It was Richards first visit to this house. A few days ago he would, in spite of himself, have been somewhat awed by the man-servant at the door, the furniture of the hall, the air of refinement in the room he entered. At present he smiled on everything. Could he not command the same as soon as he chose?
Mr. Westlake rose from his writing-table and greeted his visitor with a hearty grip of the hand. He was a man pleasant to look upon; his face, full of intellect, shone with the light of good-will, and the easy carelessness of his attire prepared one for the genial sincerity which marked his way of speaking. He wore a velvet jacket, a grey waistcoat buttoning up to the throat, grey trousers, fur-bordered slippers; his collar was very deep, and instead of the ordinary shirt-cuffs, his wrists were enclosed in frills. Long-haired, full-bearded, he had the forehead of an idealist and eyes whose natural expression was an indulgent smile.
A man of letters, he had struggled from obscure poverty to success and ample means; at three-and-thirty he was still hard pressed to make both ends meet, but the ten subsequent years had built for him this pleasant home and banished his long familiar anxieties to the land of nightmare. It came just in time, he was in the habit of saying to those who had his confidence. I was at the point where a man begins to turn sour, and I should have soured in earnest. The process had been most effectually arrested. People were occasionally found to say that his books had a tang of acerbity; possibly this was the safety-valve at work, a hint of what might have come had the old hunger-demons kept up their goading. In the man himself you discovered an extreme simplicity of feeling, a frank tenderness, a noble indignation. For one who knew him it was not difficult to understand that he should have taken up extreme social views, still less that he should act upon his convictions. All his writing foretold such a possibility, though on the other hand it exhibited devotion to forms of culture which do not as a rule predispose to democratic agitation. The explanation was perhaps too simple to be readily hit upon; the man was himself so supremely happy that with his disposition the thought of tyrannous injustice grew intolerable to him. Some incidents happened to set his wrath blazing, and henceforth, in spite of not a little popular ridicule and much shaking of the head among his friends, Mr. Westlake had his mission.
I have come to ask your advice and help, began Mutimer with directness. He was conscious of the necessity of subduing his voice, and had a certain pleasure in the ease with which he achieved this feat. It would not have been so easy a day or two ago.
Ah, about this awkward affair of yours, observed Mr. Westlake with reference to Richards loss of his employment, of which, as editor of the Unions weekly paper, he had of course at once been apprised.
No, not about that. Since then a very unexpected thing has happened to me.
The story was once more related, vastly to Mr. Westlakes satisfaction. Cheerful news concerning his friends always put him in the best of spirits.
He shook his head, laughing.
Come, come, Mutimer, thisll never do! Im not sure that we shall not have to consider your expulsion from the Union.
Richard went on to mention the matters of legal routine in which he hoped Mr. Westlake would serve him. These having been settled
I wish to speak of something more important, he said. You take it for granted, I hope, that Im not going to make the ordinary use of this fortune. As yet Ive only been able to hit on a few general ideas; Im clear as to the objects I shall keep before me, but how best to serve them wants more reflection. I thought if I talked it over with you in the first place
The door opened, and a lady half entered the room.
Oh, I thought you were alone, she remarked to Mr. Westlake. Forgive me!
Come in! Heres our friend Mutimer. You know Mrs. Westlake?
A few words had passed between this lady and Richard in the lecture-room a few weeks before. She was not frequently present at such meetings, but had chanced, on the occasion referred to, to hear Mutimer deliver an harangue.
You have no objection to talk of your plans? Join our council, will you? he added to his wife. Our friend brings interesting news.
Mrs. Westlake walked across the room to the curved window-seat. Her age could scarcely be more than three- or four-and-twenty; she was very dark, and her face grave almost to melancholy. Black hair, cut short at its thickest behind her neck, gave exquisite relief to features of the purest Greek type. In listening to anything that held her attention her eyes grew large, and their dark orbs seemed to dream passionately. The white swans down at her throatshe was perfectly attiredmade the skin above resemble rich-hued marble, and indeed to gaze at her long was to be impressed as by the sad loveliness of a supreme work of art. As Mutimer talked she leaned forward, her elbow on her knee, the back of her hand supporting her chin.
Her husband recounted what Richard had told him, and the latter proceeded to sketch the projects he had in view.
My idea is, he said, to make the mines at Wanley the basis of great industrial undertakings, just as any capitalist might, but to conduct these undertakings in a way consistent with our views. I would begin by building furnaces, and in time add engineering works on a large scale. I would build houses for the men, and in fact make that valley an industrial settlement conducted on Socialist principles. Practically I can devote the whole of my income; my personal expenses will not be worth taking into account. The men must be paid on a just scheme, and the margin of profit that remains, all that we can spare from the extension of the works, shall be devoted to the Socialist propaganda. In fact, I should like to make the executive committee of the Union a sort of board of directorsand in a very different sense from the usualfor the Wanley estate. My personal expenditure deducted, I should like such a committee to have the practical control of funds. All this wealth was made by plunder of the labouring class, and I shall hold it as trustee for them. Do these ideas seem to you of a practical colour?
Mr. Westlake nodded slowly twice. His wife kept her listening attitude unchanged; her eyes dreamed against a distant goal.
As I see the scheme, pursued Richard, who spoke all along somewhat in the lecture-room tone, the result of a certain embarrassment, it will differ considerably from the Socialist experiments we know of. We shall be working not only to support ourselves, but every bit as much set on profit as any capitalist in Belwick. The difference is, that the profit will benefit no individual, but the Cause. Therell be no attempt to carry out the idea of every man receiving the just outcome of his labour; not because I shouldnt be willing to share in that way, but simply because we have a greater end in view than to enrich ourselves. Our men must all be members of the Union, and their prime interest must be the advancement of the principles of the Union. We shall be able to establish new papers, to hire halls, and to spread ourselves over the country. Itll be fighting the capitalist manufacturers with their own weapons. I can see plenty of difficulties, of course. All England ll be against us. Never mind, well defy them all, and well win. Itll be the work of my life, and well see if an honest purpose cant go as far as a thievish one.
The climax would have brought crashing cheers at Commonwealth Hall; in Mr. Westlakes study it was received with well-bred expressions of approval.