The Three Clerks II

THE THREE CLERKS

questions, he admitted that, in his estimation, patronage and money did mean the same thing.

Such was the case made out by the promoters of the bridge, and the chairman and his party were very sanguine of success. They conceived that Mr. Blocks’ figures had completely cowed their antagonists.

Mr. Vigil then took his case in hand, and brought forward his witnesses. It now appeared that the intercourse between the people living on each side of the river was immense, and ever on the increase. Limehouse, it would seem, had nothing to do but to go to Deptford, and that Deptford consumed all its time in returning the visit. Little children were sent across continually on the most trifling errands, going and coming for one halfpenny. An immense income was made by the owners of the ferry. No two adjacent streets in London had more to do with each other than had the lanes of Rotherhithe and the lanes of Limehouse. Westminster and Lambeth were further apart, and less connected by friendly intercourse. The frequenters of the ferry were found to outnumber the passengers over Waterloo Bridge by ten to one.

Indeed, so lamentable a proposition as this of building a bridge across the river had never before been mooted by the public. Men conversant with such matters gave it as their opinion that no amount of tolls that could reasonably be expected would pay one per cent on the money which it was proposed to expend; that sum, however, they stated, would not more than half cover the full cost of the bridge. Traffic would be prohibited by the heavy charges which would be necessary,

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and the probability would be that the ferry would still continue to be the ordinary mode of crossing the river.

A gentleman, accustomed to use strong figures of speech, declared that if such a bridge were built, the wisest course would be to sow the surface with grass, and let it out for grazing. This witness was taken specially in hand by Mr. Nogo, and targed very tightly. Mr. Vigil had contrived to prove, out of the mouths of inimical witnesses, the very reverse of that which they had been summoned thither to assert. The secret of the ferry had been first brought to the light by the gentleman who could not visit his daughter at Deptford, and so on. These triumphs had evidently been very pleasant to Mr. Vigil, and Mr. Nogo thought that he might judiciously take a leaf out of the Treasury book. Actuated by this ambition, he, with the assistance of his friend, the M’Carthy Desmond, put no less than 2,250 questions to the gentleman who suggested the grazing, in order to induce him to say, that if there were a bridge, men would probably walk over it. But they could not bring him to own to a single passenger, unless they would abandon the tolls. The most that they could get from him was, that perhaps an old woman, with more money than wit, might go over it on a Sunday afternoon, if — which he did not believe — any old woman existed, in that part of the world, who had more money than wit.

This witness was kept in the chair for three days, during which Mr. Vigil was nearly driven wild by the loss of his valuable time. But he did not complain. Nor would he have complained, though he might have absented himself, had the witness been kept in the chair three weeks instead of three days.

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The expense of the committee, including witnesses, short- hand-writers, and printing, was about £60 a day, but it never occurred to any one of the number to get up and declare with indignation, that such a waste of money and time on so palpably absurd a scheme was degrading, and to demand an immediate close of their labours. It all went smoothly to the end, and Mr. Nogo walked off from his task with the approving conscience of a patriotic legislator.

At the close the members met to prepare their report. It was then the first week in August, and they were naturally in a hurry to finish their work. It was now their duty to decide on the merits of what they had heard, to form a judgement as to the veracity of the witnesses, and declare, on behalf of the country which they represented, whether or no this bridge should be built at the expense of the nation.

With his decision each was ready enough; but not one of them dreamed of being influenced by anything which had been said before them. All the world — that is, all that were in any way concerned in the matter — knew that the witnesses for the bridge were anxious to have it built, and that the witnesses against the bridge were anxious to prevent the building. It would be the worst of ignorance, ignorance of the usage of the world we live in, to suppose that any member of Parliament could be influenced by such manoeuvres. Besides, was not the mind of each man fully known before the committee met?

Various propositions were made by the members among themselves, and various amendments moved. The balance of the different parties had been nearly preserved. A decided vic-

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tion? Or would the ministers of the day object to an additional certain vote? This last point of view was one in which it did not at all delight Sir Gregory to look at the subject in question. He determined that he would not speak on the matter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or to any of the Government wigs who might be considered to be bigger wigs than himself.

And Alaric thought over the matter coolly also. He looked at it till the bugbears shrank into utter insignificance; till they became no more than forms of shreds and patches put up to frighten birds out of cherry-orchards.

Why should the constitution be wounded by the presence of one more commissioner in Parliament? Why should not he do his public duty and hold his seat at the same time, as was done by so many others? But he would have to go out if the ministry went out. That was another difficulty, another bugbear, more substantial perhaps than the others; but he was prepared to meet even that. He was a poor man; his profession was that of the Civil Service; his ambition was to sit in Parliament. He would see whether he could not combine his poverty with his profession, and with his ambition also. Sir Gregory resolved in his fear that he would not speak to the Chancellor of the Exchequer on the matter; Alaric, on the other hand, in his audacity, resolved that he would do so.

It was thus that Sir Gregory regarded the matter. ‘See all that I have done for this man,’ said he to himself; ‘see how I have warmed him in my bosom, how I have lifted him to fortune and renown, how I have heaped benefits on his head! If gratitude in this world be possible, that man should be grateful to me; if one man can ever have another’s interest at heart,

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that man should have a heartfelt anxiety as to my interest. And yet how is it? I have placed him in the chair next to my own, and now he is desirous of sitting above me!’

‘Twas thus Sir Gregory communed with himself. But Alaric’s soliloquy was very different. A listener who could have overheard both would hardly have thought that the same question was being discussed by the two. ‘I have got so high,’ said Alaric, ‘by my own labour, by my own skill and tact; and why should I stop here? I have left my earliest colleagues far behind me; have distanced those who were my competitors in the walk of life; why should I not still go on and distance others also? why stop when I am only second or third? It is very natural that Sir Gregory should wish to keep me out of Parliament; I cannot in the least blame him; let us all fight as best each may for himself. He does not wish a higher career; I do. Sir Gregory will now do all that he can to impede my views, because they are antagonistic to his own; very well; I must only work the harder to overcome his objections.’ There was no word in all this of gratitude; there was no thought in Alaric’s mind that it behoved him to be grateful to Sir Gregory. It was for his own sake, not for his pupil’s, that Sir Gregory had brought this pupil forward. Grateful, indeed! In public life when is there time for gratitude? Who ever thinks of other interest than his own?

Such was Alaric’s theory of life. But not the less would he have expected gratitude from those whom he might serve. Such also very probably was Sir Gregory’s theory when he thought of those who had helped him, instead of those whom he himself had helped.

And so they met, and discussed Alaric’s little proposition.

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‘Since I saw you yesterday,’ said Sir Gregory, ‘I have been thinking much of what you were saying to me of your wish to go into Parliament.’

‘I am very much obliged to you,’ said Alaric.

‘I need hardly tell you, Tudor, how anxious I am to further your advancement. I greatly value your ability and diligence, and have shown that I am anxious to make them serviceable to the public.’

‘I am fully aware that I owe you a great deal, Sir Gregory.’ ‘Oh, I don’t mean that; that’s nothing; I am not think-

ing of myself. I only want you to understand that I am truly anxious to see you take that line in public matters which may make your services most valuable to the public, and which may redound the most to your own advantage. I have thought of what you said to me with the most mature deliberation, and I am persuaded that I shall best do my duty to you, and to the service, by recommending you to abandon altogether your idea of going into Parliament.’

Sir Gregory said this in his weightiest manner. He endeavoured to assume some of that authority with which he had erst cowed the young Tudor at the Weights and Measures, and as he finished his speech he assumed a profound look which ought to have been very convincing.

But the time was gone by with Alaric when such tricks of legerdemain were convincing to him. A grave brow, compressed lips, and fixed eyes, had no longer much effect upon him. He had a point to gain, and he was thinking of that, and not of Sir Gregory’s grimaces.

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‘Then you will not see the Chancellor of the Exchequer on the subject?’

‘No,’ said Sir Gregory; ‘it would be useless for me to do so. I could not advocate such a scheme, feeling certain that it would be injurious both to yourself and to the service; and I would not desire to see the Chancellor with the view of opposing your wishes.’

‘I am much obliged to you for that, at any rate,’ said Alaric. ‘But I do hope that you will not carry your plan any farther.

When I tell you, as I do with the utmost sincerity, that I feel certain that an attempt to seat yourself in Parliament can only lead to the ruin of your prospects as a Civil servant — prospects which are brighter now than those of any other young man in the service — I cannot but think that you must hesitate before you take any step which will, in my opinion, render your resignation necessary.’

‘I shall be sorry to resign, Sir Gregory, as I have such true pleasure in serving with you.’

‘And, I presume, a salary of £1,200 a year is not unacceptable?’ said Sir Gregory, with the very faintest of smiles.

‘By no means,’ said Alaric; ‘I am a poor man, depending altogether on my own exertions for an income. I cannot afford to throw away a chance.’

‘Then take my word for it, you should give up all idea of Parliament,’ said Sir Gregory, who thought that he had carried his point.

‘But I call a seat in Parliament a chance,’ said Alaric; ‘the best chance that a man, circumstanced as I am, can possibly

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have. I have the offer of a seat, Sir Gregory, and I can’t afford to throw it away.’

‘Then it is my duty to tell you, as the head of your office, that it will be your duty to resign before you offer yourself as a candidate.’

‘That you mean is your present opinion, Sir Gregory?’ ‘Yes, Mr. Tudor, that is my opinion — an opinion which

I shall be forced to express to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, if you persist in this infatuation.’

Alaric looked very grave, but not a whit angry. ‘I am sorry for it, Sir Gregory, very sorry; I had hoped to have had your countenance.’

‘I would give it you, Mr. Tudor, if I could consistently with my duty as a public servant; but as I cannot, I am sure you will not ask for it.’ How Fidus Neverbend would have admired the chief commissioner could he have seen and heard him at this moment! ‘But,’ he continued, relaxing for a while the muscles of his face, ‘I hope, I do hope, you will think better of this. What are you to gain? Come, Tudor, think of it that way. What are you to gain? You, with a wife and young family coming up about your heels, what are you to gain by going into Parliament? That is what I ask you. What are you to gain?’ It was delightful to see how pleasantly practical Sir Gregory could become when he chose to dismount from his high horse.

‘It is considered a high position in this country, that of a member of Parliament,’ said Alaric. ‘A man in gaining that is generally supposed to have gained something.’

‘True, quite true. It is a desirable position for a rich man, or a rich man’s eldest son, or even for a poor man, if by getting

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