What? All nine?” he cried. “Impossible, man! The woman’s made a fool of you!”
But Farthingale merely looked at him over his steel-rimmed spectacles. “It’s true,” he said.
“I’ll never believe it!” cried the lawyer.
Farthingale shook his head. “That won’t alter it,” he said patiently. “It’s true.”
“Dyas the butcher! Why, he served me for years! For years! I go to him at times now.”
“Only for veal,” replied the clerk, who knew everything “Pitt, of the sausage shop, and Badger, the tripeman, are in his pocket—buy his offal. With the other six, it’s mainly the big loaf—Lake has a sister with seven children, and Thomas a father in the almshouse. Two more have big families, and the women have got hold of them!”
“But they’ve always voted right!” Stubbs urged, with a sinking heart. “What’s taken them?”