answered in a high voice, "'Cause we're too sensible,
that's why! 'Cause we know what we're about, we do."
The other man said, "Ho! Do we?"
The second man answered, "Yes: we do. What made England?"
"Gord," said the first man.
This brought the second man up all standing and nearly carried away
his fore-bob-stay. He answered slowly—
"Well … yes … in a manner of speaking. But what I meant to say
was like this, that what made England was Free Trade!" Here he
slapped one hand on to the other with a noise like that of a pistol,
and added heavily: "And what's more, I can prove it."
The first man, who was now entrenched in his position, said again,
"Ho! Can you?" and sneered.
The second man then proved it, getting more and more excited. When
he had done, all the first man did was to say, "You talk
foolishness."
Then there was a long silence: very strained. At last the Free
Trader pulled out a pipe and filled it at leisure, with a light sort
of womanish tobacco, and just as he struck a match the Protectionist
shouted out, "No you don't! This ain't a smoking compartment. I
object!" The Free Trader said, "O! that's how it is, is it?" The
Protectionist answered in a lower voice and surly, "Yes: that's
how."
They sat avoiding each other's eyes till we got to Grantham. I had
no idea that feeling could run so high, yet neither of them had a
real grip on the Theory of International Exchange.
But by far the most extraordinary conversation and perhaps the most
illuminating I ever heard, was in a train going to the West Country
and stopping first at Swindon.
It passed between two men who sat in corners facing each other.
The one was stout, tall, and dressed in a tweed suit. He had a gold
watch-chain with a little ornament on it representing a pair of
compasses and a square. His beard was brown and soft. His eyes were
very sodden. When he got in he first wrapped a rug round and round
his legs, then he took off his top hat and put on a cloth cap, then
he sat down.
The other also wore a tweed suit and was also stout, but he was not
so tall. His watch-chain also was of gold (but of a different
pattern, paler, and with no ornament hung on it). His eyes also were
sodden. He had no rug. He also took off his hat but put no cap upon
his head. I noticed that he was rather bald, and in the middle of
his baldness was a kind of little knob. For the purposes of this
record, therefore, I shall give him the name "Bald," while I shall
call the other man "Cap."
I have forgotten, by the way, to tell you that Bald had a very large
nose, at the end of which a great number of little veins had
congested and turned quite blue.
CAP ( shuts up Levy's paper, "The Daily Telegraph," and opens
Harmsworth's "Daily Mail," Shuts that up and looks fixedly at BALD):
I ask your pardon … but isn't your name Binder?
BALD ( his eyes still quite sodden ): That is my name. Binder's my
name. ( He coughs to show breeding .) Why! ( his eyes getting a
trifle less sodden ) if you aren't Mr. Mowle! Well, Mr. Mowle, sir,
how are you?
CAP ( with some dignity ): Very well, thank you, Mr. Binder.
How, how's Mrs. Binder and the kids? All blooming?
BALD: Why, yes, thank you, Mr. Mowle, but Mrs. Binder still has
those attacks ( shaking his head ). Abdominal ( continuing to
shake his head ). Gastric. Something cruel.
CAP: They do suffer cruel, as you say, do women, Mr. Binder
( shaking his head too—but more slightly ). This indigestion—ah!
BALD ( more brightly ): Not married yet, Mr. Mowle?
CAP ( contentedly and rather stolidly ): No, Mr. Binder. Nor
not inclined to neither. ( Draws a great breath. ) I'm a single
man, Mr. Binder, and intend so to adhere. ( A pause to think. )
That's what I call ( a further pause to get the right phrase )
"single blessedness." Yes, ( another deep breath ) I find life
worth living, Mr. Binder.
BALD ( with great cunning ): That depends upon the liver.
( Roars with laughter. )
CAP ( laughing a good deal too, but not so much as BALD):