Many of the van boys had snatched the opportunity to have a furtive game of banker with picture cards, but William Henry stood precisely at the tail of his mate’s van, responding in no way to the raillery of his young comrades, who, in their efforts to move him from the path of good behaviour, exhausted a limited stock of adjectives, and a generous supply of nouns. To William Henry, as a safe lad, was entrusted the duty of taking the long envelope to the Chief’s office, and his quick ears having gained something of the nature of the communication, he ran, and meeting the Chief at the door of the private office, gave it up with the message, “Answer wanted sharp, sir!” a gratuitous remark, ill-calculated to secure for it an amiable reception.
The labour member who had given to Erb a golden compliment on the previous evening had many proud titles; he was accustomed to say that the one he prized highest was that of “a manager of men,” and, indeed, the labour member had lost the colour of his hair and added lines to his face by piloting many a strike, guiding warily many a lock-out, but he had been rewarded by the universal acknowledgment that he could induce the men to do as he wished them to do; having gained this position, any idea of revolt against his command appeared, on the face of it, preposterous. It pleased Erb, as he drove his soberly-behaved horse and his van through the City to commence deliveries in the Pimlico district, to think that he, too, at the very outset, had impressed the colleagues with a confident manner. It was fine to see the wavering minds pin themselves to his superior direction, and give to him the duty of leading. He rehearsed to himself, as he drove along the Embankment, the speech which he would make when they held a meeting consequent on a refusal of the application; one sentence that came to his mind made him glow with delight, and he felt sure it had occurred to no one before. “United we must succeed; divided we most certainly shall fail!” He talked himself into such a state of ecstasy (William Henry, the while, swinging out by the rope, and repelling the impertinent action of boys driving shop cycles, who desired to economise labour by holding on at the rear of the van), that when he drove his thoughtful horse round by the Houses of Parliament it seemed to him that if the House were sitting he had almost achieved the right to get down and go in there and vote. At his first delivery to a contumacious butler, ill-tempered from an impudent attempt on the part of his master to cut down expenses, recalled Erb to his actual position in life, and as he went on Grosvenor Road way he was again a carman at twenty-three shillings and sixpence a week. Later, at a coffee shop which proclaimed itself “A Good Pull-up for Carmen,” and added proudly, “Others Compete, Few Equal, None Excel,” he stopped for lunch, having by that time nearly finished his first round of deliveries.
He shouted an order of “Bag on!” to William Henry, and, stepping down, went inside. Other drivers from other companies were in the coffee-house, and Erb, taking a seat in one of the pews, listened with tolerant interest to their confused arguments. All the variously uniformed men had a grievance, and all were quite certain that something ought to be done. The least vague of all the preferred solutions came from a North Western man, who said that “We must be up and doing.”
“The great thing is,” went on the North Western man, encouraged by the absence of contradiction, “to keep on pegging away.”
“Which way?” asked the carman at the end of the room.
“That,” said the North Western man modestly, “that it is not for me to decide. I leave that to wiser men than me. I candidly confess that I’m not one of your busybodies.”
“Seems to me,” remarked a Great Western man, cutting the thick bacon on his bread gloomily, “that every other department’s getting a look in excepting the drivers. We’re out of sight part of the day, and out of mind all the day. Take my own case. I’ve got children growing up, and I find,” here the Great Western man rapped the handle end of his knife on the table, “I find they all want boots.”
“What can I get for you?” said the matronly waitress, coming down the aisle.
“I didn’t call you, my dear. I was only arguin’.”
“Man-like!” said the waitress, going back to the kitchen.