A Prince of Sinners | Page 9

by others higher
in authority and by public opinion, still pronounced themselves helpless
to move without the aid of legislation. For the first time for years
Protection was openly spoken of from a political platform.
Henslow, a shrewd man and a politician of some years' standing, was
one of the first to read the signs of the times, and rightly to appreciate
them. He had just returned from a lengthened visit to the United States,
and what he had seen there he kept at first very much to himself. But at
a small committee meeting held when his election was still a matter of
doubt, he unbosomed himself at last to some effect.
"The vote we want," he said, "is the vote of those people who are losing
their bread, and who see ruin and starvation coming in upon them. I
mean the middle-class manufacturers and the operatives who are

dependent upon them. I tell you where I think that as a nation we are
going wrong. We fixed once upon a great principle, and we nailed it to
our mast--for all time. That is a mistake. Absolute Free Trade, such as
is at present our national policy, was a magnificent principle in the days
of Cobden--but the times have changed. We must change with them.
That is where the typical Englishman fails. It is a matter of
temperament. He is too slow to adapt himself to changing
circumstances."
There was a moment's silence. These were ominous words. Every one
felt that they were not lightly spoken. Henslow had more behind. A
prominent manufacturer, Harrison by name, interposed from his place.
"You are aware, Mr. Henslow," he said, "that many a man has lost an
assured seat for a more guarded speech than that. For generations even
a whisper of the sort has been counted heresy--especially from our
party."
"Maybe," Henslow answered, "but I am reminded of this, Mr. Harrison.
The pioneers of every great social change have suffered throughout the
whole of history, but the man who has selected the proper moment and
struck hard, has never failed to win his reward. Now I am no novice in
politics, and I am going to make a prophecy. Years ago the two
political parties were readjusted on the Irish question. Every election
which was fought was simply on these lines--it was upon the principle
of Home Rule for Ireland, and the severance of that country from the
United Kingdom, or the maintenance of the Union. Good! Now, in
more recent times, the South African war and the realization of what
our Colonies could do for us has introduced a new factor. Those who
have believed in a doctrine of expansion have called themselves
'Imperialists,' and those who have favoured less wide-reaching ideals,
and perhaps more attention to home matters, have been christened
'Little Englanders.' Many elections have been fought out on these lines,
if not between two men absolutely at variance with one another on this
question, still on the matter of degree. Now, I am going to prophesy. I
say that the next readjustment of Parties, and the time is not far ahead,
will be on the tariff question, and I believe that the controversy on this

matter, when once the country has laid hold of it, will be the greatest
political event of this century. Listen, gentlemen. I do not speak
without having given this question careful and anxious thought, and I
tell you that I can see it coming."
The committee meeting broke up at a late hour in the afternoon amidst
some excitement, and Mr. Bullsom walked back to his office with
Brooks. A fine rain was falling, and the two men were close together
under one umbrella.
"What do you think of it, Brooks?" Bullsom asked anxiously.
"To tell you the truth, I scarcely know," the younger answered. "Ten
years ago there could have been but one answer--to-day--well, look
there."
The two men stood still for a moment. They were in the centre of the
town, at a spot from which the main thoroughfares radiated into the
suburbs and manufacturing centres. Everywhere the pavements and the
open space where a memorial tower stood were crowded with loiterers.
Men in long lines stood upon the kerbstones, their hands in their
pockets, watching, waiting--God knows for what. There were all sorts,
of course, the professional idlers and the drunkard were there, but the
others--there was no lack of them. There was no lack of men,
white-faced, dull-eyed, dejected, some of them actually with the brand
of starvation to be seen in their sunken cheeks and wasted limbs. No
wonder that the swing-doors of the public-houses, where there was
light and warmth inside, opened and shut continually.
"Look," Brooks repeated, with a tremor in his tone. "There are
thousands and