The miners were all stirring now, to take part in the discussion.
“What do I call the common good?” repeated the landlady. “That all people should study the welfare of other people, and not only their own.”
“They are not to study their own welfare?” said the doctor.
“Ah, that I did not say,” replied the landlady. “Let them study their own welfare, and that of others also.”
“Well then,” said the doctor, “what is the welfare of a collier?”
“The welfare of a collier,” said the landlady, “is that he shall earn sufficient wages to keep himself and his family comfortable, to educate his children, and to educate himself; for that is what he wants, education.”
“Ay, happen so,” put in Brewitt, a big, fine, good-humoured collier. “Happen so, Mrs. Houseley. But what if you haven't got much education, to speak of?”
“You can always get it,” she said patronizing.
“Nay—I'm blest if you can. It's no use tryin' to educate a man over forty—not by book-learning. That isn't saying he's a fool, neither.”
“And what better is them that's got education?” put in another man. “What better is the manager, or th' under-manager, than we are?—Pender's yaller enough i' th' face.”
“He is that,” assented the men in chorus.
“But because he's yellow in the face, as you say, Mr. Kirk,” said the landlady largely, “that doesn't mean he has no advantages higher than what you have got.”
“Ay,” said Kirk. “He can ma'e more money than I can—that's about a' as it comes to.”
“He can make more money,” said the landlady. “And when he's made it, he knows better how to use it.”
“'Appen so, an' a'!—What does he do, more than eat and drink and work?—an' take it out of hisself a sight harder than I do, by th' looks of him.—What's it matter, if he eats a bit more or drinks a bit more—”
“No,” reiterated the landlady. “He not only eats and drinks. He can read, and he can converse.”
“Me an' a',” said Tom Kirk, and the men burst into a laugh. “I can read—an' I've had many a talk an' conversation with you in this house, Mrs. Houseley—am havin' one at this minute, seemingly.”
“SEEMINGLY, you are,” said the landlady ironically. “But do you think there would be no difference between your conversation, and Mr. Pender's, if he were here so that I could enjoy his conversation?”
“An' what difference would there be?” asked Tom Kirk. “He'd go home to his bed just the same.”
“There, you are mistaken. He would be the better, and so should I, a great deal better, for a little genuine conversation.”
“If it's conversation as ma'es his behind drop—” said Tom Kirk. “An' puts th' bile in his face—” said Brewitt. There was a general laugh.
“I can see it's no use talking about it any further,” said the landlady, lifting her head dangerously.
“But look here, Mrs. Houseley, do you really think it makes much difference to a man, whether he can hold a serious conversation or not?” asked the doctor.
“I do indeed, all the difference in the world—To me, there is no greater difference, than between an educated man and an uneducated man.”
“And where does it come in?” asked Kirk.
“But wait a bit, now,” said Aaron Sisson. “You take an educated man—take Pender. What's his education for? What does he scheme for?—What does he contrive for? What does he talk for?—”
“For all the purposes of his life,” replied the landlady.
“Ay, an' what's the purpose of his life?” insisted Aaron Sisson.
“The purpose of his life,” repeated the landlady, at a loss. “I should think he knows that best himself.”
“No better than I know it—and you know it,” said Aaron.
“Well,” said the landlady, “if you know, then speak out. What is it?”
“To make more money for the firm—and so make his own chance of a rise better.”
The landlady was baffled for some moments. Then she said:
“Yes, and suppose that he does. Is there any harm in it? Isn't it his duty to do what he can for himself? Don't you try to earn all you can?”
“Ay,” said Aaron. “But there's soon a limit to what I can earn.—It's like this. When you work it out, everything comes to money. Reckon it as you like, it's money on both sides. It's money we live for, and money is what our lives is worth—nothing else. Money we live for, and money we are when we're dead: that or nothing. An' it's money as is between the masters and us. There's a few educated ones got hold of one end of the rope, and all the lot of us hanging on to th' other end, an' we s'll go on pulling our guts out, time in, time out—”
“But they've got th' long end o' th' rope, th' masters has,” said Brewitt.
“For as long as one holds, the other will pull,” concluded Aaron Sisson philosophically.
“An' I'm almighty sure o' that,” said Kirk. There was a little pause.
“Yes, that's all there is in the minds of you men,” said the landlady. “But what can be done with the money, that you never think of—the education of the children, the improvement of conditions—”
“Educate the children, so that they can lay hold of the long end of the rope, instead of the short end,” said the doctor, with a little giggle.
“Ay, that's it,” said Brewitt. “I've pulled at th' short end, an' my lads may do th' same.”
“A selfish policy,” put in the landlady.
“Selfish or not, they may do it.”
“Till the crack o' doom,” said Aaron, with a glistening smile.
“Or the crack o' th' rope,” said Brewitt.
“Yes, and THEN WHAT?” cried the landlady.
“Then we all drop on our backsides,” said Kirk. There was a general laugh, and an uneasy silence.
“All I can say of you men,” said the landlady, “is that you have a narrow, selfish policy.—Instead of thinking of the children, instead of thinking of improving the world you live in—”
“We hang on, British bulldog breed,” said Brewitt. There was a general laugh.
“Yes, and little wiser than dogs, wrangling for a bone,” said the landlady.
“Are
