A Knight on Wheels Part 34

"What do you _do_ with Life?" continued the speaker. "The Life that is left to you when you have worked twelve hours a day for some capitalist, and slept eight more, and spent another two coming and going from your work--your spare time, I mean? How do you employ your Sundays? Do you go and study Nature? Do you read elevatin' literature? Do you cultivate your starving minds? No! What do you do? You can't think of anything better to do than to come here and listen to fools like me! That's the sort of mugs you are!"

This summary of the situation met with hearty endors.e.m.e.nt from all parts of the audience.

"But it ain't your fault," continued Brand compa.s.sionately. "You haven't ever been taught what it _means_ to enjoy Life. You haven't got the time!" He raised clenched hands to heaven. "Life! Life! It should be beautiful--glorious--sublime! Look round you now! Look at those trees!

Listen to that music!"

The crowd, docile but a trifle mystified, obeyed. Faintly to their ears across the Park came the tremendous chords of the Pilgrims' Chorus from "Tannhauser," played by the Grenadier Guards Band.

Brand sank down over the rail of his platform until his arms hung limply before him.

"Do these sights and sounds thrill us?" he demanded hoa.r.s.ely. "Do they move us? I'm asking you. Do they? No! Not a thrill, not an emotion! Why?

Because we haven't been educated up to them, you and me. We're only the People. We've always had to go to work, work, work! There's never been any _time_ for us to learn of the beauty that Life holds for us."

The crowd was listening now, as it always will to a _cri du coeur_.

The man swept on, all aflame.

"Take music! What does it mean to us? Nothing--absolutely nothing! Can you and I interpret a symphony? Not on your life: we've never been taught!" His voice rose to a scream. "And what sort of music _do_ they hand out to us as a rule--us, the People!--yes, and we lap it up?

_Ragtime! R-r-ragtime!_"

Philip and Tim turned away soberly enough. The spectacle of an immortal soul beating its wings against prison-bars does not lend itself to flippant comment.

"The Citizen may be a muddle-headed crank, Phil," said Timothy, "but he is a man for all that."

Philip did not hear, though he would have agreed readily. He was wondering why the haughty Miss Jennings should patronize Mr. Brand's meetings. Still, there she was, endeavouring to take cover from his observation behind a small but heated debate which had arisen between a gentleman with a blue ribbon and another with a red rose. Timothy caught sight of her, too, and promptly rushed in where Philip feared to tread.

"Good-afternoon, Miss Jennings," he said. "I'm surprised to find you, with your strict Conservative principles, coming out to encourage such a low entertainment as this." He indicated Mr. Brand, now working up to a peroration.

Miss Jennings stiffened indignantly.

"I suppose I can come out and amuse myself listening to a pack of nonsense if I like, Mr. Rendle," she said, "the same as any one else?"

"What do you think of Mr. Brand as a speaker?" asked Philip.

"I wasn't listening to him particularly," said Miss Jennings, untruthfully.

"What do you think of his views on ragtime?" enquired Tim.

"I think they are silly."

"Can you interpret a symphony, Miss Jennings?" asked Philip.

"No," confessed the girl reluctantly; "I can't say I can."

"I believe you are a Socialist, too, Miss Jennings," said Tim, shaking his head sadly.

Miss Jennings, after an unsuccessful attempt to wither him with a glance, pa.s.sed on.

Philip received a scalding cup of tea from his hostess, and lowered himself timidly to a seat beside her.

"I am so glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Meldrum," said Lady Rendle.

"I have heard so much of you from my boy. One likes to meet some one one knows takes an interest in one's belongings, doesn't one?"

Philip, painfully unravelling this sentence, suddenly caught his hostess's eye, and realised that an answer was expected of him.

"Yes," he said, _sforzando_. "Oh, yes! One does."

Graciously directed to help himself to something to eat, he dipped blindly into the nearest dish, with the result that he immediately found himself the proprietor of a bulky corrugated tube of French pastry, with cream protruding from either end. He surveyed it miserably, wondering dimly if it would be possible to restore it without attracting attention. He was frustrated by Lady Rendle.

"I like to see a young man," she said approvingly, "who is not afraid of tea and sweet cakes. There are far too many of them nowadays who consider it beneath their dignity to take tea at all. Caviare sandwiches and whiskey-and-soda are all they will condescend to. And now," she added briskly, "I want to introduce you to a charming girl."

The quaking Philip, with his bilious burden, was conducted across the room and presented to a pretty girl in a hat which for the time being deprived its wearer of the use of one eye.

"This is Mr. Meldrum, Barbara dear," announced Lady Rendle. "Miss Duncombe."

Philip, still bitterly ashamed of his tea, achieved a lopsided bow, and Lady Rendle departed to her own place.

Timothy, who had been engaging Miss Duncombe in animated conversation, supplemented the introduction with a few explanatory comments.

"Babs, old thing," he announced to the damsel, rising to give his seat to Philip, "you must be gentle with my friend Theophilus. He is fierce if roused, and should on no account be irritated while having his tea; but when properly handled will be found perfectly tractable. He is not married."

"Tim," replied Miss Duncombe, "I hate you. Go away!"

"By all means," said the unruffled Timothy. "See you at the Venners'

dance on Thursday. Keep me all the odd numbers up to supper and everything after, will you?"

"No," said Miss Babs.

"Thanks awfully," replied Timothy gratefully. "So long!"

He departed, leaving Philip alone with the girl. He regarded her covertly. Miss Babs Duncombe was a fair sample of the _ingenue_ of the present day. She was exquisitely pretty, beautifully dressed; her complexion had been supplemented by art; and her tongue spoke a strange language.

"Tim is rather a little pet, isn't he?" she observed to Philip.

Philip, who had been blinking nervously at Miss Babs's sheeny silken insteps, looked up.

"He is a great friend of mine," he said, "but I am afraid I have never regarded him as a pet."

"I see you are a literal person," observed Miss Duncombe. "I must be careful. What shall we talk about? What interests you?"

Philip pondered.

"Machinery," he said at last.

"How pathetic!" was Babs's response. "What else? Do you tango?"