intelligence.
“And all this money we spend on unproductive things too,” Mr. Gold was saying. “I don’t believe in it. A one-and-six-penny income tax will ruin this country before very long. Look at the money we spend on the Army and the Navy. Millions. This Dreadnought that they speak about. Twelve-inch guns and all. To my mind it’s only an excuse for spending money so that there will be more places for people’s nephews and cousins. What do we want a Navy for ? Who’s going to attack us, and what good would they get by it, and what harm would it do, anyway? A Navy doesn’t do any good to anyone except the people who get good jobs in it. Germany’s getting just as bad, apparently. It’s all a lot of silly dangerous nonsense. Look at the last war. What right had we got in South Africa? None at all. We were wrong to fight, and it was the hotheads who forced us into it. I said so all along, although of course it made me unpopular. That was why I had to change my school and come to Colchester Road. They called me a pro-Boer, and all that sort of thing. But I stuck it out. I’m a man of peace, I am.”
Mr. Gold only ceased when he noticed the look on Agatha’s face. That so alarmed him that he got up from his chair.
“Good gracious, Mrs. Brown, whatever’s the matter? Are you unwell?”
“No,” said Agatha, shrinking away from him. “No.”
She was merely appalled by the heresies she had heard enunciated. That Mr. Gold, whom she thought she liked, should be a Little Englander, an advocate of disarmament, a pro-Boer, a scoffer at the Dreadnought ! It was far too terrible for words. At the same moment she realized what a terribly narrow escape she had had. She dreaded to think what the result upon Albert might have been had he had Mr. Gold as a stepfather. Fancy a world without a British Navy! It was dreadful. Mr. Gold, try as he would, could have thought of nothing to say that could have hurt her more..
“No,” said Agatha. “I’m quite well.”
Quite unconsciously she was imitating the heroines of the novels she had read in the dead old days before the British Navy took hold of her. She ‘drew herself up to her full height’, her eyes ‘flashed fire’, she ‘made an imperious gesture’.
“Please—” said Mr. Gold.
“I—I think it is time for you to go,” said Agatha.
Poor Mr. Gold simply could not understand it.
“But, Mrs. Brown—”
All Agatha did was to walk across the room and open the door, and it would have taken someone of stronger personality than Mr. Gold to have withstood the implied command. He crept out crestfallen, and Agatha shut the parlour door decisively behind him. Nothing remained for Mr. Gold to do except to take his hat and coat from the pegs on the landing, stumble downstairs, and let himself out.
“Now listen, Mrs. Rodgers,” said Agatha that evening, “if that—man ever comes again, tell him I’m not at home. You understand?”
And she looked so queenly and her eyes flashed so bright as she said it that Mrs. Rodgers could only say, “Lor, mum, yes, mum,” and gaze at her with admiration and without a thought of asking questions. Moreover, when Mr. Gold, inevitably, came calling again, she conveyed Agatha’s message to him with such force and unction as simply to infuriate the unfortunate little man. He had written to her already, and Agatha had simply ignored his letter. He made up for it in the end by calling Albert out of class and giving him a good hiding for no reason whatever.
When Albert told his mother about it later Agatha merely nodded and offered no consolation. She did not mind at all if antipathy sprang up between Albert and the heretical Mr. Gold. Quite on the contrary. Besides, Agatha knew, without even Albert telling her, that hidings from Mr. Gold were not of much account.
Mr. Gold eventually solaced his puzzled exasperation by convincing himself that Agatha was mad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S O YEARS FOLLOWED years and each succeeding
“And all this money we spend on unproductive things too,” Mr. Gold was saying. “I don’t believe in it. A one-and-six-penny income tax will ruin this country before very long. Look at the money we spend on the Army and the Navy. Millions. This Dreadnought that they speak about. Twelve-inch guns and all. To my mind it’s only an excuse for spending money so that there will be more places for people’s nephews and cousins. What do we want a Navy for ? Who’s going to attack us, and what good would they get by it, and what harm would it do, anyway? A Navy doesn’t do any good to anyone except the people who get good jobs in it. Germany’s getting just as bad, apparently. It’s all a lot of silly dangerous nonsense. Look at the last war. What right had we got in South Africa? None at all. We were wrong to fight, and it was the hotheads who forced us into it. I said so all along, although of course it made me unpopular. That was why I had to change my school and come to Colchester Road. They called me a pro-Boer, and all that sort of thing. But I stuck it out. I’m a man of peace, I am.”
Mr. Gold only ceased when he noticed the look on Agatha’s face. That so alarmed him that he got up from his chair.
“Good gracious, Mrs. Brown, whatever’s the matter? Are you unwell?”
“No,” said Agatha, shrinking away from him. “No.”
She was merely appalled by the heresies she had heard enunciated. That Mr. Gold, whom she thought she liked, should be a Little Englander, an advocate of disarmament, a pro-Boer, a scoffer at the Dreadnought ! It was far too terrible for words. At the same moment she realized what a terribly narrow escape she had had. She dreaded to think what the result upon Albert might have been had he had Mr. Gold as a stepfather. Fancy a world without a British Navy! It was dreadful. Mr. Gold, try as he would, could have thought of nothing to say that could have hurt her more..
“No,” said Agatha. “I’m quite well.”
Quite unconsciously she was imitating the heroines of the novels she had read in the dead old days before the British Navy took hold of her. She ‘drew herself up to her full height’, her eyes ‘flashed fire’, she ‘made an imperious gesture’.
“Please—” said Mr. Gold.
“I—I think it is time for you to go,” said Agatha.
Poor Mr. Gold simply could not understand it.
“But, Mrs. Brown—”
All Agatha did was to walk across the room and open the door, and it would have taken someone of stronger personality than Mr. Gold to have withstood the implied command. He crept out crestfallen, and Agatha shut the parlour door decisively behind him. Nothing remained for Mr. Gold to do except to take his hat and coat from the pegs on the landing, stumble downstairs, and let himself out.
“Now listen, Mrs. Rodgers,” said Agatha that evening, “if that—man ever comes again, tell him I’m not at home. You understand?”
And she looked so queenly and her eyes flashed so bright as she said it that Mrs. Rodgers could only say, “Lor, mum, yes, mum,” and gaze at her with admiration and without a thought of asking questions. Moreover, when Mr. Gold, inevitably, came calling again, she conveyed Agatha’s message to him with such force and unction as simply to infuriate the unfortunate little man. He had written to her already, and Agatha had simply ignored his letter. He made up for it in the end by calling Albert out of class and giving him a good hiding for no reason whatever.
When Albert told his mother about it later Agatha merely nodded and offered no consolation. She did not mind at all if antipathy sprang up between Albert and the heretical Mr. Gold. Quite on the contrary. Besides, Agatha knew, without even Albert telling her, that hidings from Mr. Gold were not of much account.
Mr. Gold eventually solaced his puzzled exasperation by convincing himself that Agatha was mad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
S O YEARS FOLLOWED years and each succeeding
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