all roads lead to calvary-第17部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

ss　kitchen。　　And　often；　as　Mr。　Airlie；　who　was　of　an　inquiring　turn　of　mind；　had　convinced　himself；　the　only　evening　meal　that　resources　would　permit　was　the　satisfying　supper　for　one　brought　by　the　youngest　daughter　to　her　father　where　he　sat　alone　in　the　small　dining…room。

Mr。　Airlie；　picking　daintily　at　his　food；　continued　his　stories：　of　philanthropists　who　paid　starvation　wages：　　of　feminists　who　were　a　holy　terror　to　their　women　folk：　　of　socialists　who　travelled　first…class　and　spent　their　winters　in　Egypt　or　Monaco：　of　stern　critics　of　public　morals　who　preferred　the　society　of　youthful　affinities　to　the　continued　company　of　elderly　wives：　　of　poets　who　wrote　divinely　about　babies'　feet　and　whose　children　hated　them。

〃Do　you　think　it's　all　true？〃　Joan　whispered　to　her　host。

He　shrugged　his　shoulders。　　〃No　reason　why　it　shouldn't　be；〃　he　said。　　〃I've　generally　found　him　right。〃

〃I've　never　been　able　myself；〃　he　continued；　〃to　understand　the　Lord's　enthusiasm　for　David。　　I　suppose　it　was　the　Psalms　that　did　it。〃

Joan　was　about　to　offer　comment；　but　was　struck　dumb　with　astonishment　on　hearing　McKean's　voice：　　it　seemed　he　could　talk。　He　was　telling　of　an　old　Scotch　peasant　farmer。　　A　mean；　cantankerous　old　cuss　whose　curious　pride　it　was　that　he　had　never　given　anything　away。　　Not　a　crust；　nor　a　sixpence；　nor　a　rag；　and　never　would。　　Many　had　been　the　attempts　to　make　him　break　his　boast：　　some　for　the　joke　of　the　thing　and　some　for　the　need；　but　none　had　ever　succeeded。　　It　was　his　one　claim　to　distinction　and　he　guarded　it。

One　evening　it　struck　him　that　the　milk…pail；　standing　just　inside　the　window；　had　been　tampered　with。　　Next　day　he　marked　with　a　scratch　the　inside　of　the　pan　and；　returning　later；　found　the　level　of　the　milk　had　sunk　half　an　inch。　　So　he　hid　himself　and　waited；　and　at　twilight　the　next　day　the　window　was　stealthily　pushed　open；　and　two　small；　terror…haunted　eyes　peered　round　the　room。　　They　satisfied　themselves　that　no　one　was　about　and　a　tiny　hand　clutching　a　cracked　jug　was　thrust　swiftly　in　and　dipped　into　the　pan；　and　the　window　softly　closed。

He　knew　the　thief；　the　grandchild　of　an　old　bed…ridden　dame　who　lived　some　miles　away　on　the　edge　of　the　moor。　　The　old　man　stood　long；　watching　the　small　cloaked　figure　till　it　was　lost　in　the　darkness。　　It　was　not　till　he　lay　upon　his　dying　bed　that　he　confessed　it。　　But　each　evening；　from　that　day；　he　would　steal　into　the　room　and　see　to　it　himself　that　the　window　was　left　ajar。

After　the　coffee；　Mrs。　Phillips　proposed　their　adjourning　to　the　〃drawing…room〃　the　other　side　of　the　folding　doors；　which　had　been　left　open。　　Phillips　asked　her　to　leave　Joan　and　himself　where　they　were。　　He　wanted　to　talk　to　her。　　He　promised　not　to　bore　her　for　more　than　ten　minutes。

The　others　rose　and　moved　away。　　Hilda　came　and　stood　before　Joan　with　her　hands　behind　her。

〃I　am　going　to　bed　now；〃　she　said。　　〃I　wanted　to　see　you　from　what　Papa　told　me。　　May　I　kiss　you？〃

It　was　spoken　so　gravely　that　Joan　did　not　ask　her；　as　in　lighter　mood　she　might　have　done；　what　it　was　that　Phillips　had　said。　　She　raised　her　face　quietly；　and　the　child　bent　forward　and　kissed　her；　and　went　out　without　looking　back　at　either　of　them；　leaving　Joan　more　serious　than　there　seemed　any　reason　for。　　Phillips　filled　his　pipe　and　lighted　it。

〃I　wish　I　had　your　pen；〃　he　said；　suddenly　breaking　the　silence。　〃I'm　all　right　at　talking；　but　I　want　to　get　at　the　others：　　the　men　and　women　who　never　come；　thinking　it　has　nothing　to　do　with　them。　　I'm　shy　and　awkward　when　I　try　to　write。　　There　seems　a　barrier　in　front　of　me。　　You　break　through　it。　　One　hears　your　voice。　　Tell　me；〃　he　said；　〃are　you　getting　your　way？　　Do　they　answer　you？〃

〃Yes；〃　said　Joan。　　〃Not　any　great　number　of　them；　not　yet。　　But　enough　to　show　that　I　really　am　interesting　them。　　It　grows　every　week。〃

〃Tell　them　that；〃　he　said。　　〃Let　them　hear　each　other。　　It's　the　same　at　a　meeting。　　You　wait　ten　minutes　sometimes　before　one　man　will　summon　up　courage　to　put　a　question；　but　once　one　or　two　have　ventured　they　spring　up　all　round　you。　　I　was　wondering；〃　he　added；　〃if　you　would　help　me；　let　me　use　you；　now　and　again。〃

〃It　is　what　I　should　love；〃　she　answered。　　〃Tell　me　what　to　do。〃　She　was　not　conscious　of　the　low；　vibrating　tone　in　which　she　spoke。

〃I　want　to　talk　to　them；〃　he　said；　〃about　their　stomachs。　　I　want　them　to　see　the　need　of　concentrating　upon　the　food　problem：　insisting　that　it　shall　be　solved。　　The　other　things　can　follow。〃

〃There　was　an　old　Egyptian　chap；〃　he　said；　〃a　governor　of　one　of　their　provinces；　thousands　of　years　before　the　Pharaohs　were　ever　heard　of。　　They　dug　up　his　tomb　a　little　while　ago。　　It　bore　this　inscription：　　'In　my　time　no　man　went　hungry。'　　I'd　rather　have　that　carved　upon　my　gravestone　than　the　boastings　of　all　the　robbers　and　the　butchers　of　history。　　Think　what　it　must　have　meant　in　that　land　of　drought　and　famine：　　only　a　narrow　strip　of　river　bank　where　a　grain　of　corn　would　grow；　and　that　only　when　old　Nile　was　kind。　　If　not；　your　nearest　supplies　five　hundred　miles　away　across　the　desert；　your　only　means　of　transport　the　slow…moving　camel。　　Your　convoy　must　be　guarded　against　attack；　provided　with　provisions　and　water　for　a　two　months'　journey。　　Yet　he　never　failed　his　people。　　Fat　year　and　lean　year：　　'In　my　time　no　man　went　hungry。'　　And　here；　to…day；　with　our　steamships　and　our　railways；　with　the　granaries　of　the　world　filled　to　overflowing；　one　third　of　our　population　lives　on　the　border　line　of　want。　　In　India　they　die　by　the　roadside。　　What's　the　good　of　it　all：　　your　science　and　your　art　and　your　religion！　　How　can　you　help　men's　souls　if　their　bodies　are　starving？　　A　hungry　man's　a　hungry　beast。

〃I　spent　a　week　at　Grimsby；　some　years　ago；　organizing　a　fisherman's　union。　　They　used　to　throw　the　fish　back　into　the　sea；　tons　upon　tons　of　it；　that　men　had　risked　their　lives　to　catch；　that　would　have　fed　half　London's　poor。　　There　was　a　'glut'　of　it；　they　said。　　The　'market'　didn't　want　it。　　Funny；　isn't　it；　a　'glut'　of　food：　　and　the　kiddies　can't　learn　their　lessons　for　want　of　it。　I　was　talking　with　a　farmer　down　in　Kent。　　The　plums　were　rotting　on　his　trees。　　There　were　too　many　of　them：　　that　was　the　trouble。　The　railway　carriage　alone　would　cost　him　more　than　he　could　get　for　them。　　They　were　too　cheap。　　So　nobody　could　have　them。　　It's　the　muddle　of　the　thing　that　makes　me　madthe　ghastly　muddle…　headed　way　the　chief　business　of　the　world　is　managed。　　There's　enough　food　could　be　grown　in　this　country　to　feed　all　the　people　and　then　of　the　fragments　each　man　might　gather　his　ten　basketsful。　There's　no　miracle　needed。　　I　went　into　the　matter　once　with　Dalroy　of　the　Board　of　Agriculture。　　He's　the　best　man　they've　got；　if　they'd　only　listen　to　him。　　It's　never　been　organized：　　that's　all。　It　isn't　the　fault　of　the　individual。　　It　ought　not　to　be　left　to　the　individual。　　The　man　who　makes　a　corner　in　wheat　in　Chicago　and　condemns　millions　to　privationlikely　enough；　he's　a　decent　sort　of　fellow　in　himself：　　a　kind　husband　and　fatherwould　be　upset　for　the　day　if　he　saw　a　child　crying　for　bread。　　My　dog's　a　decent　enough　little　chap；　as　dogs　go；　but　I　don't　let　him　run　my　larder。

〃It　could　be　done　with　a　little　good　will　all　round；〃　he　continued；　〃and　nine　men　out　of　every　ten　would　be　the　better　off。　　But　they　won't　even　let　you　explain。　　Their　newspapers　shout　you　down。　　It's　such　a　damned　fine　world　for　the　few：　　never　mind　the　many。　　My　father　was　a　farm　labourer：　　and　all　his　life　he　never　earned　more　than　thirteen　and　sixpence　a　week。　　I　left　when　I　was　twelve　and　went　into　the　mines。　　There　were　six　of　us　children；　and　my　mother　brought　us　up　healthy　and　decent。　　She　fed　us　and　clothed　us　and　sent　us　to　school；　and　when　she　died　we　buried　her　with　the　money　she　had　put　by　for　the　purpose；　and　never　a　penny　of　charity　had　ever　soiled　her　hands。　　I　can　see　them　now。　　Talk　of　your　Chancellors　of　the　Exchequer　and　their　problems！　　She　worked　herself　to　death；　of　course。　　Well；　that's　all　right。　　One　doesn't　mind　that　where　one　loves。　　If　they　would　only　let　you。　　She　had　no　opposition　to　contend　withno　thwarting　and　hampering　at　every　turnthe　very　people　you　are　working　for　hounded　on　against　you。　The　difficulty　of　a　man　like　myself；　who　wants　to　do　something；　who　could　do　something；　is　that　for　the　best　part　of　his　life　he　is　fighting　to　be　allowed　to　do　it。　　By　the　time　I've　lived　down　their　lies　and　got　my　chance；　my　energy　will　be　gone。〃

He　knocked　the　ashes　from　his　pipe　and　relit　it。

〃I've　no　quarrel　with　the　rich；〃　he　said。　　〃I　don't　care　how　many　rich　men　there　are；　so　long　as　there　are　no　poor。　　Who　does？　　I　was　riding　on　a　bus　the　other　day；　and　there　was　a　man　beside　me　with　a　bandaged　head。　　He'd　been　hurt　in　that　railway　smash　at　Morpeth。　He　hadn't　claimed　damages　from　the　railway　company　and　wasn't　going　to。　　'Oh；　it's　only　a　few　scratches；'　he　said。　　'They'll　be　hit　hard　enough　as　it　is。'　　If　he'd　been　a　poor　devil　on　eighteen　shillings　a　week　it　would　have　been　different。　　He　was　an　engineer　earning　good　wages；　so　he　wasn't　feeling　sore　and　bitter　against　half　the　world。　　Suppose　you　tried　to　run　an　army　with　your