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Page 30
Will the women of England kindly wait a little till their demands can be
considered in a dignified way? No! They will not take their place in the
waiting-line. Others get what they want by pushing; so will they.
Will the Labor party be a little less noisy and insistent in its
demands? All will come in time, but one Reform must say to another,
"After you." Hoarse voices cry, "We care nothing for etiquette, we must
have what we demand, and have it at once. We cannot stand still. If we
are pushing, we are also pushed from behind. If you do not give us what
we ask for, the Socialists and the Syndicalists will be upon you." There
is always the threat of a General Strike. Laborers have hitherto been
starved into submission. But two can play at that game.
IV
This is not the England of Sir Roger de Coverley with its cheerful
contentment with the actual, and its deference for all sorts of
dignitaries. It is not, in its present temper, a model of propriety.
But, in my judgment, it is all the more interesting, and full of hope.
To say that England is in the midst of a revolution is not to say that
some dreadful disaster is impending. It only means that this is a time
when events move very rapidly, and when precedents count for little. But
it is a time when common sense and courage and energy count for a great
deal; and there is no evidence that these qualities are lacking. I
suspect that the alarmists are not so alarmed as their language would
lead us to suppose. They know their countrymen, and that they have the
good sense to avoid most of the collisions that they declare to be
inevitable.
I take comfort in the philosophy which I glean from the top of a London
motor-bus. From my point of vantage I look down upon pedestrian humanity
as a Superman might look down upon it. It seems to consist of a vast
multitude of ignorant folk who are predestined to immediate
annihilation. As the ungainly machine on which I am seated rushes down
the street, it seems admirably adapted for its mission of destruction.
The barricade in front of me, devoted to the praise of BOVRIL, is just
high enough to prevent my seeing what actually happens, but it gives a
bloodcurdling view of catastrophes that are imminent. I have an
impression of a procession of innocent victims rushing heedlessly upon
destruction. Three yards in front of the onrushing wheels is an old
gentleman crossing the street. He suddenly stops. There is, humanly
speaking, no hope for him. Two nursemaids appear in the field of danger.
A butcher's boy on a bicycle steers directly for the bus. He may be
given up for lost. I am not able to see what becomes of them, but I am
prepared for the worst. Still the expected crunch does not come, and the
bus goes on.
Between Notting Hill Gate and Charing Cross I have seen eighteen persons
disappear in this mysterious fashion. I could swear that when I last saw
them it seemed too late for them to escape their doom.
But on sober reflection I come to the conclusion that I should have
taken a more hopeful view if I had not been so high up; if, for example,
I had been sitting with the driver where I could have seen what happened
at the last moment.
There was much comfort in the old couplet:--
"Betwixt the saddle and the ground,
He mercy sought and mercy found."
And betwixt the pedestrian and the motor-bus, there are many chances of
safety that I could not foresee. The old gentleman was perhaps more spry
than he looked. The nursemaids and the butcher's boy must assuredly have
perished unless they happened to have their wits about them. But in all
probability they did have their wits about them, and so did the driver
of the motor-bus.
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS
I
When we think of a thorough-going conservative we are likely to picture
him as a stay-at-home person, a barnacle fastened to one spot. We take
for granted that aversion to locomotion and aversion to change are the
same thing. But in thinking thus we leave out of account the inherent
instability of human nature. Everybody likes a little change now and
then. If a person cannot get it in one way, he gets it in another. The
stay-at-home gratifies his wandering fancy by making little alterations
in his too-familiar surroundings. Even the Vicar of Wakefield in the
days of his placid prosperity would occasionally migrate from the blue
bed to the brown. A life that had such vicissitudes could not be called
uneventful.
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