1 Y \v? 
 
 HOUSE 
 
 FRANCIS 
 NE1LSON
 

 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 By 
 
 FRANCIS NEILSON 
 
 Author of 
 
 MADAME BOHEMIA, A BUTTERFLY ON THE WHEEL 
 HOW DIPLOMATS MAKE WAR, ETC. 
 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1916 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PRESS or 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 PRINTERS AND BOOKBINDERS 
 
 BROOKLYN. N. Y.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE Right Honorable Sir Alfred Horton-Birkett, 
 M. P., began his commercial career in the office 
 of an old firm of chandlers in Wapping. His parents 
 were poor hard-working non-conformists who had 
 hoped Alfred would go into the ministry of Christ. 
 Their hopes were, however, not realized, for, although 
 Alfred was a good chapel-goer and attended Sunday- 
 school regularly, he longed for material success in a 
 business where there was a chance to rise. "Give me 
 a chance to rise," was Alfred's reply to his father and 
 mother when they urged him to keep his eye on the 
 pulpit. 
 
 When he took root in the office of Meek Brothers, 
 Chandlers, he was a bright youth of sixteen. After 
 a year or two he put new life into the old business, 
 and by branching off into oil and coal, he rapidly 
 turned a decaying industry, conducted by two dear old 
 fossils, into a progressive concern. Alfred made head- 
 way quickly, and at the age of twenty-three he took 
 himself into the firm. 
 
 During those years his mind was not given up en- 
 tirely to oil and coal. He clung to the chapel, and one 
 day discovered that he could preach a better sermon 
 than the parson. To the joy of his parents, he found 
 the sound of his own clear voice so pleasant, he took 
 
 1
 
 2 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 every opportunity to hear it, and after a while he 
 added regular lay-preaching to his accomplishments. 
 It was only a step from the pulpit to the platform, so 
 when an election threw Wapping into the toils of 
 political warfare, Alfred mounted the hustings and 
 tasted a new joy: that of the Radical orator. 
 
 What a Radical he was in those days ! In the days 
 before he put a hyphen between his mother's name, 
 Horton, and his father's name, Birkett. The Cobbett 
 Radical Club would have no one else for president in 
 the seventies. And the local paper, in an editorial, 
 predicted a great career for him, rather subtly hint- 
 ing at high office, if he ever found time to go into the 
 House. But Alfred stuck to oil and coal until he was 
 past thirty-five. He had, however, amassed enough at 
 thirty to ask for the hand of the fourth daughter of 
 Sir Evan Willis, the unfortunate knight who lost a 
 small fortune in trying to start that railway from 
 Penrith St. Mary to Dartville that never ran a train. 
 Anyway, Evelyn Willis was a knight's daughter 
 though she was poor, and the Willises were related 
 to prosperous members of the squirearchy. Alfred met 
 her at a bazaar held in aid of the local Radical associa- 
 tion. The question of Evelyn's attachment to the Estab- 
 lished Church was easily solved by Alfred, who let no 
 difficulty mar his advancement if he could help it, by 
 leaving her with the Anglicans while he remained with 
 the dissenters. She went to church and he went to 
 chapel. If children were to come to them the girls 
 would be little Anglicans and the boys little non-con- 
 formists. The arrangement worked singularly well. 
 Even when the great question of Church disestablish- 
 ment raged over the land, Evelyn took to her pew like
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 3 
 
 a duck to water, while Alfred went abroad preaching 
 sermons that threatened to bring the tower of Evelyn's 
 church tumbling down upon her head. 
 
 Children came with a regularity that pleased Alfred 
 and caused Evelyn little apparent discomfort. Edward 
 John, followed by Ellen; then Harold, Robert and 
 Frederick, came in quick succession. There was then 
 a lapse of four years. Mary Evelyn then came and 
 added a second daughter for the church; and then 
 Alfred Joseph, who lived only three years. 
 
 The little villa at Hampstead into which Alfred 
 took his bride was an outgrown shell by the time the 
 fourth child arrived. And Alfred's interests grew so 
 rapidly, his businesses prospered so abundantly, he 
 decided that his next move should be into the heart 
 of the country where he might do the honors of a 
 solvent squire. When the estate Crowington that 
 manor and all those lands, including a living, etc. 
 was put up to be sold as a whole or in lots, Alfred 
 bought it and, after repairs and some remodeling of 
 tht fine old house, he left Hampstead forever. Six 
 thousand acres in Sportshire, and squire of the es- 
 tate Crowington was an achievement any Radical 
 might be proud of. But somehow his speeches lost 
 their savor. His sermons contained the old salt, but 
 he did no lay-preaching anywhere near his estate. 
 Evie was not to blame for the change. True, he had 
 risen high in the great councils of non-conformity, 
 and he was looked upon as a very rich and highly 
 distinguished dissenter, but Crowington knew little 
 or nothing of his radical views and sermons on dis- 
 establishment. The boys went to a famous public 
 school and a university, but without winning I schol-
 
 4 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 astic distinction. Harold, in some strange way, be- 
 came a parson, and raised hopes in his mother's 
 breast that he would some day be vicar of the parish 
 of Crowington. Edward John went into the army. 
 Ellen was peculiar she was studious, and got in 
 with a strange set at Cambridge. She at eighteen 
 talked of living her own life, of working out her own 
 salvation. At twenty she went to Dresden, and wrote 
 home infrequently, then only for comparatively small 
 sums of money. She became a musician, and said in 
 one of her letters she meant to make a big "bluff" 
 soon at making her own living. The sentiment and 
 slang annoyed her mother, but Alfred showed not the 
 slightest displeasure. 
 
 After he was comfortably settled as a squire, Al- 
 fred, who had subscribed liberally to the party funds, 
 was offered a safe seat in Parliament. Humberton 
 was indeed a safe Liberal seat. The retiring mem- 
 ber, who was an antiquarian and attended the House 
 as seldom as possible, had held the borough for ten 
 years. Alfred accepted the gift, and though he had 
 to fight for the constituency, he won it by a large ma- 
 jority. Though his oratory was not of the rousing 
 kind which Wapping knew in his early days, his 
 purse was better filled and his check-book handier. 
 
 It was a great day for Alfred when Evie kissed 
 him after the declaration of the poll. She, undemon- 
 strative as a rule, showed some emotion when four 
 lusty puddlers shouldered her husband and carried 
 him from the Town Hall to the Liberal club. It was 
 no small thing for them to do, for when Alfred stood 
 beside the mayor, on the declaration of the poll, he 
 was a man of some weight. Not tall, but portly; a
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 5 
 
 huge back falling out from very broad shoulders 
 which supported a neck and head of bullish appear- 
 ance. The face was heavy, it hung forward and gave 
 the back line from his crown to his waist a bent and 
 lowering look. His thick stocky legs moved without 
 any perceptible action from his knees; his feet 
 slithered a bit, and his toes moved inward, jerkily, 
 as he walked. Sixteen stones, twelve pounds, of 
 solid non-conformity; the corner-stone layer of many 
 a chapel. He was something to carry, and only 
 electioneering enthusiasm could prompt four lusty 
 puddlers to attempt such a feat. They drank im- 
 moderately after they were rid of their load. 
 
 Fortune, however, carried Alfred through his busi- 
 ness career as lightly as if he were gossamer. Some 
 good investments in shipbuilding yards and steel 
 works brought him big returns and, shortly after 
 he entered Parliament, he took a deep financial in- 
 terest in those firms which cater to the Admiralty 
 and the army. Before the Boer War, Britain had 
 not been engaged in very large military or naval op- 
 erations since the Crimea, and though sanguinary 
 patriotism was fostered by a few writers and speakers, 
 who had to provide for themselves and their families 
 by earning something somehow or another, there 
 was no particular dread of invasion. In those days 
 Mr. Chamberlain looked for an Anglo-Saxon alliance 
 which would include Germany and the United States 
 of America. France was then a danger to Britain. 
 Fashoda was a word to stir certain writers to their 
 very roots. It was not until the Boer War had been 
 in progress for six months that investments in in- 
 dustries largely devoted to the making of munitions
 
 6 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 attracted men like Alfred. The great gun makers, 
 battleship builders, explosive manufacturers, and food 
 and clothing contractors to the army and navy, then 
 suddenly branched out and subdued Government and 
 people. A vast organization with a directorship 
 largely recruited from the services laid the taxpayers 
 low under a crushing burden of armaments. It was 
 an international organization. There was no foolish 
 national spirit about its business methods. English 
 money raised munition works in Fumie and Spezzia 
 as impartially as it did in Kronstadt and Toulon. 
 English shareholders figured in German lists and 
 Germans held stocks in a number of French concerns. 
 It was an international movement for the world's 
 peace. 
 
 Alfred was quick to realize the financial importance 
 of the matter, and Parliament was just the place, for 
 one interested in international amity and preparations 
 for war, to foster the proper spirit. An armed peace 
 was the only way to safeguard the interests of the 
 workers, and if dividends resulted from financial in- 
 vestments in armaments, it could easily be proved 
 God was on the side of the right and always looked 
 after the monetary returns of His own. 
 
 Small parcels of shares in Sheffield firms, Clyde 
 and Tyneside yards, Alfred bought below par just 
 to assist the noble movement which bore the text 
 "the best way to keep the peace is to prepare for 
 war." When the Government scrapped over one hun- 
 dred and thirty war vessels, some of which had only 
 been launched three years, Alfred bought a few more 
 blocks of shares in the big armament concerns. He 
 always seemed to get in on the ground floor. His nose
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 7 
 
 was as quick to scent a good dividend as his tongue 
 was ready with a text. 
 
 From knighthood to a baronetcy, and then to a 
 privy councilorship, were steps in political and social 
 distinction as rapid as his financial progress. He 
 built a chapel in the East End and endowed a small 
 home for feeble non-conformist parsons. He became 
 president of the council of his denomination and 
 gave large sums to the Church through the bank ac- 
 count of his Anglican wife. He was the founder 
 and organizer of the Haigh Shell and Bullet Com- 
 pany whose shares during the Boer War rose to six 
 pounds, fourteen shillings and six pence. 
 
 At the meeting of delegates at the great peace con- 
 ference held by the dissenters, it was resolved that 
 Sir Alfred Horton-Birkett, then only a knight, was 
 a benefactor of his race in discovering Haigh shells 
 and bullets. Surely that was enough to convince 
 any doubting Thomas. At any rate many people 
 began to look upon Sir Alfred as a "practical" peace- 
 man, for the more shells and bullets his firm turned 
 out, the more foreign friendships Britain made; and 
 when Alfred started a branch factory on the Rhine, 
 near Dusseldorf, the enthusiasm of those share- 
 holders who were the friends of European harmony 
 knew no bounds. Was it any wonder the German 
 Government decorated Alfred and the British Gov- 
 ernment made him a baronet? No one was so firmly 
 convinced when the first dreadnaught was built and 
 launched, within some thirteen months, as Alfred, 
 that the bigger the battleship the less chance of bat- 
 tle. He wrote a long letter to the Times, under a 
 text from Job, explaining the impossibility of war
 
 8 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 if the Government would build eight dreadnaughts a 
 year for twenty years. The suggestion met with the 
 approval of nearly all the cautious journals of the 
 two historic parties. One great London journal 
 said the Government should borrow one hundred mil- 
 lion pounds to start Alfred's scheme. For some 
 pusillanimous reason the Government did not adopt 
 the suggestion, but shortly after the great contro- 
 versy petered out, Alfred was asked to join His Ma- 
 jesty's Privy Council. This he did with that hu- 
 mility which sat so well upon a benefactor of the 
 race. 
 
 It was in 1908 when Horton House was built, 
 just off Park Lane, on the site of the town house of 
 the extinct Dukedom of Severn. So fine a house 
 had not been built in that neighborhood since the 
 days when South African patriots moved into the 
 palaces of England's owners. The house seemed to 
 anticipate a peerage. Some one said you only had 
 to look at it to see it stand up and ask for it. That 
 cynical person was wrong, however, for neither Al- 
 fred nor his property asked for any such tiling. Lady 
 Horton-Birkett might have made suggestions of that 
 kind, but only in the interests of her boys and girls. 
 Alfred never. He was above such social traffic. And 
 it must be set down to his credit that every check 
 sent to the party funds was accompanied by a letter 
 saying he looked for no political or social advantage 
 in return for his subscriptions. He did not look for 
 office his business interests were too great, and his 
 directorships too many and too lucrative for re- 
 linquishment in return for a paltry salary. He was 
 the Right Honorable Sir Alfred Horton-Birkett, Bart.,
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 9 
 
 M. P., squire of Crowington, patron of its living, and 
 the great international director of Haigh shells and 
 bullets. That seemed honor enough for any one in 
 the British political and social world. In religion he 
 was president of the great non-conformist body which 
 had counted him one of its truest and worthiest sons 
 since his youth. Art knew him for the large sums 
 spent by his agent, the art critic of the Pantheon, 
 on big canvasses, ancient and modern. Music found 
 him an enthusiastic supporter of oratorio and a de- 
 termined opponent of any music without a tune. 
 In literature, he boasted first editions of Kipling, 
 and other poetic builders of our literary empire. His 
 taste in daily papers, magazines and reviews was 
 catholic. He took the Hibbert Journal and religiously 
 abstained from reading it. The National Review he 
 devoured every month. The Nation lay on the li- 
 brary table at Crowington, unopened, but the Satur- 
 day Review often accompanied him on a railway 
 journey. 
 
 An easy-going, kindly man was Alfred. He had 
 no real enemies; his friends were legion. His life 
 had been smooth; success had come his way. He 
 was satisfied. In Parliament he spoke occasionally 
 in naval debates; always with that deep conviction 
 that the Government should in the name of peace 
 and patriotism prepare for war as the best means 
 of avoiding a conflict.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN June, 1914, Crowington was at its best. Sir 
 Alfred was down with several friends for a long 
 week-end. Captain Edward found time to leave his 
 regiment for a day or two to be present at the open- 
 ing of the institute his father had built and was to 
 present to the village. It was to be a gala week 
 for the village; the school treat, the sports and the 
 opening of the institute. Harold, who was now vicar 
 of the parish, had prevailed on the bishop to run over 
 for the day; delicately suggesting a chat with his 
 father who was keenly interested in the bishop's 
 fund for the restoration of the north tower of the 
 cathedral. Crowington had not known in the mem- 
 ory of any one so many notabilities in the parish on 
 one day. The landed gentry who knew Lady Hor- 
 ton-Birkett was a Willis had accepted the family, 
 after the first spasm of indignation passed, on Crow- 
 ington falling into the hands of a rich dissenting 
 baronet. Harold, too, by going into the church, 
 softened the blow; and the young bloods of the 
 county tolerated the indignity when they learned 
 Edward John was in the Guards and Robert in the 
 Lancers. Lady Horton-Birkett had done wonders 
 in getting around the women of the shire, and Al- 
 fred had put not a few hard-pressed squires on to 
 some sound, financial tilings. Life went very well 
 there, and trouble did not pass down the road which 
 ran through Alfred's domain. 
 
 On that day of many events Alfred, as was his 
 
 10
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 11 
 
 rule, rose early, and calling a dog, an old spaniel, 
 he strolled across the park for a ramble before break- 
 fast. On Carrons' Hill he stood and looked back 
 on the house. There was not a cloud in the sky. 
 The place was as still as a colored photograph. He 
 was proud of it, proud of himself and proud of 
 England. A line from The Village Blacksmith 
 ran in his mind about something attempted, some- 
 thing done and so on. He, a dissenter, to welcome 
 a bishop, he, a Radical, to give relief to a dozen Tory 
 squires, he, a man of poor parentage, to be squire of 
 Crowington! He nearly stood erect for the first 
 time for thirty years at the thought of it all. A 
 smile of satisfaction crept across the bullish face, 
 and spread a kindly veil over its grossness. Every- 
 thing was all right. The Government, the navy, the 
 army, his family, and his own aggressive health, were 
 in full fettle. 
 
 Save Ellen! Latterly she had often come into 
 his mind. She had written from Berlin that a 
 singer had sung two of her songs at a great con- 
 cert. But on consideration Alfred decided she must 
 be doing well, making progress. Her demands 
 for money became more and more infrequent. He 
 was sure she would ask for what was necessary 
 to keep her in comfort. Strangely enough she had 
 written saying it was not expensive to live a musical 
 life in Germany. That puzzled the Free Trader in 
 Alfred, upset all his notions of Britain's supremacy 
 as to the purchasing power of money. But Ellen 
 was a queer girl not a bit like her mother, and no 
 one in Alfred's family that he knew of could have 
 been responsible for Ellen's traits and characteristics.
 
 12 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Neither Chapel nor Mammon seemed to interest her 
 in the least. 
 
 Returning to the house he passed a level mead 
 staked off for the sports where the village athletes 
 would compete that afternoon for small prizes. It 
 struck him how curious a thing it was that youths 
 should day after day, for weeks, train to run a race 
 for a two-pound clock or a silver medal. The prize 
 seemed to him inadequate for the exertion. Alfred 
 had never run after the athletic prizes; tennis, 
 cricket and football he had never played. The prizes 
 he had competed for required little muscular strain. 
 He had won without distressing himself. 
 
 That afternoon when the institute had been form- 
 ally opened, and the bishop had given the benedic- 
 tion, the company of members of Parliament, squires 
 and ladies, followed the bishop, the vicar and Al- 
 fred, back to the house to see the sports. There in 
 the grounds was a picture of merry England. The 
 young gentry at tennis, the yokels running races and 
 women dancing to the music of the Minster Silver 
 Band. Tea was served in the open. There was no 
 need for a marquee; the weather was perfect. The 
 captain refereed the sports, and Harold fired the 
 starter's pistol. Lord George Windlass, the Liberal 
 Under- Secretary for Foreign Affairs, distributed the 
 prizes. Old age pensioners sunned themselves on 
 the lawn, and the children of the Sunday-school 
 tumbled about the paddock, under the fruit trees, 
 with oranges and toys in an orgy of joy. Mary 
 Evelyn and Lady Horton-Birkett were in attendance 
 and saw they had plenty of milk and wholesome 
 cakes. The whole affair was done in lordly fashion.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 13 
 
 When night fell, and the youngsters were taken 
 off to bed, the village grown-ups danced in the rosy 
 twilight to the band, and from the park could be seen 
 the yellow lights of the dining-room where the great 
 folks were entertained to a fine dinner. The conver- 
 sation at the table was perhaps of no interest to the 
 dancing throng. 
 
 Lord George, as the only member of the Ministry, 
 sat near the bishop who was alarmed at the reports 
 from Ireland. 
 
 "Fight us, they won't fight," Windlass scoffed. 
 "There might be a big row, but troops won't be re- 
 quired." 
 
 "But the nationalist volunteers," the bishop bleated. 
 
 "A Roland for an Oliver or a Redmond for a 
 Carson that's all. Don't be alarmed." 
 
 "And the Curragh " 
 
 Lord George cut Lady Horton-Birkett off with 
 a snort: "That was playing into our hands with a 
 vengeance. That finished 'em." 
 
 "My son, Robert, is in the Lancers." 
 
 "Of course, I had forgotten. But he wasn't in the 
 strike, was he?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no," the hostess said. "But he was aw- 
 fully upset. Poor Robert, he doesn't like the look 
 of things." 
 
 "Neither do I, my dear lady," the bishop volun- 
 teered. "I don't share Lord George's optimism, I 
 can assure you. Civil war in Ireland! Oh, it makes 
 me tremble to think of it." 
 
 Mr. Jennings, the butter-nut king, on the other 
 side of the table, was earnestly debating the labor 
 (question with Evcrand Fentress, the member for
 
 14 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Kettington. Mrs. Harold Horton-Birkett sat between 
 them. 
 
 "What is to become of us, I don't know," Jen- 
 nings said. "The amalgamation of the railway 
 workers, the miners and the transport men in the 
 spring, will be an awful thing, sir. If the railway 
 men alone could bring the trade of the country to a 
 standstill, and then the miners do the same thing, 
 what on earth will happen when they with the trans- 
 port men all strike together?" 
 
 "Don't you think labor will learn it is bad busi- 
 ness cutting their noses off to spite their faces?" 
 Fentress suggested. "I'm not afraid." 
 
 "Ah, pardon me, Mr. Fentress," Jennings said. 
 "You are not connected with industry. You are an 
 author and well-off, besides " 
 
 "But like you I am solely dependent on labor," 
 Fentress explained. "I have to eat, wear clothes 
 and inhabit a house." 
 
 "True, I didn't think of that. But I don't like* the 
 situation. It makes me very uneasy, sir. Can't 
 sleep thinking about it, blest if I can." 
 
 "Why should men strike when they have families 
 to keep?" Mrs. Harold asked. 
 
 It was a question neither Jennings nor Fentress 
 could answer to her satisfaction. Mrs. Harold was 
 a young bride and not familiar with labor questions. 
 She was reared in a county where farm laborers 
 never strike. 
 
 All round the table the vital matters of the day 
 were discussed. Here, disestablishment, there, the 
 land question. The great men of affairs were torn 
 into shreds and put together again. There were just
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 15 
 
 enough Liberals present to save the Government from 
 annihilation. The ladies did not enjoy the feast, and 
 the men did not really get a chance to entertain them. 
 The stress and strum of politics absorbed all the 
 males. In nearly every department of life there 
 seemed to be deep unrest. It was as if England that 
 June were the smiling sides of a volcano ready to 
 burst into flame. 
 
 Through the windows the strains of a waltz or 
 quadrille played by the Minster Silver Band floated 
 in on the night breeze which had sprung up. The 
 laborers and young farmers out there did not dis- 
 cuss Ireland, or labor, or land, or disestablishment. 
 They danced, and their women were merry. Merry 
 for a gala-day one day of joy taken from the long 
 toll of days of toil and anxiety. Though Alfred 
 had repaired cottages, built some new ones, and he 
 had tried to brighten their lot in many patriarchal 
 ways, most of the agricultural folk of Crowington 
 were only British farm laborers after all. Great 
 political problems were of passing interest to some 
 of them, but the vast majority only realized their 
 importance when, in the throes of an election, candi- 
 dates drummed the issues day and night into their 
 tired minds. 
 
 After dinner Alfred took the bishop into his den. 
 The library was too big, too cold, too grave, for the 
 reading and writing Alfred had to do in the country. 
 The den was snug and snoozy. The bishop was a pipe 
 man and liked a good drop of scotch. He was voted 
 by his intimates "a jolly good sort." The den was 
 just the place for him. After explaining his pet 
 scheme, the restoration of the north tower, to Al-
 
 16 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 fred, the great dissenter handed him a check which 
 was for a much larger amount than any Anglican 
 had given to that worthy fund. The conversation 
 naturally took a turn toward other building schemes, 
 and the bishop, an infant at commerce, inquired how 
 great fortunes were made. He had never been able 
 to get much out of any investment his solicitors had 
 recommended. There seemed to be a knack about 
 getting into something good. He had a little money 
 laid by, no, not much, a few hundreds, he wished to 
 invest for his only daughter, a rather plain lady of 
 thirty-five. Could Sir Alfred suggest something. He 
 could. 
 
 "We are forming a company to start a plant for 
 the making of Haigh shells and bullets at Oporto," 
 Alfred said in his mildest manner. "You might think 
 it over. The peace budgets of certain Governments 
 down that way for many years to come will grow 
 annually. We have already orders enough to keep 
 us busy for five years. You will your sister will " 
 
 "My daughter " 
 
 "Of course. Your daughter pardon! She will 
 get at least ten per cent." 
 
 "Ten!" cried the bishop in amazement. 
 
 "I look for twenty." 
 
 "And you will let me place ?" the bishop smiled. 
 
 "I shall be delighted. Please keep it to yourself, 
 Bishop." 
 
 "Of course, of course, my dear Sir Alfred." 
 
 The founder of the Haigh shell closed his hands, 
 just as he used to do when he entered the pulpit 
 and gave an exhibition of silent prayer and sighed 
 wearily.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 17 
 
 "You see we are obliged to give our companies 
 a national appearance," he said. "I dislike deception 
 of all kinds. But with so many evil-minded persons 
 abroad, around about us I mean, we must be cau- 
 tious. This factory will be called the Oporto Steel 
 Construction Company. Really we shall hold eighty- 
 five per cent, of the stock and let in a select few to hold 
 the other fifteen. Our German, French, Russian, Aus- 
 trian, Italian and Japanese plants are firmly estab- 
 lished on a thriving basis. Our boards of directors 
 contain some of the world's greatest admirals and 
 generals. So we have the very best expert advice 
 at all times. Just send me a line when you are 
 ready." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear Sir Alfred, I am deeply 
 grateful deeply, I assure you." 
 
 "Not at all, Bishop, I'm glad to find you realize 
 fully the tendency of the times. The old gospel of 
 Bright and Cobden is gone forever. Britain must 
 arm to keep the peace. It is the only way. An armed 
 peace may be expensive, but money wisely spent on 
 insurance is never wasted." 
 
 Another pipe, and another whisky, and the bishop 
 went up-stairs to join his sleepy wife. 
 
 In his mother's room Edward John lay stretched 
 on the sofa, smoking a Russian cigarette, while she 
 tried to revive the bloom of other years by smearing 
 her face with some heavily scented, greasy-looking 
 concoction. 
 
 "Hurry up, mater." 
 
 Edward John learned to call her mater when he 
 was a little boy at Hampstead where at that time
 
 18 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 mother was fast supplanting mama with the lower 
 classes. 
 
 "Hurry up, mater. I'm devilish tired. What d'you 
 want to see me about?" 
 
 "Ed, dear, have you and Clarice fixed a day yet?" 
 she asked, referring to the coming marriage of her 
 son to Qarice Peplowe Clungford of Clungford Hall. 
 
 "No, not yet. Well, yes, about the middle of Oc- 
 tober, I think. Why?" 
 
 "October?" 
 
 "Yes. Clarice wants to wait till Billy gets back 
 from India. Things are awkward out there. Deuce 
 of a lot of sedition, and his regiment won't get back 
 now before the end of September. Rotten, eh?" 
 
 "Why she can't be married without her brother " 
 
 "I know. But she likes Billy. Drunken swine." 
 
 "Ed!" 
 
 "Sorry, mater. That's what he's called." 
 
 "Well, I s'pose it can't be helped," she said, re- 
 ferring to the nuptial delay. "Now listen, dear. 
 There's one thing I want you to do to-morrow. It's 
 not often you get a chance to talk to dad. Now 
 you've got him, just put in a word about the Lords." 
 
 Ed sprang from the sofa and pitched his cigarette 
 end into the fireplace. There he leaned on the man- 
 tel and gazed into the large cineraria which occu- 
 pied the grate. 
 
 "Don't be obstinate, Ed," she pleaded. "It is high 
 time the P. M. did something. I quite expected to 
 see dad get a peerage in the last list. You know 
 how busy he is and apt to forget these things. Be- 
 sides, you ought to look after your own interests. 
 Do poke him up about it. This Government will
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 19 
 
 only have two more honors' lists, and you know 
 what an awful crowd there is to get things before a 
 dissolution. Hasn't dad earned it?" 
 
 "I suppose so," Ed sighed. "But it's a beastly 
 nuisance." 
 
 "You must think of Clarice." 
 
 "She doesn't care any more for that kind of thing 
 than I do. Anyway, I mean to stick to the army. It's 
 going to be my career." 
 
 "But a barony would not interfere with your 
 soldiering." 
 
 Ed snorted as he strode toward a box of matches. 
 He puffed for a moment at a cigarette and gasped, 
 "Father, a peer !" 
 
 "I thought you would be obstinate," his mother 
 put in testily. "You wouldn't budge once you got 
 an idea into your head when you were a boy. You 
 haven't altered, Ed." 
 
 "All right, all right, mater, if you have your heart 
 set on it, all right," he muttered, as he paced the 
 room. "To-morrow. Well, good night." 
 
 "That's a dear boy." 
 
 They kissed and parted. 
 
 Sunday was spent quietly. The company went to 
 church to hear Harold preach. It was beautifully 
 fine and warm. Alfred enjoyed the peace and plenty 
 of his estate. 
 
 The next day was June twenty-ninth. The only 
 news in the paper at breakfast of any particular in- 
 terest, apart from the usual political questions, was 
 about the murder of an Austrian archduke. 
 
 "Where's Serajevo?" Alfred asked, as he knocked 
 the top off his egg.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE notabilities left Crowington by the ten forty- 
 three for town. Edward John drove over to 
 Clungf ord to see Clarice. His chestnut pounded down 
 the hill to Press Heath under a canopy of splendid oaks 
 and elms. Edward flicked leaves as he rattled along, 
 and whistled a popular tune. At the crossroads he had 
 to pull up to help a man who was having a bad time 
 with a fractious horse. He walked the chestnut 
 toward the scene. 
 
 "Hullo, that you, Herbert?" he called, as he recog- 
 nized his friend, Count Herbert Von Hoist. 
 
 "Ed! It's you!" the count returned. "What a 
 mess. A partridge. Right under his nose. Fine 
 youngster, isn't he? Deuced angry about it. Threw 
 me before I knew where I was." 
 r The company of Edward's chestnut soothed the 
 count's horse. 
 
 "Where are you off to?" Herbert asked. 
 
 "To Clungford. Didn't know you were down 
 here?" 
 
 "Just for a day or two. I've had to get a new 
 man to look after my gees. Irish. From Tittle 
 Shaunessey's place. I'm on my way to Scotland 
 yachting." 
 
 "Take the gee back and I'll drive you over to see 
 Clarice." 
 
 "Can't, dear boy; sorry. I've got to catch the two- 
 nine. When is it coming off, Ed?" 
 
 20
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 21 
 
 ^ 
 
 "Middle of October. Don't forget. Where'lt you 
 be about that time?" 
 
 Count Herbert thought for a moment. 
 
 "Shooting in Derbyshire. Near by. I'll be with 
 you on that day." 
 
 "A best man is as a rule," Edward said. 
 
 Von Hoist kept his mount still while he admired 
 Ed's horse. He said, "That chestnut can stand, can't 
 he?" 
 
 "Yes. Well, if I can't persuade you. Tol-lol." 
 
 The chestnut passed smoothly into its stride as 
 Edward looked round and saw the count mount and 
 ride off toward his hunting-box. 
 
 Edward and the count met at the university. 
 They were soon close friends. Both riders and oars- 
 men they stuck together. It was Edward who per- 
 suaded the count to take Wilmslow Lodge, a roomy 
 hunting-box with excellent stables only four miles 
 from Crowington. They had been neighbors for six 
 years. 
 
 Clarice was looking out for Edward as he turned 
 into the drive at Clungford. He eased the mare and 
 she was up in a moment beside him. 
 
 "You're late, old boy," she said, after she kissed 
 him. 
 
 "Met Herbert at Press Heath having a dust up 
 with a young hunter," he explained. 
 
 "Herbert. Really! I didn't know he was down. 
 It's early for him, isn't it? He doesn't get to Wilms- 
 low as a rule much before November." 
 
 "Got a new man. On his way north for yachting." 
 
 "What's he think of the murder?" 
 
 "What murder?"
 
 22 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "The archduke." 
 
 "Oh! Don't know." 
 
 "Horrible, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes. { Those Servians again, wasn't it?" 
 
 "There's mother," she cried, as she spied a small 
 woman limping down the terrace steps. "Poor old 
 girl, I hope she'll be all right for this season." 
 
 Her mother had missed a hunting season owing to 
 a bad toss over barbed wire. Her leg was badly 
 wrenched. 
 
 "Well, Ed, my boy," Lady Qungford cried, as the 
 captain threw the reins to the groom. "Excuse my 
 gammy leg. A bit of crock yet. How goes it?" 
 
 "All right. Dad had a mixed lot over the week- 
 end. The bishop. Oh, and you know dad's crowd. 
 Windlass was there. Mother sent her love." 
 
 Lady Clungford was a widow, her husband died of 
 pneumonia in Africa, after chasing De Wet for six 
 months. He was a good soldier, and left his family 
 well-off. Billy, the present lord, took after his grand- 
 father and did some soldiering between drinks. 
 Freddy, the other son, was something permanent in the 
 Foreign Office. Then there was Clarice. She was a 
 handsome girl. Nearly all her life had been spent 
 in her native hunting county. Save for a month in 
 London, when she was presented, and holidays spent 
 in Ireland with her aunt, the Dowager Marchioness 
 of Kilkee, she knew very little of the world be- 
 yond the kingdom. Her grandmother left her eighty 
 thousand pounds, so she was well-off. Clarice was 
 one of those interesting girls who attract men, be- 
 cause they are womanly; she had no acquired ac- 
 complishments. Her knowledge of music, pictures
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 23 
 
 and literature was small. In sport, riding, shooting, 
 rowing and swimming, she was as proficient as the 
 majority of the men in the county. 
 
 Her father was her ideal of a man, as a husband, 
 a friend and a soldier. Edward was a soldier, a good 
 soldier. That was his great merit in her eyes. Lady 
 Clungford said he had the making of a man in him 
 after the kind of her husband. "He wouldn't have 
 had a dog's chance with Clarice if he had been any- 
 thing but a soldier," she wrote to Billy, "though 
 there's a good strain in him. He's a Willis mother's 
 side crossed with money and dissent, but he doesn't 
 show it scarcely at all. His father has the gift of the 
 gab, but Ed doesn't bark. He's rather like that collie 
 your father loved so much that went about his busi- 
 ness without fuss or noise. I like him. He's a jolly 
 good sort and will make Clarice happy." 
 
 Clungford was called a "dear old place." Planted 
 long ago on the side of a ridge of hills heavily 
 wooded, it stood guard of a valley which shelved 
 gently down to the River Wene. The house was 
 sixteenth century, but there must have been an abbey 
 there long before that time. 
 
 When Clarice had shown Edward the gees, they 
 strolled down to the stream and got into a punt. 
 
 "Where are we going to live?" she asked. 
 
 He had not given the matter a thought. She knew 
 he hadn't. Her question was a bit of a shock. 
 
 "Live? Oh, where you like. Anywhere," he mut- 
 tered. 
 
 "Anywhere won't do, will it? There's the army, 
 you know," she mused. 
 
 "Rather."
 
 24 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "It must be in the country, Ed," she nodded em- 
 phatically. "But where? If the Guards would only 
 stay in one spot Are you going to be moved about 
 much?" 
 
 "Don't know. Don't think so." He lit a ciga- 
 rette. "There's nothing much going on at present. 
 Anyway, we're going to Munich for our wedding 
 trip/' ' 
 
 "That's fixed, old boy. So you mean to leave find- 
 ing a place to settle in to me, eh?" 
 
 "Mean to? What good would I be?" 
 
 "Mother's been at me for a month about it. Her- 
 bert's got the place I really want. Wilmslow Lodge 
 fixed up a bit would fit me like a glove." 
 
 "Ripping. Let's ask him to get out." 
 
 "Pretty hard on Herbert. He's properly gone on 
 the place, Edward!" 
 
 He knew something serious was in her mind when 
 she used his Christian name. He leaned forward 
 and took her hands. She looked at him for a moment 
 and shook her head. 
 
 "I don't know whether I shall love the army so 
 much when we are married, old boy. Will it take 
 you away from me much? I mean often? for 
 long?" 
 
 He blew on the hot end of his cigarette, and then 
 looked up quickly to see if she were joking. He was 
 puzzled. She had surprised him. There was a light 
 in her eyes he had never seen before; in a moment 
 he was on his knees and she fast in his arms. It was 
 the first very real confession she had made to him. 
 
 "Well, sweetheart, make your mind up to this," 
 he whispered. "Where the regiment goes, you go, too."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 25 
 
 Later in the afternoon he drove her over to Crow- 
 ington to dine with his mother. When they reached 
 Press Heath he answered to her whim to go round by 
 Wilmslow to look at the Lodge. They could see the 
 house from the road. Neither she nor Edward had 
 been round that way since the hunting season. Now, 
 to their amazement, a lot of building was going on. 
 Bricklayers, masons and carpenters were at work on 
 a new wing to the house. 
 
 "What's going on?" Edward asked a foreman who 
 came down to the gate. 
 
 "The count's putting a new wing on, sir. Some 
 say he's going to get married about cubbin' time, sir," 
 the foreman replied, touching his cap to Clarice and 
 Edward. 
 
 They drove on in silence for a long way. 
 
 "Funny, isn't it?" she asked. 
 
 "Wonder what's up," he mused. "Never dropped 
 a hint to-day when I saw him. Married?" 
 
 "But Evelyn?" 
 
 "Nothing in that. She's in town. Haven't seen 
 her for weeks." 
 
 "I don't know. Herbert's jolly fond of her. The 
 Cricket would keep it mum, Ed." 
 
 The Cricket was a pet name of his sister Mary 
 Evelyn. She could make a sound by compressing her 
 lips which was so like a cricket that her intimates 
 dubbed her by that name. Being the youngest of 
 the family she was looked on as the baby, even when 
 she went her own way. Count Herbert and she had 
 been very good friends, but he was over thirty and 
 she was under twenty. She was the baby, though she 
 was plus two and played golf for England. Quite
 
 26 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 spoiled everybody said. Alfred idolized her. Her 
 mother gave her anything she asked for. 
 
 Life went very well for the hunting set in that fair 
 land. Courtship, marriage plans, wedding trips and 
 houses to live in, occupied their thoughts. Broad 
 lands, fine manors and more money than they could 
 spend; all the pleasures that could be wished for. 
 The future was secure, and love knew no obstacles, 
 no material hindrances. 
 
 Edward took Clarice home in the motor at eleven. 
 When he returned he went up to his mother's room. 
 She was treating her face to the youth and beauty 
 preparation. 
 
 "Did you have a chat with dad?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes. He said he couldn't be bothered, but he 
 will all the same." 
 
 "Is he keen?" 
 
 "He's picked his title." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Lord Humberton of Crowington. He tried to 
 make a joke of it, but I could see he meant it all 
 right." 
 
 "Humberton of Crowington," she muttered, ex- 
 amining her face in the glass. 
 
 "A bit clumsy, what?" 
 
 "It's not bad, Ed. His constituency and his es- 
 tate. But how much better to take old aunty's place 
 for a title. Haughmond is a fine old ruin with many 
 historical associations." She referred to the place 
 her aunt had left her ten years before a small es- 
 tate in Wessex, yielding an income of about two 
 thousand pounds a year. 
 
 "Heard anything of the Cricket, lately?" Ed asked.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 27 
 
 "She's with Aunt Martha in town." 
 
 "Seen much of Herbert?" 
 
 "Oh, a good deal. Why?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Ed, you've heard." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "About the Cricket?" 
 
 "Going to be married?" 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 "No one told me she was going to be married. 
 What's up, mater? Come on, out with it." 
 
 "Don't tell a soul. Well, she's going to marry 
 Herbert soon after you and Clarice get off my 
 hands." 
 
 "Why, the deuce " 
 
 "Don't blame me. It's all her doing. She wouldn't 
 let us tell a soul, and she made Herbert swear he 
 wouldn't tell any one until you were married. You 
 know what a lark she is. She said your affair was 
 to be the pice de resistance. We could make as 
 big a splurge on her as we like after you and Clarice 
 got settled." 
 
 "How long have they been engaged?" , 
 
 "Six weeks." 
 
 "So that's why Herbert's written a dozen times in 
 the past month to know the date of our do. Dear old 
 chap." 
 
 "What d'you think, Ed? He has settled Wilmslow 
 on her already." 
 
 "Settled " 
 
 "Yes and a big allowance besides." 
 
 Ed whistled, got up and stretched himself, yawned 
 and kissed his mother.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN the village of Crowington there lives a man who 
 in his early years fought the battle for dissent 
 against the squirearchy and the establishment. Thomas 
 Tonks, now eighty-three and in possession of all his 
 faculties, is one of the last of the Ironsides who tri-* 
 umphed over squire and vicar. When he was a lad 
 no one dare let it be known that any one in that vil- 
 lage leaned toward non-conformity. The church, the 
 squire's church, was the one place for worship, the 
 only place for baptism, marriage and funeral. Tonks' 
 father and mother were buried in Anglican soil 
 though their coffins contained the bodies of non-con-' 
 formists. Thomas and his brothers and sisters were 
 baptized in the old church though their parents knew, 
 according to the vicar who sprinkled them, they 
 would go to hell if they died in dissent. 
 
 How Thomas Tonks at twenty-two became pos- 
 sessor of an acre and a half of land right in the 
 center of Crowington village is an old story. Formerly 
 the land belonged to an old widow, a devout Anglican, 
 who had an only son, a thriftless drunken fellow 
 who worked as an hostler in the capital town, Min- 
 sterley. The old lady was dying and Tonks' mother 
 ministered to her bodily needs. She learned from 
 her patient that her bit of property would go to her 
 son. Now Thomas went to Minsterley once a week 
 with produce, and after learning from his mother 
 that the land and house of the old lady would pass 
 
 28
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 29 
 
 to her son, he looked up the dissolute hostler, and 
 got him to sign away his interest in his mother's es- 
 tate for four hundred pounds, to be paid in instal- 
 ments with fifty pounds down. The hostler readily 
 entered into the bargain. 
 
 When Thomas returned home that night he learned 
 the old lady had died at noon that day several hours 
 before her son had signed the agreement. Early the 
 next morning Thomas with fifty pounds set out for 
 Minsterley and took the hostler, as sober as ever he 
 was in his life, to an attorney who did business for 
 dissenters. The matter was legally transacted and 
 Thomas returned to his home to break to his family 
 the happiest news they ever heard. 
 
 They moved into the house they had bought and 
 in four years they paid the last instalment to the 
 hostler who was fast drinking himself to death. From 
 the day their lawyer in Minsterley assured them that 
 the land and house were really their "very own," 
 the Tonks famify never set foot in church again. 
 
 How the squire and vicar contested the sale and 
 worried and harried the dissenters who defied them 
 and every Sunday conducted a service in their par- 
 lor, is an oft told tale. But nevertheless the fight was 
 carried on for years. Indeed the case was mentioned 
 in the House of Commons in the debate on Burial 
 Grounds. 
 
 Now, any Sunday, more people assemble for wor- 
 ship in Tonks' Chapel, built in a corner of that 
 famous acre and a half, than ever go to the church. 
 Yes, even now when the Reverend Harold Horton- 
 Birkett, son of the squire and vicar of Crowington, 
 preaches on a Saint's Day..
 
 30 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 But in all the years of Alfred's rule of the estate 
 of Crowington he never set foot in Tonks' Chapel. 
 Time turns many victories into defeats. Old Thomas, 
 called the Ironside, was passing down the vale with 
 head bowed, sorrowing for the change that could 
 make such a man as Alfred Horton-Birkett, President 
 of the Grand Council of United Dissenters. In the 
 graveyard of Tonks' Chapel there lay the bones 
 of .such men and women as Jacob Birkett and El- 
 speth Horton, the parents of Alfred, some of the salt 
 of Britain. Old Thomas thought the change came 
 when dissent triumphed and had no longer a spiritual 
 battle to wage. From his loins had gone into the 
 world a large family, five sons and four daughters, all 
 raised on that acre and a half, less the space the 
 chapel and the house occupied. They scratched the 
 earth all the year round, and every Thursday, market 
 day at Minsterley, their long cart at three o'clock 
 winter and summer morning went laden with greens, 
 fruits and flowers. They believed in that bounty of 
 God that yields to man's sense and understanding 
 of His earth. 
 
 Ebenezer Tonks, the eldest son of Thomas, was 
 now the active head of the family. Ebenezer had be- 
 come a small farmer, leasing thirty acres outside the 
 village. He had two sons and six daughters; in the 
 epidemic of diptheria which ravaged the country in 
 the nineties he lost two boys and a girl. Four daugh- 
 ters were married and away in the towns, two re- 
 mained at home and assisted their father. Harry, 
 the younger lad, was in Manchester in an architect's 
 office. Benjamin had been to Ruskin College and 
 was now engaged in London writing for a labor
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 31 
 
 paper. He had published a novel which had met 
 with some success. 
 
 A 'small volume of verse was favorably noticed 
 in the weekly reviews. He made a living writing 
 and lecturing in and about London. The family was 
 proud of him. 
 
 Benjamin was a fine-looking man. Tall, athletic 
 and enthusiastic. The strong sense of social injustice 
 burned fiercely in him. The rosy hope of early dras- 
 tic reform gave him the radiance of the happy ideal- 
 ist. People liked him. There was something rous- 
 ing, cheering, in his personality, and a rich humor 
 softened his opponents when political antagonism ran 
 high. He was a peace-and-plenty- for- workers man. 
 
 When he was a lad he met Ellen Horton-Birkett 
 at Minsterley Flower Show. Ellen was in tears. She 
 had lost her brothers who had been taken in to see 
 the show. In the midst of the big flower tent she 
 stood in great distress, having searched the grounds 
 Tor an hour in vain to find her party. They had 
 gone on early to get good seats where the horse- 
 jumping display would take place. But the jumping 
 was over, and evening was coming on. Poor little 
 Ellen, too proud to let any one think she was lost 
 had bravely hidden her fears. Tired and hungry, 
 she at length went back to the tent where she and 
 her brothers with their guardian were all together 
 just before she lost sight of them. Benjamin bought 
 tea and cakes for her and cheered her up. When 
 night fell and none of her party could be found, he 
 started off with her the long eleven miles to Crow- 
 ington. He had cycled into the show. The journey 
 home was slow and tiresome. Sometimes on the
 
 32 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 step, sometimes on the saddle while Ben pushed the 
 machine, then riskily seated with her legs hanging 
 over the handlebars while he rode, then walking a 
 stretch, they at length reached the gates of Crow- 
 ington at eleven-thirty, worn out. 
 
 Ben never forgot his return from Minsterley 
 Flower Show, and he and Ellen grew up fast friends. 
 Indeed, after she went away to Germany they kept 
 up a correspondence. 
 
 Ben was one of the new men who believed eco- 
 nomic change must be brought about by a revolution 
 in culture. It is not enough, so these new men be- 
 lieve, to teach the workers the simple economics of 
 the system of "bind and grind," if an industrial revo- 
 lution without bloodshed is to be of permanent value. 
 Something else is necessary. Teachers, like himself, 
 must point the way to new delights, and show the 
 masses that economic change will mean far more 
 than less hours of labor and the full value of the 
 product going to the producer. This something else 
 was cultural and artistic. It was a deep belief in 
 the power of music, literature and art to unify and 
 consolidate the masses of workers. These things he 
 held were vital. But land and capital did next to 
 nothing with the wonders of symphony and song, 
 books and pictures. There were indeed great na- 
 tional libraries and galleries, and many large towns 
 had municipal books and pictures. But there stood 
 the big buildings, most days, silent and lonely. Life 
 devoid of music, literature and art was worse than 
 death to these new men. And when they came upon 
 the political industrial scene they found the workers 
 shockingly ignorant of those joys which were in
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 33 
 
 many places within their grasp. Few men had 
 attempted to tell them what they were missing. No 
 one had succeeded in telling them so that they under- 
 stood. The classical men had failed in their attempts 
 for they talked to tired workers as if they were 
 freshmen in a university lecture room. Morris had 
 approached the mass nearer than any one else. 
 
 When Ben wrote his novel on housing conditions 
 in mining districts he raised the whole of this ques- 
 tion of labor and art in such a way that the appeal 
 reached those Radical politicians who had for many 
 years striven to rouse the workers without much 
 success. Ben's idea caught on. "Art and econom- 
 ics" became a platform phrase as popular as "land 
 for the people." Labor societies began to publish 
 cheap editions of good drama, fine literature, and in 
 their newspapers, music and pictures were dealt with 
 to greater public advantage than great critics did in 
 the well-known journals and weeklies. Political edu- 
 cation took another turn; their platform became a 
 living thing. Away from the superficial questions 
 of party strife down to fundamentals and up to 
 broad appeals for leisure and abundance so that men 
 and women who work might know and appreciate the 
 best of the artists' mind. 
 
 Ellen in Germany and Ben in Britain kept in touch, 
 and this question was the one great theme of most 
 of their letters. She was a musician and a rebel. 
 Ben thought she was too advanced, far too much for 
 a woman of the ruling class. Much of her writing 
 alarmed him. She scoffed at politicians and priests; 
 and when she begged him to work away from all 
 political parties and churches he was sorely puzzled. 

 
 34 
 
 Six years of life on the Continent had worked a great 
 change in her. She was twenty-eight or nine. When 
 he took her home from Minsterley Show he was 
 fifteen and she was about twelve. He felt he had 
 known her for a long, long time. When she went 
 away he was in London doing secretarial work for 
 Lord Spenhouse, the Chairman of the Children's 
 Recreation Committee of the London County Coun- 
 cil. He knew she was leaving England, but he did 
 not expect a note from her saying she was leaving 
 "to-morrow at nine from Charing Cross," and an 
 invitation to take dinner with her and go to the 
 theater to see Ibsen's Vikings. Ben readily ac- 
 cepted her invitation, and he enjoyed the evening. 
 But he never at any time since the Minsterley meet- 
 ing got away from the fact that she was the squire's 
 daughter and he the son of a small farmer. He 
 would have blushed to admit such a thing. But so 
 ingrained is the line of division in agricultural folk 
 that no university education or social associations in 
 political life in London, can quite wipe it out of the 
 mind. He loved her, but he never dreamed of telling 
 her. What was the good? She was not of his class. 
 In the years before he left Crowington to go on his 
 scholarship to Minsterley High School, and she went 
 away to study the fiddle under Brodskin in Man- 
 chester, they were good friends, though they met in- 
 frequently, on the road as a rule, never yielding to 
 the desire to talk together for long. It was a friend- 
 ship which ripened on glad smiles: an understanding 
 between them that they were comrades. Her first 
 appearance as a violinist in public took place 
 at a concert given in the Parish School in aid of the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 35 
 
 Sick Nursing Fund, and he played her accompani- 
 ment in the absence of the church organist who had 
 been taken suddenly ill. That happened only a few 
 months before they left Crowington, but the incident 
 seemed to bring them into closer touch, it forged a 
 bond of friendship which absence did not break. 
 
 Ben had often thought of that night in London 
 before she left for the Continent. She drank bur- 
 gundy, and smiled at his surprise. She smoked a 
 cigarette, and chaffed him for his abstinence. Some- 
 thing she said about sprouting wings nettled him. 
 And what did she mean by saying so often, she meant 
 to live her own life and escape from the slavery of 
 British domestic intercourse. It was all very strange. 
 He was afraid. Was she inclined to be wild? Many 
 times she wrote suggesting he should visit Dresden. 
 A few months there would do a lot for him, she said. 
 He thought the crowd she was with more rebellious, 
 bohemian and advanced than any he knew of in 
 Britain. But she was making her way on the concert 
 platform, and as a song writer and composer of 
 charming pieces of music, she had done well. 
 
 Ben did not know what Ellen meant. Ellen, how- 
 ever, knew what she meant. To a young scientist 
 of some distinction, a Russian who had been with 
 Metchnikoff in Paris, she laid her soul bare. This 
 young man stormed the citadel of Ellen's heart for 
 two years without making the slightest impression. 
 Then she told him. "It's no use," she said, "still I 
 ought to tell you. What you want is impossible. I 
 picked the man I want years ago. Yes, I was only 
 sixteen when I made up my mind about that. And no 
 one else has ever made me flinch, though at any time
 
 36 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 since, the man I chose at sixteen could have taken 
 me. But he doesn't know. Perhaps he will never 
 know." 
 
 Ellen's life in Dresden was one of hard labor. 
 She lived frugally. Two small rooms and music. 
 She knew she could never be a great artist, she knew 
 she never could be much of a composer. But she 
 toiled on. She was a musician, and that at last she 
 was content to be. Her recreations were general 
 knowledge. She wrote on music and pictures, and 
 studied history and politics. Her friends were many 
 and of her own making. At no time did she spend 
 money to win them, and use her father's name and 
 influence to meet people. Such expedients she 
 scorned. The friends she had were hers and made 
 by her own merit and personality. 
 
 Was Ellen pretty? No, she was elfish. Slight, 
 pale, short just over five feet, she was not a woman 
 of the beauty class. But she was all fire and zeal. 
 Bright, dark gray eyes, a fine nose and a strong 
 mouth were the striking features of her face. Her 
 health was perfect. Her wiry little body knew no 
 aches and pains. 
 
 Her portrait was painted by Ruench. A weird 
 composition of somber tones against dark red drapery. 
 The white face, the hand on the bow, the glossy 
 fiddle, were arresting lights in many deep shadows. 
 The picture was shown at the Glass Palace exhibition 
 "at Munich, and was bought by an American art 
 dealer. Ben had a photogravure of it.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 AT the meeting of the board of directors of the 
 Haigh Shell and Bullet Company there assem- 
 bled some of Britain's greatest men. Lord Trebles- 
 wale was as usual the first director to reach the 
 company's offices. He was a peace man and a vice- 
 president of the Grand Council of International 
 Churches. A Tory by birth and tradition, but in 
 middle life a Whig in domestic politics. He could 
 tell you, offhand, the military and naval estimates of 
 any first-class Power since the days of Palmerston. 
 As for the change in equipment, the size of the guns, 
 and the weight of a broadside of a battleship he 
 was an authority. The second to enter the directors' 
 room was his old friend Sir Redvers Foote, an ad- 
 miral of distinction in the days when the British 
 fleet bombarded Alexandria. General Saintsbury 
 came in with Mr. Leverton. The general had been 
 something at Woolwich arsenal, and what he did not 
 know of ordnance was not worth bothering about. 
 Mr. Leverton, as every one should know, was the 
 senior partner in the firm of Doubleton, Swindon, 
 and Leverton. They carried on business all over the 
 world, contractors and financiers in close touch with 
 all first-class Governments. The Earl of Cintoul had 
 been connected with a lot of companies, some were 
 not in the hands of receivers: he was a useful 
 member of the board, however, for he seemed to get 
 on so well with all the people at the War Office and 
 
 37
 
 38 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 the Admiralty. Doctor Haigh must not be forgotten ; 
 the doctor was a great chemist, the discoverer of the 
 famous yellow fume, the noiseless cap, and the in- 
 ventor of the Haigh shell and bullet. 
 
 Sir Alfred was the chairman of the board. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning toward the end of 
 June when the directors met to consider the question 
 of issuing the prospectus of the Oporto Steel Con- 
 struction Company, and to consider the prospects 
 of setting up a plant in Dalmatia. It was the first 
 meeting of the board since Mr. Clinton made his 
 speech on armament firms in /the House of Commons, 
 and naturally the directors of the Haigh Shell and 
 Bullet Company felt some embarrassment on meeting 
 one another. They knew, of course, that Clinton was 
 only a Radical whose chief desire in life was to set 
 class against class, and whose interpretation of their 
 holdings of shares in the great armament firms arose 
 from sheer prejudice and envy. Clinton had gath- 
 ered together a lot of information about their inter- 
 national armament relationships which he gave away 
 in his speech on the navy estimates in such a way 
 that one Liberal, two labor and three religious 
 papers took alarm, and in their leaders of the time 
 said some nasty things about their interest in blood 
 money. The directors felt that their best intentions 
 had been maliciously misunderstood. Clinton had 
 not given them credit for their peaceful endeavors. 
 They felt hurt and discouraged. The attack that had 
 been made on their chairman, who held so high a 
 position in the great body of dissenters, was extremely 
 vindictive. They meant to pass a resolution of sym- 
 pathy with Sir Alfred and in it express their strongest'
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 39 
 
 disapprobation of Clinton's scurrilous methods of try- 
 ing to gain some notoriety. 
 
 When Sir Alfred entered the room (he was always 
 a few minutes late, business with the manager always 
 detained him until the rest of the board had assem- 
 bled), Lord Trebleswale was the first to press his 
 hand. To the surprise of the rest of the directors 
 Sir Alfred was as happy and confident as usual. Per- 
 haps he forgot the attack Clinton had made; being a 
 very busy man it no doubt had passed out of his 
 mind. 
 
 He had a marvelous way with him. A glance 
 at the agenda was quite sufficient. He seemed to 
 know all the business they were there to discuss, he 
 even anticipated all the questions that might be put. 
 Tables of figures in tons and sterling came trippingly 
 from his tongue, and the names of foreign directors 
 and places were as familiar to him as the names of 
 his children. As a statistician he was quite as able 
 as the redoubtable gentleman in the Commons who 
 made a very good living in compiling tables of sta- 
 tistics from one year's end to another. When the 
 business of the meeting was concluded, Trebleswale 
 and Leverton drew Sir Alfred aside to discuss a 
 matter which was not ripe for the ears of the other 
 directors. It was about the new harbor which the 
 Government hoped to make in the Orkneys. Leverton 
 had urged the necessity of building this harbor ever 
 since the present Government had been in office. Now 
 the rumor which had been set abroad that the Gov- 
 ernment intended to drop the scheme caused Lever- 
 ton some uneasiness, and he felt that a great injustice 
 might be done to the Trebleswale estate which owned
 
 40 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 the land and the sea front, the site of the proposed 
 harbor. It would be a monstrous thing for the Gov- 
 ernment to neglect the defenses of the country by 
 abandoning a naval position whose strategic impor- 
 tance was vital to the safety of the empire. 
 
 "It places me in rather an awkward position," 
 Trebleswale explained, "for one does not like to ask 
 the Government to buy one's land though every 
 naval expert agrees that it is just the very spot the 
 country should acquire." 
 
 "Quite so," Sir Alfred nodded. "Very awkward 
 indeed. I see your position. But what can I do?" 
 he asked, turning to Leverton. 
 
 "Couldn't a question or two be put in the House?" 
 Leverton suggested. "Couldn't we get some of our 
 men to question the First Lord?" 
 
 "Yes, that might be done," Sir Alfred agreed. "But 
 I must warn you, the question of the Government buy- 
 ing land for harbors and training grounds meets with 
 merciless scrutiny just now, owing to the Stonehenge 
 Plain sale for a training ground for soldiers." 
 
 "That was not a nice business," Trebleswale said 
 with emphasis. "The Government was swindled." 
 
 "But a new North Sea harbor is essential," Lever- 
 ton put in, gravely shaking his head and pursing his 
 lips. "Some of the land of Stonehenge Plain was 
 sold at over one hundred years' purchase. Now the 
 land for the harbor in the Orkneys can be bought at 
 sixty-eight years' purchase. A very moderate figure 
 considering the needs of the empire." 
 
 "Very moderate," Sir Alfred echoed. "And the 
 scheme fits in with my plan of national security. 
 I don't know whether you saw my article in the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 41 
 
 Trafalgar Review on coast defenses where I criti- 
 cized the laxity of the Defense Committee in neglect- 
 ing what I called the ante-room of the North Atlantic. 
 Now I think Cromarty is not far enough north, and 
 Rosyth is too far south. We need a base as far 
 north as we can go. If we had it, then the other 
 naval harbors would have real strategic value. I'll 
 see what I can do." 
 
 The chairman and his fellow directors parted com- 
 pany feeling that they had done their best to save 
 their country from an unnecessary war. Lord 
 Trebleswale motored off to his club, the Pantheon, for 
 lunch. Mr. Leverton took a bus to Whitehall and 
 dropped off at the Admiralty where his friend the 
 Honorable Harry Jerningham, permanent secretary to 
 the board of contractors, was waiting to see him. Sir 
 Alfred got into his motor and went to his club on 
 the Embankment. There he partook of a chop and an 
 tankard of light ale. After forty winks ia the smoke 
 room he walked across to the offices of the Grand 
 Council of Dissenters and presided over a meeting 
 which was to settle the plans for the entertainment of 
 the missionaries from Turkestan. The Reverend 
 Jones Glynn Smith offered up a prayer which deeply 
 moved the chairman. It was so full of appreciation 
 of God's bounty, and the care He had taken in 
 Turkestan of the lives of the men connected with the 
 mission. Sir Alfred had to hasten away to the dis- 
 senters' education committee, there to protest against 
 the intrusion of an Anglican vicar on the premises of 
 a county school in the south. It was rather a bad 
 case, and one that gave great offense to those who 
 desired simple Bible instruction in the schools. It
 
 42 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 was not to be expected that a man who was finan- 
 cially responsible for sending ten missionaries among 
 the heathen of Turkestan should take lightly the 
 question of a vicar of the establishment daring to set 
 foot in an undenominational school. The committee 
 decided to send a deputation to see the prime min- 
 ister about it. Then Sir Alfred had just time enough 
 to take his seat in the House before prayers which he 
 always attended when he had a question down on 
 the order paper, to be put soon after the service. 
 .That day the question was to inquire whether the 
 cruisers repairing at Gibraltar were to be withdrawn 
 from the Mediterranean fleet. The debate of the day 
 was on swine fever, and as Sir Alfred left his hogs 
 to the care of the manager of his farm, he did not 
 wait to hear the weighty speech of the prosy member 
 for Sportshire who was an authority on that disease. 
 In the smoke room Sir Alfred met his old friend 
 Sir Fergus Paulton, the member for Nitworth; the 
 man who had traveled far in China, Persia, Africa 
 and India. Round about them lolled many members 
 glancing through the first editions of the evening 
 papers. In the far room members pored over chess 
 boards, draught boards and illustrated papers. Torys 
 and Liberals, Unionists and Nationalists, fraternized 
 together, and smoked their pipes over many a knotty 
 problem in draughts and chess. In that room Dem- 
 ocracy was seen at its best. After Sir Alfred had 
 finished his cigar and coffee, he strolled off to the 
 dining-room to see the manager of the refreshment 
 department about a little dinner for eight which he 
 had ordered for that evening at seven forty-five. When 
 everything was settled to his satisfaction he sought the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 43 
 
 terrace where he expected to tea one of the leaders 
 of a non-militant suffrage society and the secretary 
 of the United Societies for the Prevention of Cru- 
 elty to Birds. On the terrace before his guests 
 arrived he ran into old Lord Parkgate who was 
 taking an airing before the crowd appeared. 
 
 "Well, Birkett, how are you?" his lordship asked. 
 He had known Sir Alfred since the days of Wap- 
 ping, before the hyphen united the houses of Horton 
 and Birkett. Indeed Lord Parkgate was the candi- 
 date Sir Alfred supported in that bye-election which 
 gave him a taste for Radical oratory. Parkgate had 
 not then inherited the title; he was the Honorable 
 Algernon Dee, a thoroughgoing Radical of the Bent- 
 ham school. 
 
 "How goes the shell business?" 
 
 "Very well," Sir Alfred said. "We are extending 
 our influence all over Europe." 
 
 "You're mad all the same," his lordship said, snick- 
 ering and shrugging his shrunken shoulders. "There'll 
 be the damdest bust up soon the world has ever se'en. 
 You mark my words, Birkett." 
 
 "You amaze me. How can there be a bust up ? All 
 the first-class countries are so well prepared no one 
 dare fire a shot. Don't you see ? That is what I have 
 been working for all these years, and I think I can 
 congratulate myself that I have proved conclusively 
 that the best way to preserve peace is to prepare for 
 war." 
 
 "Oh ! You can, can you ?" 
 
 Parkgate stopped, and clasping his hands behind his 
 back, he steadily surveyed Sir Alfred over the upper
 
 44 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 rim of his glasses, which always rested on the very tip 
 of his nose. 
 
 "Birkett, I never know quite whether you fellows are 
 consciously mad or unconsciously crazy. You talk like 
 mad men, but to all appearances you seem to be ra- 
 tional. So all the nations are so heavily armed no one 
 dare fire a shot? That's it, is it? Well, let me tell 
 you I am still one of the old school, and I know where 
 your foreign policy is leading you. I know where your 
 jingo press is urging you to go. I know the senti- 
 ments of these chaps in the army and navy. I have 
 one son in the navy, one in the War Office, one in 
 the Foreign Office or rather he's now at Rome two 
 sons-in-law in the army, and three daughters in 
 oh, damn it! society. My sources of information are 
 as good as yours. So let me tell you, one of these 
 fine days, those guns loaded with your confounded 
 shells will go off and set Europe in a blaze. And I'm 
 not the only man who thinks that way." 
 
 It was a line of argument that Sir Alfred never 
 liked. Somehow he felt embarrassed when any one 
 opened up that question. He was convinced in his 
 own mind there was no danger, but he did not like 
 to know that well-informed men hugged the belief 
 that his policy was a dangerous one. All the leading 
 statesmen of Europe talked peace, and there never 
 was a notion so popular as that of an armed peace 
 preventing war. Lord Parkgate always seemed to 
 upset him ; the old peer did not regard him from the 
 same view-point as the vast majority of his friends. 
 Parkgate had no money in armaments. That was 
 perhaps the reason why he could not see eye to eye 
 with Sir Alfred. Then Parkgate always seemed te
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 45 
 
 remind him of the days when he was an oil and coal 
 merchant in Wapping. The old gentleman never 
 referred to it, but Sir Alfred always thought of it 
 when he was in his company. 
 
 "You are as keen, I am sure, as I am for the safety 
 of the empire," Sir Alfred said, "and I believe that 
 you would not hesitate to make any sacrifice to main- 
 tain our island's supremacy." 
 
 Parkgate watched him narrowly, his old eyes 
 flashing something like a sparkle of merry light. 
 "Now we have great competitors," Sir Alfred con- 
 tinued, "and in these days the rush for new markets 
 forces us to be prepared for any emergency." 
 
 "Birkett, please, do remember that you are not 
 addressing an audience of armament share-holders, 
 nor apologizing to a congregation of dissenters for 
 belligerent motives," his lordship remarked caustic- 
 ally. "I am fortunately too sophisticated for that 
 kind of thing. You are only deluding yourself." 
 
 Just at that moment the suffragette fluttered up to 
 Sir Alfred and took possession of him. Parkgate 
 speedily recognized the cut of the young lady, and 
 being an out and out opponent of Woman's Suffrage 
 he beat a hasty retreat toward the Lords' end of the 
 terrace. It was about half past four and the tea 
 tables were rapidly filling up. It was a lovely after- 
 noon, so clear the sky, that the dome of St. Paul's 
 stood out boldly in the thin haze lying far away 
 to the east. On the balconies of St. Thomas' Hos- 
 pital patients could be seen waving their hands to the 
 passengers on a river boat. In the river, near the 
 terrace wall, a number of young men and women 
 were giving an exhibition, for the benefit of mem-
 
 46 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 bers, of a life-saving collar. Their antics in the 
 water were vastly amusing. A motor-boat sped along 
 the river at thirty-five miles an hour and disappeared 
 under Westminster Bridge; the people on the bridge 
 moved like a swift black cloud from one side to the 
 other to watch it pass down the stream. From the 
 west a steam launch headed for the terrace wall, and 
 as it got near, the cry of "Suffragettes" passed along 
 from table to table. The launch stopped, and from 
 the roof of its saloon a woman addressed the people 
 on the terrace. For ten minutes the fun was fast 
 and furious, but the appearance of a fast approach- 
 ing police-boat put the suffragette launch to flight, 
 and the people on the terrace scrambled back to their 
 tables and resumed their tea. It was a merry, care- 
 less, prosperous throng. A sight that can not be seen 
 in any other capital in Europe. The terrace of the 
 House of Commons on a fine June afternoon is unique. 
 Later in the day Sir Alfred set to work to keep 
 his promise to Mr. Leverton that he would find some 
 young men to put down questions on the order paper 
 about the proposed scheme of a naval harbor in the 
 Orkneys. He found young Henry Everton Hales, a 
 Tory, an enthusiastic Imperialist and a big navy man, 
 who eagerly took the tip and promised to question 
 the First Lord. Hales was like so many young men 
 in the House bold in his desire for a strong navy. 
 They could see nothing else but sinister designs on the 
 empire. Germany was anathema to these young 
 men, and "little navy" men, Socialists, labor men and 
 Radicals, worse than traitors. How sincere they 
 were in their desire to defend the empire against all
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 47 
 
 comers ! They were of the stuff which makes the 
 most rigid brand of permanent official. 
 
 Just before going home to dress for dinner Sir 
 Alfred thought he might write a letter to the St. 
 Stephen's Gazette in which he could ask some per- 
 tinent questions about the harbor at the Orkneys. 
 He was a great letter writer; usually he signed his 
 letters. But this he thought he would not sign. 
 Clinton's expose of the members of the armament 
 group was too recent. After his bath he called his 
 secretary, and while dressing he dictated a few lines 
 on the subject, enclosed it with a private note to the 
 editor and posted it. 
 
 The rest of the evening was spent in eating and 
 talking, drinking and smoking. The dinner for eight 
 was a great success, interrupted only once by a divi- 
 sion on swine fever. Sir Alfred voted for the Gov- 
 ernment because the speech of the member for 
 Sportshire revealed the incompetence of the minister 
 for agriculture.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 COUNT Herbert Von Hoist was the son of Eliz- 
 abeth Martindale, the daughter of the famous 
 Lady Martindale who was a close friend of the 
 old queen. His father when a young man was at- 
 tached to the Germany Embassy in London. When 
 he inherited the family estates in Thuringia, he re- 
 turned to England, and after a sojourn there of three 
 years he married Elizabeth. Her children were 
 brought up in Germany until they were old enough 
 to go to English public schools. Herbert, the eldest, 
 finished his university career in England, though he 
 found time for his course of service in the German 
 army. All his tastes were thoroughly English: hunt- 
 ing, shooting, yachting, golfing and racing. He spoke 
 English without an accent. He was a favorite in all 
 official circles. He was rich, very rich. His town 
 house in Mayfair Square was a fine establishment, 
 and his hunting-box, Wilmslow Lodge, was one of the 
 best equipped in the shires. 
 
 Surely no friendship ever was so true as that of 
 Von Hoist and Edward Horton-Birkett. Before 
 Edward became engaged to Clarice they were called 
 "the inseparables." Edward's regimental duties had 
 always left him plenty of time to be in and about 
 London. Lady Horton-Birkett called them the "old 
 cronies"; indeed, Edward never got on with his 
 brothers so well as he did with Von Hoist. Crow- 
 ington was like a second home to the young German 
 
 48
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 49 
 
 nobleman, and through the friendship of the young 
 men Von Hoist's mother my adorable mother, he 
 called her came to regard Lady Horton-Birkett as a 
 kind sister. When she was in England for the coro- 
 nation she spent some weeks at Crowington and got 
 to know its family very well. Evelyn Mary was then 
 sixteen years old, a beautiful girl, a Willis from top 
 to toe. Von Hoist's mother was quick to notice the 
 predilection of her son for that charming maid. The 
 new golf links had just been opened at Press Heath. 
 There day after day Count Herbert played during 
 that hot summer two rounds a day with Evelyn. She 
 was then an exceptionally good player. In the hunt- 
 ing field, having almost grown up in the saddle, she 
 could give him a lead anywhere over the county. 
 
 Sir Alfred paid little or no attention to the matings 
 of his family, that was something he left entirely to 
 his wife. But he did consider their financial future. 
 So when he went to Germany with the Better Rela- 
 tions Committee in 1910, he induced Count Herbert's 
 father to take a place on the board of directors of the 
 German firm of the Haigh Shell and Bullet Com- 
 pany. Therefore, the families were united indus- 
 trially and financially. When the plant was put down 
 in Austria, an extension of the German branch of the 
 firm, old Von Hoist used his influence with the Gov- 
 ernment and joined that board of directors. Sir 
 Alfred often stayed with the old gentleman when he 
 visited Germany, but being a plain British business 
 man, the festivities arranged by his host were lost 
 on him. Great dramatic and operatic performances 
 left him cold, and the artistic guests who assembled 
 at the great house in Berlin failed to draw from Sir
 
 50 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Alfred any particular interest in music, pictures and 
 literature. Though they spoke English, many of 
 them fluently, Sir Alfred never seemed to rise to the 
 occasion. To do him credit he was now so well-off, 
 he held so high a position in industry, politics and 
 religion, the meeting of the great ones in society left 
 him unmoved. He felt he could be made a peer 
 almost any time he wished. 
 
 At Whitsuntide Sir Alfred had been unable to 
 take a holiday; he was then too busy floating the 
 Oporto Company. He should have gone to the Con- 
 tinent to see how the Russian, Austrian and German 
 branches of the firm were "getting on" just to see 
 the experts connected with the plants in those coun- 
 tries and learn the latest news about the growth of 
 peace budgets. In the Commons there were only a 
 few unimportant bills to be dealt with none he was 
 particularly interested in -so he made up his mind to 
 take a flying trip to Russia, through Germany, and 
 return by Vienna. In Germany he spent only a day 
 with the manager of that branch and then hastened 
 on to Petersburg. When he left that city he was 
 sorely depressed. Just before he departed he took 
 lunch with one of his Russian directors, a man in 
 the know, and from him he learned there was going 
 to be "a devil of a row over that Serajevo murder." 
 The Russian told him pointedly that it was going to 
 be very complicated business, and the treaty obliga- 
 tions of the various first-class Powers were likely "to 
 draw in a deuce of a lot of countries." Poor Sir 
 Alfred, his journey to Vienna was not a cheerful 
 one. Indeed he made up his mind several times to 
 alter his plans, cut the visit to Austria out and rush
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 51 
 
 back to England. But the business instinct ruled 
 strongly in him and he carried out his plan. In 
 Vienna his worst fears were confirmed. There they 
 told him that a row could not be very well averted. 
 To his amazement when he reached England no one 
 seemed to have the faintest conception of what was 
 going on on the Continent. The House was in ses- 
 sion when he got back, and Ireland seemed to be the 
 chief topic of conversation. He thought of calling 
 a meeting of the directors of the company, but the 
 absence of war feeling at home put him off, then 
 after a week-end down at Crowington he put the ugly 
 rumors of Petersburg and Vienna out of his mind. 
 When he got to the House on Monday, July twenty- 
 seventh, the foreign secretary was questioned about the 
 Servian affair, but from his reply there seemed to be 
 no reason for alarm. Servia was a long way off. True, 
 the Russian and Austrian interests in his business 
 were affected, but the threatened storm might blow 
 over. 
 
 He stuck closely to the House of Commons all that 
 week ; his anxiety deepened from day to day, and when 
 the House rose on Friday, July thirty-first, he had not 
 the heart to go to Crowington for the week-end. 
 
 The Horton-Birkett family during the last week in 
 July were very busily engaged, and one of the 
 strangest things in that anxious week was the utter 
 remoteness of Sir Alfred from the rest of his people. 
 Edward John had received his marching orders on 
 Wednesday, the twenty-ninth. His regiment was to 
 entrain for a south coast seaport next morning. Cla- 
 rice at Clungford received a telegram telling her to
 
 52 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 leave by the next train and meet Edward at Euston 
 Station. There he met her on the platform. They had 
 dinner at the hotel, and she saw him off at Waterloo 
 by a late train. 
 
 "Don't think it'll be much, old girl," he said. 
 "Don't look so glum. A bit startling, I know, to call 
 you up to town like this. But you never know, you 
 know. Plans may be put off for a bit. Damned if 
 I know what they're up to." 
 
 She did not lose her nerve, but when he spoke of 
 their plans being disarranged, she felt a bit teary. 
 Still she was her father's daughter, and she kept 
 saying to herself, "Keep a stiff upper lip," her 
 father's old phrase. It was the uncertainty, the mys- 
 tery, which puzzled her and made her feel sick. 
 When the undemonstrative Edward took her in his 
 arms, the moment before the train began to move, she 
 felt as if she would scream out, "Don't go until they 
 tell you what it's about." Her father had always 
 known when he was ordered off to fight what it was 
 about. Her father always knew pretty nearly where 
 the fight would take place, and the enemy he would 
 be called upon to attack. A thousand thoughts came 
 rushing into her mind. She clenched her hands, 
 and stood riveted to the spot as the train moved away. 
 There she stood and watched the red tail light on the 
 guard's van until it passed out of sight. How she 
 got back to the Euston Hotel she could not say. 
 Whether she walked or rode she did not know when 
 she woke up next morning. The journey back to 
 Clungford was a heart-breaking business. 
 
 "Theirs not to reason why." The phrase invaded 
 her mind and took possession of it. It thumped in her
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 53 
 
 brain, repeated and seemed to keep time with the 
 train x as it jolted over the rail joints. "Theirs not to 
 reason why." Suddenly she thought it was the most 
 senseless phrase she ever heard. Was the soldier's 
 the only calling that must not reason why ? She pon- 
 dered the question for an hour without avail. The 
 more she thought of it the more confused her mind 
 became. Would they obey if they really knew what 
 it was all about? Was there danger in reason? 
 Danger to whom? Was an army a collection of rea- 
 sonless beings? Impossible! Her father was a sol- 
 dier and he was certainly a level-headed man. Still 
 she could not get the stupid phrase out of her mind ; 
 it stuck there for many days and made her very 
 unhappy. 
 
 Von Hoist had spent some happy weeks yachting 
 on the west coast of Scotland. When the yacht put 
 into Campbelton on Thursday, the thirtieth, Von Hoist 
 had not seen a newspaper for a week, nor had he re- 
 ceived any letters for ten days. He and his friends 
 went ashore to have a day's golf on the famous links. 
 At the club house he picked up a newspaper two 
 days old and the news from abroad was so serious 
 he was profoundly shocked. He was so alarmed he 
 asked his friends to give up the idea of golfing and 
 take him at once to the nearest port on the mainland. 
 It was late in the afternoon when he telegraphed to 
 his secretary in London to leave with all corre- 
 spondence and meet him at Wilmslow Lodge that 
 night or early the next morning. He sent two tele- 
 grams to Evelyn; one to her London address, the 
 other to Crowington. After some work on a railway
 
 54 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 guide he found that he could get to Crewe on the 
 main line, thirty miles from Wilmslow Lodge, at two 
 o'clock in the morning. He telegraphed to the bailiff 
 at Wilmslow to see that his motor met the train at 
 Crewe. 
 
 Like a man lost in a strange country with night 
 coming on, he wandered about the streets near the rail- 
 way station. He bought all the evening editions of 
 the newspapers, glanced at the latest news, every 
 startling line sending a shaft of despair into his soul. 
 What was it about? Why on earth should the mur- 
 der of the archduke set all the nations at one an- 
 other's throats? Nobody went to war when the 
 Servians killed their king and queen. And what on 
 earth had Britain got to do with the affair? Why 
 were the streets of Glasgow filled with soldiers 
 marching with full kit? The train was late in start- 
 ing and by the time it reached Carlisle it was nearly 
 an hour late. He telegraphed to the station master 
 at Crewe to let his chauffeur know that he was to 
 wait until he arrived. 
 
 It was nearly three o'clock when the motor started 
 with him for Wilmslow Lodge. Twice on the road 
 the car had to pull up to let detachments of soldiers 
 and transport wagons pass. Going up Combermere 
 Hill into the clear still night with the heavens droop- 
 ing heavy with stars, Von Hoist's eyes took in the 
 lovely cool mystery straight ahead where the ribbon- 
 like strip of limestone road seemed to lose itself in 
 the sparkling sky. If he could only go on higher and 
 higher, swifter and swifter, right into the bosom of 
 the deep blue ocean of twinkling worlds, and there 
 find Evelyn, alone, waiting, ready for him, the world
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 55 
 
 called Earth might slip from its place and go crash- 
 ing through Eternity for all he cared. On him fell 
 a weariness that crushed him as the car shot over 
 the brow and raced down toward the lights of Whit- 
 church. A haze lay in the bottom where the canal 
 passed round the town. Ten miles more, and then 
 Wilmslow, and Evelyn. Would she be there waiting 
 for him? 
 
 Dawn sprang up like a frightened doe and sped 
 across the Staffordshire Hills. A chill breeze blew 
 over the heath as the car flashed out of the warm 
 lane of high hedges and big trees. Von Hoist drew 
 up a rug, and pulled his cap down. Only a few 
 miles more and he would be at Wilmslow. 
 
 The gate was open, and lights burning in the dining- 
 room. His secretary ran out to meet him. 
 
 "Miss Evelyn ?" 
 
 "In the dining-room, Count." 
 
 He left her for a few minutes to see what his 
 secretary had brought from town. Yes, it was there. 
 It was the first message handed to him. As he sat 
 and gazed at the summons he seemed to shirk and 
 shrivel up. His arms lay inert in his lap, his head 
 and shoulders bowed lower and lower. The message 
 from his father, to return at once, was sharp and 
 terse. There was no mistaking the nature of the 
 order. Nothing was said about the army or war. 
 No, it was not necessary. 
 
 He went back to her. He closed the door and 
 leaned heavily. against it. Evelyn helped him to a stiff 
 brandy and soda and got him to a chair. 
 
 "I know, old chap," she whispered. "It's pretty 
 hard, isn't it? Edward went away, God knows where,
 
 56 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 yesterday. Clarice sent me a line about it. What 
 the devils are up to beats me." 
 
 "Ed gone?" he said. '"Ed gone? Where?" 
 
 "He doesn't know." 
 
 They were silent for some time. She nestled at 
 his feet, her head on his knees. 
 
 "I saw dad this afternoon, just before I came 
 down, at the House," she said, looking at the ferns in 
 the fireplace. "What do you think he said?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Eagerly he asked for any bit of hope. 
 
 "I was a lucky girl." 
 
 "Lucky! Why lucky?" 
 
 "Lucky I hadn't married you." 
 
 He was silent trying to guess the meaning. 
 
 "Don't you see? I'd be German." 
 
 "German," he echoed. 
 
 "Yes. If I'd married you." She looked at him 
 with eyes full of yearning. 
 
 "I never thought of that," he cried in alarm. "Oh, 
 God, Cricket, what shall we do?" 
 
 "Hush, hush, don't, Herbert." 
 
 She saw the look of horror in his eyes and fiercely 
 she threw her arms about him. She clutched him and 
 pressed his face to her breast as if she would hide 
 him from the terror gathering about them. 
 
 "I'll not let you go. You're mine. I'll not let you 
 go. You belong to me," she murmured with deep 
 conviction, certainty in her tone. 
 
 She raised his head and kissed him over and over 
 again. Kisses full of fire. 
 
 He rose and put her away firmly, gently. She 
 remained on her knees and watched him go to the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 57 
 
 far end of the room where strange shadows lay. They 
 stared at each other for some time. His eyes shone 
 strangely, she thought, out of the darkened corner 
 where he stood. She spread our her arms suppliantly, 
 but he did not move. Then she threw herself down 
 on the rug and cried, "What a rotten game it is !" 
 
 After a while she told him the fleet sailed from 
 Weymouth on Monday, and men "in the know" said 
 we were in it. Her father had heard Britain could 
 not keep out if Russia and Austria began. For Rus- 
 sia would drag France in, France would drag Britain 
 in, and Austria would drag Germany in. She men- 
 tioned the names of several army men who had said 
 good-by to their sweethearts. Her dad was "rotten 
 gloomy" about it all. 
 
 "So we are to fight against one another?" he mut- 
 tered. "We are to go out and kill our friends 
 French friends, Russian friends, British friends? 
 Why? What for?" 
 
 "What for? Well, old chap, nobody knows. It's 
 the new way of doing business. When do you leave ?" 
 
 "By the first train." 
 
 "Nine fifty, eh ?" She glanced at the clock. "Five 
 hours yet. I supposed it's so long since you served 
 in the army, you had forgotten all about it. Queer, 
 isn't it? And you're as British as anything I ever saw." 
 
 "Mother, you know." 
 
 "Dear old Adorable. Her heart will break over 
 this. Well, may God have no mercy on the crowd 
 that's brought this about." 
 
 She rose and stood erect. Her hair fell down 
 about her. He had unconsciously loosened the hair- 
 pins.
 
 58 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE x 
 
 "Don't you agree? Herbert! Whether German, 
 British, Austrian, French, or Russian!" 
 
 "Yes, I agree. It's awful to know nothing! It's 
 maddening." 
 
 "Five hours. That's all. And I am lucky " 
 
 She broke off suddenly. 
 
 "Don't, Evelyn, my " He went to her. 
 
 "Herbert, I disliked my mealy-mouthed father 
 when I left him yesterday." 
 
 She rambled for some time from one subject to 
 another, giving him bits of information she had 
 learned in town. 
 
 "I wonder if the old queen was German after she 
 married Prince Albert? Funny. Herbert, take me 
 with you," she said suddenly, as she took hold of his 
 arm and put it around her. 
 
 "Oh, if I could if I dare! Don't, Cricket!" 
 
 "Why! You must go, mustn't you?" 
 
 "Must? Of course." 
 
 "Couldn't you take me to Adorable? She's Eng- 
 lish!" She looked into his eyes. "Or is she Ger- 
 man? Which?" 
 
 "German, Cricket. She married a German." 
 
 "Well, if they can make a German of Adorable 
 they can make me one." 
 
 "Sweetheart, you don't know what you ask. 
 There's going to be war France and Russia will be 
 against us and England, too, perhaps. Here you 
 will be safe. This is an island. No, you must stay 
 here. But, you'll wait, Cricket. You'll be ready 
 when I come back?" 
 
 She shook her head slowly from side to side as 
 he spoke.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 59 
 
 "No, no, I am not going to wait." 
 
 "Cricket !" 
 
 "I mean it. I mean it absolutely. I am going to 
 be your wife, Herbert. Wait." She put her hand 
 over his lips. "I thought it all over in the train, 
 motoring here from Minsterley, here, for hours be- 
 fore you came. It's not any use arguing with me. 
 If governments can do desperate things why 
 shouldn't we " 
 
 He took her hand away from his mouth and 
 pressed it against his head. 
 
 "But, darling, I must leave by the first train " 
 
 "I know." 
 
 "Wouldn't I give my soul everything in this 
 world to marry you?" 
 
 "Yes. And you will." 
 
 "When it is over." 
 
 "To-night." 
 
 "Evelyn!" 
 
 There was no mistaking her meaning. Her face 
 shone full on him, her firm lips, her wide open eyes, 
 told him clearly she was firmly resolved to give her- 
 self. 
 
 "If marriage to you in time of peace would make 
 me German in time of war, then let us dispense with 
 ceremony. I am what I am, and nothing can make 
 us enemies. We put off our wedding until Ed and 
 Clarice had theirs. Now when you go I want to 
 know I am your wife." 
 
 Her words were those of a girl, but her poise was 
 that of a woman fighting for all she loved in the world. 
 
 "Let us defy the whole rotten system," she 
 whispered, and flung herself full upon him.
 
 60 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 They went up to town by the nine fifty. Von Hoist 
 had reserved a compartment. The morning was so 
 beautifully clear and warm it seemed like blasphemy 
 to think of war. 
 
 "You have made it a million times harder, 
 Cricket" 
 
 "No, no. It is as it should be. Now I can never 
 be any one else's. That's all that matters," she mut- 
 tered passionately. 
 
 They went to Mayfair Square. She would not 
 listen to his suggestion about a special license and a 
 registrar. He said he would put off going until the 
 last moment, but she was obdurate. He left Liver- 
 pool Street that evening, and when the train had 
 passed out of sight she got into his car and went to 
 Horton House to pack. In the hall she met her 
 father. 
 
 "Well, Cricket," he exclaimed, "where have you 
 been?" 
 
 "Seeing Herbert off." 
 
 "Oh! Has he gone? Ordered back, eh?" 
 
 "Yes, he's gone, dad." 
 
 "Poor Cricket, cheer up. Let's hope for better 
 days. Are you very disappointed?" 
 
 "No, not very " 
 
 She looked him up and down, slowly, with deep 
 sarcasm in her eyes. 
 
 "Good. I'm glad to hear that. Perhaps it's just 
 as well you didn't marry 
 
 "Marry," she snapped. "We're married all I 
 want to be." 
 
 He disliked enigmatic phrases. But her attitude 
 roused his curiosity.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 61 
 
 "Not married enough to be German, but married 
 enough to be his," she said, as she left him. 
 
 He watched her go up-stairs until the last glimpse 
 of her heel disappeared. 
 
 "Very strange," he muttered, as he got into his 
 car. 
 
 It was Black Friday. The House rose about five 
 o'clock for the week-end. Sir Alfred made his way 
 to the Hotel Cosmopolis where he was to take the 
 chair at the dinner given by the Turkestan Mission- 
 ary Society. As he sat in the car he pondered Eve- 
 lyn's cryptic sentences, but could make no sense of 
 them. He tapped his pocket to make sure the notes 
 of his speech were there. Suddenly he wondered 
 where his wife was at Crowington or he remem- 
 bered. She had gone to York with Harold to the 
 Church Conference. And Robert where was he? 
 Of course, in Ireland. At the Curragh. Would he 
 have to go? Perhaps not. Ireland was unsettled. 
 Fred was still at Oxford. So he turned them over 
 in his mind just as he gave a mental tick to his en- 
 gagements when starting off for a busy day. There 
 was, however, one he had not ticked. He took his 
 cigar from his mouth with a sharp movement and 
 sat up straight. Ellen ! He had forgotten Ellen. In 
 Germany. Dear, dear, dear. That was embarrassing. 
 What on earth was she doing there? To be in Ger- 
 many of all places! Silly girl. Would she know 
 enough to get away in time? The car was passing 
 down Cockspur Street. He popped his head out and 
 told the chauffeur to call at Charing Cross tele- 
 graph office.
 
 62 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 He wrote a carefully worded message to Ellen, tell-/ 
 ing her to return at once, and addressed it to her 
 lodgings in Dresden. 
 
 "Can't tell when this will go, sir," the clerk said. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Transmission is very slow getting slower every 
 hour. All wires are blocked." 
 
 "Good gracious! Really. You surprise me. I 
 am a member Sir Alfred Horton-Birkett " 
 
 "Yes, Sir Alfred, I recognized you." 
 
 "Well, that is to my daughter." 
 
 'Til do the best I can, Sir Alfred." 
 
 The dinner was heavy and the company stodgy. 
 No one seemed to be able to think of the work in 
 Turkestan. Sir Alfred's speech was dull he felt it' 
 was out of place. The company parted at ten o'clock, 
 and all were glad to reach the streets where they 
 could read "extras." 
 
 When he reached home a telegram from the man- 
 ager of the London office was on his desk. He 
 opened it 
 
 "Headquarters orders necessitate day and night 
 work. Working overtime to-night. Calling to-morrow 
 at nine to see you."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 HE asked for Evelyn when he reached his house 
 and learned that she had gone to Sportshire. 
 Her maid said Miss Evelyn had left word for all 
 messages to be sent to Wilmslow Lodge. 
 
 All his people were away. He was alone in the 
 great house with the servants. No, he did not care 
 for any supper, only a whisky and soda. He told 
 the butler he would not require him any more. Past 
 the house ran a boy shreaking, "Extra, extra special 
 edition." The butler moved so slowly, Sir^ Alfred 
 rushed impatiently past him and flung the front door 
 open. He stood on the top of the steps shouting, 
 "Boy, boy, boy." Iif the stop press column he read a 
 message from Paris stating that a great crowd of 
 fifty thousand persons assembled in Berlin before the 
 Imperial Palace. The emperor appeared at the 
 window, and said to the crowd. "This is a dark hour 
 for Germany. The sword is being forced into her 
 hands." He threw his cigar away and wandered 
 aimlessly through the large rooms. How desolate, 
 how empty, how cheerless everything looked. A 
 heavy shower of rain fell and the sound of it sent 
 a shiver through him. Wearily, heavily, he went up- 
 stairs to bed. 
 
 His room on the southwest corner of the house 
 overlooked a garden fronting on Park Lane. He 
 propped himself up in bed and tried to read from 
 the Psalms. He dozed off in an awkward position. 
 
 63
 
 64 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 He lay there sweating profusely for some time. The 
 crash of a heavy motor-car bounding over a rut in 
 the road woke him with a terrifying start. When, 
 his mind was clear he caught the sound of harsh! 
 grating clutches of motors as the traffic turned the 
 corner to rush up toward Paddington. As he listened 
 it seemed to him that the night was humming with 
 the dreadful discordances of feverish, bustling ac- 
 tivity. The sounds were near, and then, like a fall- 
 ing cadence of some agitato fortissimo, the wailing, 
 moaning, creaking wagons with their sounds died 
 away into the dull throbbings of the night. He ar- 
 ranged his pillows and again composed himself for 
 sleep, but he was never so wide awake in bed. He 
 wished his wife was near, she was so calm, so cer- 
 tain about things. While his mind dwelt on her he 
 became conscious of the tramp and slither of troops 
 passing the house. How long had that been going 
 on, he wondered. Yes, they were at the corner in 
 Park Lane. Guns, too; he could hear the clank and 
 rattle of the loose metal wheels. Schr-tramp, schr- 
 tramp, schr-tramp, the boys were marching. There 
 was something sinister in that sound of dragging 
 heels on the gritty pavement. He began to loathe the 
 noise. He felt as if they were marching into his 
 soul. He could not lie there and listen to it, he could 
 not endure the torture of that sound. He tumbled 
 out of bed and paced up and down the room. "Halt !" 
 an officer cried. The command was taken up all 
 down the lines. Then the scamper of a prancing 
 horse, its chains rattling, and the clanking of a saber 
 became the dominant note. Then all was silence for 
 a moment until his ears caught again the dull roar
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 65 
 
 of the traffic in the streets beyond. So he spent the 
 night, and when morning came he was a sad and 
 wearied wreck. 
 
 After a very light breakfast he thought he would 
 like to go to church. He had lost count of the days 
 and thought it was Sunday. Strangely enough he 
 had forgotten to look for the morning's newspapers.. 
 He had got out of bed on the wrong side. Habit 
 was deserting him. He turned and saw them all laid 
 in perfect order upon the little table near his chair. 
 Into his mind there crept the thought as he glanced 
 at the journals that most of the editors of Europe 
 seemed to be bent on having war. Yet the London 
 party prints gave no indication of danger to Britain. 
 Was he going to be left alone all the weary week-end 
 in London? After the interview with his business 
 manager who was full of nervous energy, he feared 
 the worst. The orders received from the Government 
 left no doubt in his mind that Britain was com- 
 mitted to .obligations of war. And yet no one had 
 even suggested what was the casus belli. He went 
 to a Turkish bath and spent the morning there, and 
 afterward he walked over to the club for lunch, 
 not the club on the Embankment, but to that dull 
 place in Pall Mall, the charnel house of all Liberal 
 ideas. Still, he thought he might find there, among 
 the notabilities of torified Liberals, some men who 
 would have some accurate information as to Britain's 
 true position. The first man he ran into was his old 
 friend, Lord Parkgate. 
 
 "Ah, Birkett, that you?" Parkgate squeaked. 
 "What did I tell you?" 
 
 Sir Alfred would rather have met the devil.
 
 66 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Can you tell me whether we are so heavily armed 
 that war is an impossibility?" his lordship asked, 
 with sarcastic stress on each word. 
 
 "So you think war can not be averted?" Sir Al- 
 fred asked in reply. 
 
 "Think it can not be averted! I'm damn sure it 
 can not be averted, and so are you, Birkett I can 
 see that by the look of you. All my lads received 
 their orders days ago. And I haven't slept a con- 
 founded wink since Wednesday night. From mid- 
 night till five in the morning all the armies in cre- 
 ation seemed to have passed under my bedroom 
 window. Well, all I hope is that you chaps have 
 made sure of the safety of the empire." 
 
 He turned on his heel, shrugged his shoulders, 
 stamped his stick on the pavement and passed across 
 the hall to the dining-room. Sir Alfred changed 
 his mind and decided to go to the French cafe at the 
 Savoy for lunch. There, certainly there would be 
 some brightness and no Parkgates. 
 
 During the afternoon he looked in at Downing 
 Street and at the Foreign Office. He tried to get a 
 telegram through the Foreign Office to Ellen. 
 Strange how she seemed to occupy his mind. The 
 Foreign Office people told him that they had piles of 
 messages they were trying to get through for the 
 privileged ones. When he got back into Whitehall, 
 he stood on the corner and did not know whether 
 to turn to the left, or the right, or go straight across 
 the street. He stood there without purpose for sev- 
 eral minutes. He didn't see a soul he knew. Men 
 In khaki were rushing about with kit bags and rifles. 
 Three or four little boys stood around him shouting
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 67 
 
 "Extra" into the tails of his frock coat. A motor- 
 bus passed and his eye caught the advertisement of 
 a play, The Great Adventure. He hailed a taxi 
 and was driven to the Kingsway Theater. He had 
 seen the play before, but he bought a stall and took 
 his seat. Anything was better than roaming about 
 the streets or going back to his empty lonely house. 
 After a few scenes he was delighted to find that the 
 acting of Mr. Ainley and Miss Wynne absorbed his 
 mind. Later over a cup of tea at the Holborn he 
 pondered what he could do with himself that eve- 
 ning. He glanced down the advertisement column 
 of theaters and decided to go to the Haymarket to 
 see Driven. It was Saturday. He would not leave 
 anything to chance", so he called up the box office 
 and telephoned for a seat to be reserved. After 
 the first act he left the theater, not because the play 
 was uninteresting, but because he was not in the mood. 
 That night the club on the Embankment was 
 crowded. Politicians, novelists, cabinet ministers, 
 Civil Service men, journalists, doctors, nationalists, 
 editors, etc., the motley crowd of liberal political 
 thought of London and the provinces. He had not 
 been there long before he was asked to join a Neu- 
 trality League. Though he could not accede to that 
 request, he felt he would have given all he possessed 
 to avert war. To find all his great notions of an 
 armed peace crumbling to dust filled him with des- 
 pair. To his amazement he found a large number 
 of the members extremely anti-German and ready for 
 war. The atmosphere of the club depressed him and 
 reluctantly, when he got out, he turned his steps to- 
 ward Horton House.
 
 68 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 When he drew near it he surveyed the pile and 
 thought of his marvelous success in commerce. "Give 
 me a chance to rise," he had said so often to his 
 parents when he was a lad, and many a time his 
 mother had said to him, "Alfred, be humble." His 
 parents were long dead, but he had not forgotten 
 them. Where would he be to-day if he had taken 
 their advice and gone into the ministry of Christ? 
 Maybe he would have a chapel in some small coun- 
 try town with only one hundred and fifty pounds 
 a year, a very large family and a small manse. He 
 shook himself to escape from those thoughts, and 
 passed across the street to his front door. 
 
 It was after eleven when his wife arrived and 
 found him dozing in the unread library. The news 
 they had received at York that morning was so 
 alarming that she lost interest in the proceedings of 
 the conference and came up to town. He awoke 
 with a start. His gladness on seeing her surprised 
 her a little. They were a well-matched couple and 
 had passed a fairly smooth married life. Their in- 
 terests of course ran not always in the same channel. 
 His great business affairs, and political and religious 
 undertakings took him away from her a good deal. 
 But she was very happy, and never found time hang 
 heavily on her hands. Alfred did not care much for 
 society, and her bent was altogether in that direction. 
 She was proud of her children; they had done tre- 
 mendously well. They weren't snobs, she thanked 
 heaven. 
 
 "How is Harold?" he asked. 
 
 "Very fit. His sermon yesterday was quite a suc- 
 cess. The archdeacon told me he had a great fu-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 69 
 
 ture in the church. But I'm afraid Harold will be 
 always a very worldly parson. You know, dad, I 
 don't like that crowd in Minsterley he's got in with. 
 They are well, rather fast, and such a gossiping 
 set of people." 
 
 "I know 'em," he added. "I told you, Evie," he 
 added again. "That archdeacon!" He shook his 
 head. "My dear, I don't want to say anything about 
 your church. You were born in it, and it can't be 
 helped. But hang me, some ov'em do get on my 
 nerves. You see! They'll make a proper fool of 
 Harold yet. See if they don't." 
 
 His wife sighed wearily. 
 
 "He may improve," she muttered. "He's young, 
 you know. You must be patient, dad. Still I do 
 wish he were somewhere else somewhere where 
 he could be looked after, guided by a really good 
 man." 
 
 "He seems to think of nothing but sport and pre- 
 ferment at present. This job's too easy, Evie. And 
 that archdeacon!" 
 
 "I've told him the archdeacon has no influence at 
 all, but Harold thinks he has." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense!" Sir Alfred scoffed. "Has 
 he let the archdeacon have any money?" 
 
 "I don't know," she said. "But, dear me, where's 
 Evelyn? Gone to bed?" 
 
 "Evelyn. Oh er she's gone to Wilmslow " 
 
 "Wilmslow. Where's Herbert?" 
 
 "He's er ordered back to Germany. Went last 
 night." 
 
 "What's Evelyn doing at Wilmslow?" 
 
 "I can't make out."
 
 70 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "The poor child must be fearfully upset. Did you 
 see Ed before he went away?" 
 
 "No, but I had a word with him over the phone." 
 
 "Poor Ed, he sent me a note. He thought I was at 
 Crowington. Why did they send him off in such a 
 hurry?" 
 
 "They're sending everybody off in a hurry." 
 
 "Have you heard from Robert?" 
 
 "No. I s'pose he's at the Curragh. Fred's at 
 Oxford. But I'm a bit nervous about Ellen. Don't 
 like her being in Germany." 
 
 "Don't worry, dear," she said, laying her hand ten- 
 derly on his big round shoulders. "Ellen knows how 
 to look after herself." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Great girl, Ellen! But I wish 
 I had looked in on her at Dresden when I was on 
 my way to Vienna a week ago." 
 
 They brought some food in, and her maid handed 
 her a large packet of letters. There was one from 
 Evelyn. It came in by the last post. 
 
 "Wilmslow Lodge. 
 
 "August 1st, 1914. 
 "Dear Mater; 
 
 "I'm here. Got Here very late last night from 
 Minsterley. Herbert went away yesterday evening. 
 I saw him off. Couldn't let him go without making 
 sure that we were tied up forever. There was no 
 time to get married. I don't know whether I am happy 
 or heart-broken a good bit of both. Now, for 
 heaven's sake don't make a fuss. I am going to stay 
 here, near Clarice who is with me now. She is 
 bucking up tremendously. Top hole in a driving gale. 
 Damn war and everybody that sends fellows to their 
 death. 
 
 "Cricket."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 71 
 
 It took them some time to grasp the meaning of it 
 all. Cricket was the baby and their idol. They scarce- 
 ly realized that she had grown up. 
 
 "She doesn't mean it, does she?" There was a 
 tremor in his voice. His lower lip fell, and he hid 
 his eyes from his wife. 
 
 "They were deeply attached," she said. "I never 
 saw two people so much in love. Theirs was love. 
 I must go down to her to-morrow." 
 
 "Not to-morrow, dear," he pleaded. "Wait at any 
 rate until Monday. Nothing can be done, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "No, nothing, but I shall go to-morrow. I must 
 see her. I wonder why she did it. It seems so 
 strange. And Herbert. There's some mystery about 
 it. When did you see her last?" 
 
 "Last night." 
 
 "Didn't she say anything then?" 
 
 "Yes. What was it?" 
 
 Wearily he rested his head on his arm and tried 
 to remember what Evelyn said to him. 
 
 "Something about not married enougK to be Ger- 
 man but married enough to be his wife." 
 
 He looked rather sheepishly at his wife. 
 
 "Not enough to be German?" she said slowly. 
 
 "Yes. That was it, I think." 
 
 It began to dawn on Sir Alfred that Evelyn per- 
 haps had been nettled by his remark about her being 
 lucky not to have married Herbert. A discomfort- 
 ing notion infected him that his silly reference to the 
 nationality of her lover had put the idea into her head 
 to flout convention. 
 
 "Some silly person evidently has said quite the
 
 72 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 wrong thing to her," his wife observed. "She is 
 just the kind of girl to resent anything of that kind. 
 Besides, in Herbert's case it is too utterly foolish 
 for words. The son of Elizabeth Martindale, an 
 English public-school boy, one of our best known 
 university men, and Ed's dearest friend. German! 
 The idea." 
 
 They sank into themselves, and a strange silence 
 fell upon them. Each tried to solve the puzzle in 
 Evelyn's letter. Vaguely they knew what had hap- 
 pened. Alfred was, however, too conscious of his 
 own blunder to give way to anger. A tear slipped 
 down his nose, and trickled along one of the heavy 
 lines in parenthesis over his mouth. He tasted the 
 salty drop, and brushed his lips with the back of his 
 hand. 
 
 "Awful," he muttered. 
 
 His wife sighed wearily and poked a hairpin out 
 of sight. 
 
 "We've let her have her own way far too much," 
 she said. 
 
 They were stunned. The news coming after so 
 many startling events found them without the energy 
 for demonstrative grief. 
 
 Sir Alfred lay awake most of the night thinking 
 of Evelyn down there at Wilmslow, and wondering 
 what she thought of him. The noises from the 
 street of tramping troops and rushing lorries were 
 nerve-racking enough. The next morning after 
 breakfast he went with his wife to Euston and saw 
 her off by the ten o'clock train. Returning to his 
 house, his motor had to pull up to let a regiment 
 pass down Oxford Street. After watching the troops
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 73 
 
 for some time he was struck by their strange de- 
 meanor. They were whistling Tipperary. The tune 
 sounded gay enough, but the faces of the men were 
 full of anxiety. The morning was hot, and their kits 
 very heavy. Heavily they trudged along, going God 
 knows where. It reminded him of one night during 
 the railway strike when he saw some companies of 
 regulars march down Euston Road to take charge of 
 the great railway station. He thought then that he 
 had never seen a body of men look so pale and sick. 
 They certainly did not like the business on which they 
 were bent. The memory of their ghastly faces urged 
 him, in the debate on the use of military in time of 
 strike, to rise and tell the House what he had seen, 
 and beg the Government to find some other way of 
 trying to preserve order in time of industrial fer- 
 ment. 
 
 He went to chapel. Not one of the fashionable 
 places where he would be in the midst of numbers 
 of people who would know him, he went to a chapel 
 in a poor district on the south side of the river where 
 the son of an old friend of his was trying to keep 
 a congregation together, and to grapple with the re- 
 ligious degeneracy in the neighborhood. The preacher 
 took a text from Ecclesiastes, "Wisdom is better than 
 weapons of war: but one sinner destroyeth much 
 good." When the service was over he made his way 
 to the vestry to shake hands with the son of his old 
 friend. And there he found him in conversation 
 with a very old man. The minister recognized him 
 at once and placed a chair for him. 
 
 "It is good of you, Sir Alfred, to come over here 
 to see what we're doing."
 
 74 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "No, thank you, I won't sit down. I just wanted 
 to tell you how much I enjoyed your sermon." 
 
 The old man stood off and peered at Sir Alfred. 
 He cocked his head to the left, then to the right, he 
 rubbed his spectacles and readjusted them. 
 
 "It is Sir Alfred," he exclaimed. "It is, it is. The 
 Lord be praised." 
 
 Sir Alfred looked inquiringly, first at the old man, 
 and then at the minister. 
 
 "My grandfather. He's over eighty-five." 
 
 "Really, you surprise me," said Sir Alfred, taking 
 the old man's hand. 
 
 "Aye, over eighty-five. God has been good. And 
 now He gives me the happiness of speaking to a 
 righteous man. One who may be counted on to send 
 the message of the Prince of Peace to the rulers 
 and the statesmen of Europe. Aye, Sir Alfred, God 
 bless your efforts to keep the nations at peace. Come, 
 let us fall on our knees and ask God to help us." 
 
 There was no resisting the old man. The minister 
 and his grandfather knelt down, and the old man be- 
 gan to pray. Sir Alfred for the first time in his life 
 was afflicted with rebellious knees. In a few seconds 
 he suffered acutely. The stuffy vestry, the thundery 
 heat of the morning, the lack of sleep and utter phy- 
 sical weariness, affected him strangely. He felt sick. 
 He did not want to kneel and pray, he wanted to 
 get into the air outside. A feeling of anger at the 
 presumption of the old man came and passed quickly, 
 leaving him disgusted with himself. And when he 
 did kneel at a chair near the door, he stretched out 
 his hand, turned the old brass knob silently, and 
 opened the door to admit some air. Old men's
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 75 
 
 prayers are long, and repetition breeds repetition. Sir 
 Alfred was so often placed by the old man into the 
 hands of God that the minister was obliged to inter- 
 ject "Amens" in a tone of finality many times. When 
 the prayer did come to an end, Sir Alfred made hur- 
 ried adieux, and on reaching the street got on top 
 of the first bus going his way. 
 
 Lady Horton-Birkett reached Minsterley three 
 hours late. Troop trains retarded the ordinary traf- 
 fic. When she found there was not a car for hire 
 in the town her disgust knew no bounds. She got on 
 to Crowington by telephone from the chief hotel and 
 asked for her motor to be sent in at once. It was 
 late when she got to Wilmslow Lodge. Evelyn had 
 been over to Clungford with Clarice to have a cup 
 of tea with her. 
 
 "Why didn't you go to Crowington?" her mother 
 asked, after many embraces. 
 
 "Herbert wanted me to stay here. Don't fuss, 
 mater. I'll stay here. He gave the place to me, but 
 no one was to know about it until we were married. 
 Wilmslow is the marriage settlement" 
 
 "But the servants?" 
 
 "Never mind, dear. My maid is coming here 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The mother fenced skilfully, to learn Evelyn's 
 real position, without much success. All she learned 
 was that her daughter to all intents and purposes 
 had been married. No, there was no ceremony of any 
 kind. They were one, but she was still an English- 
 woman. Yes, she and Herbert had stayed there on 
 Thursday morning just as if they were husband and 
 wife.
 
 76 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "It seems to me everything is going to pieces," 
 her mother muttered, so sadly. "Your father looks 
 so old, Evelyn, and he is worried about Ellen. Have 
 you heard from her lately?" 
 
 "A fortnight or so ago. Ellen is all right, mater. 
 Don't fuss. If war does break out she'll go to 
 Adorable, I should think. I wrote to her yesterday 
 and told her what a wretched state we're in." 
 
 "I wish we were all together. It's awful for a 
 family to be scattered all over the place at a time like 
 this. Ed gone. Robert in Ireland. Ellen in Germany. 
 And Herbert " 
 
 Evelyn had never seen tears in her mother's eyes 
 before. She went to her, and took her in her arms. 
 Evelyn dried her eyes and soothed her. 
 
 "Never mind, mater, you'll have to look after me 
 now. I shan't go far away from Wilmslow. You'll 
 wait for Ed, and I'll wait for Herbert. We'll wait 
 down here you at Crowington and just here, 
 until the war is pver, and they come back to us."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 BENJAMIN TONKS, B. A., was the principal 
 speaker at the open-air demonstration held in 
 Battersea Park on Sunday, August second, to protest 
 against Britain's intervention in a European war. 
 Some hundreds of men and women gathered round 
 the rostrum. The chairman of the meeting was Mr. 
 Nicholas Garside, the Fabian pamphleteer. From 
 his place he could see fathers and mothers reclining 
 on the grass while round about them their children 
 coursed in and out of the family circle playing 
 games. Numbers of wearied creatures lay prone on 
 their backs in the sweltering heat. The object of the 
 meeting, and the attitude of the people beyond the 
 bounds of the meeting, seemed to Mr. Garside poles 
 apart. The wisdom of those about to address the 
 meeting, and the ignorance of those lying about on 
 the grass struck him as being so contradictory that 
 he began to doubt the reason for his alarm. The 
 churches had been called on to preach peace that 
 day, but the comparative few who attended churches 
 of all kinds would carry little or no weight with the 
 Government. The real danger was known only to 
 a couple of score of men. Anyway, now Germany 
 and Russia were at it, what hope was there for 
 Britain ? 
 
 Ben's speech was the best he ever made, but it was 
 a failure all the same. There was no opposition 
 none at all. He felt that his audience was sympa- 
 
 77.
 
 78 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 tlietic, but there was no response. Save for a hun- 
 dred or so hard-headed Radicals near the platform, 
 all he said on foreign policy and armaments was lost. 
 He could not make them see the connection, how the 
 one fostered the other. The same audience would 
 have cheered to the echo any speech Ben could have 
 made on domestic issues. It seemed to him that his 
 hearers cared nothing for foreign policy^ or he had 
 failed to convince them of the imminence of war. 
 "You are islanders, and for the most part ignorant 
 of the jeopardy in which you stand. The fleet is to 
 you an impregnable barrier against aggression, but, I 
 warn you, if we go into this war we might suffer ter- 
 rible defeats and untold hardships though not one 
 foreign soldier set foot on our shores." He brought 
 every rhetorical gun he had into action without rous- 
 ing them out of their apathy or ignorance. The reso- 
 lution was passed unanimously, but without enthusi- 
 asm. At question time matters were not mended. 
 "Why should we go to war?" "Who are we going to 
 fight?" "Is it not a dodge of the capitalists to frighten 
 us into conscription?" and so on 
 
 Ben and his friends left the park sad and dis- 
 couraged and made their way to Whitehall. Troops 
 were marching across Westminster Bridge to Water- 
 loo Station. At the corner of Downing Street a 
 crowd of reporters watched the arrival of cabinet 
 ministers going to the second cabinet meeting. Ben 
 had a few words with Rennett of The Elector, 
 and learned from him that it was only a question 
 of what excuse was to be made to Parliament. Sev- 
 eral ministers had resigned, so it was rumored. Hei 
 gleaned from his friends making notes that things
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 79 
 
 were just as bad as they could be. He was taking 
 leave of Rennett when Sir Alfred passed down the 
 street. Suddenly his mind was full of Ellen. He 
 had never spoken to Sir Alfred, but straight across 
 the street he went and stopped him. 
 
 "I'm Tonks, Sir Alfred. Benjamin Tonks from 
 Crowington." 
 
 "Oh! Yes, Mr. Tonks, eh? Well?" 
 
 "I'm the one who took Ellen home from Minster- 
 ley Show years ago," Ben explained, feeling Sir Al- 
 fred was so absorbed in other affairs that he did not 
 clearly understand. In a moment Sir Alfred grabbed 
 his hand and shook it. 
 
 "I remember," he said. "I heard about it. Of 
 course. Where are you going?" 
 " "I was going to get a cup of tea before attending 
 a meeting at Camden Town " 
 
 "Come with me, do! I haven't had lunch. News 
 so serious. Terrible. Let us jump in a cab." 
 
 He hailed a taxi, and they set off for Horton 
 House. 
 
 "Let me see. Are you the Tonks that wrote the 
 novel on " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I read it. Excellent. Awful, this business, isn't 
 it? I've been trying to get through to my daughter 
 in Dresden." 
 
 "Dresden. You mean Ellen. She isn't in Dres- 
 den," Ben said, without thinking whether Sir Alfred 
 knew about their friendship. 
 
 "Not in Dresden. How do you know?" 
 
 "We correspond. She's gone to Starnberg for a 
 ramble in the Austrian Alps."
 
 80 /'A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Good gracious! Then you've heard lately from 
 her." 
 
 "A week ten days ago," Ben said. "She wrote 
 asking me to forward a book, saying she was just 
 leaving Dresden for a month's holiday." 
 
 "Indeed. That's bad. I telegraphed to her to re- 
 turn home at once. So you correspond. Ellen has 
 many literary friends. She's been away from home 
 a long time now. She's very fond of Germany, you 
 know." 
 
 During tea conversation turned on foreign policy, 
 but Sir Alfred soon found he had caught a tartar 
 in Ben. Their views touched at no point. Sir Alfred 
 was sure Germany was at the bottom of the whole 
 affair; Ben thought otherwise. Sir Alfred believed 
 in an armed peace; Ben favored non-resistance. 
 
 "But if a man comes up and slaps you on the 
 cheek?" Sir Alfred asked. 
 
 "In the case of a man I should ask what I had 
 done to offend him." 
 
 "Certainly, that would be most proper, most Chris- 
 tian-like, but " 
 
 "Have you ever been struck, Sir Alfred without 
 provocation?" Ben inquired. 
 
 "No, I don't think so." 
 
 "Neither have I. It rarely happens." 
 
 "But German ambition " 
 
 "What about Radical ambition? Think of Nation- 
 alist ambition in Ireland! That is fierce enough, 
 isn't it? Could you find two ambitions so fiercely 
 opposed as Orange Ulster and Catholic Connaught? 
 In that case no one wants war, and everything will 
 be done to prevent war. Then think of non-con-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 81 
 
 fertility's ambition to disestablish and disendow the 
 Church. Our domestic quarrels are not beyond set- 
 tlement without resort to arms, and they are deeper 
 fundamentally than the quarrels of nations. These 
 issues concern individuals who meet every day." 
 
 Sir Alfred was caught by the ease and simplicity 
 of Ben's method of presenting his case. He sat 
 forward and listened with all his ears. 
 
 "Forgive me if I say there is a fearful lot of ar- 
 rant nonsense written by modern historians on this 
 subject. Now, where is there a clash of ideals and 
 ambitions in the British and the German peoples? 
 Not Governments, mind. I mean the ordinary work- 
 -a-day men and women. Do they know anything at 
 all about the quarrel? Not an atom. You know 
 that, Sir Alfred. Why, you are a member of Par- 
 liament, and now you don't know why a single regi- 
 ment has been ordered away." 
 
 "Perfectly true, Tonks. That's undeniable." 
 
 "But you do know about Ireland. And you cer- 
 tainly know the case for disestablishment. You also 
 know why there is fierce labor unrest all over the 
 kingdom." 
 
 "I see your point. Yes. But I can not see how 
 the theory of non-resistance can be put into practise 
 in Europe as things are. Nations can not commit 
 suicide, Tonks." 
 
 "No, they go in for murder." 
 
 "I agree, once war begins," Sir Alfred said. "You 
 are quite right, it's murder. Another cigarette. Must 
 you really go?" 
 
 Ben had risen. It was time for him to be off to 
 his meeting.
 
 82 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Do come and see me," Sir Alfred said, as he 
 shook his hand. "I have been deeply interested. Let 
 me know where to find you." 
 
 He went to the door with him. 
 
 "I was just like you when I was your age," Sir 
 Alfred said. He laid his hand on Ben's shoulder 
 and patted it with his fingers. "Our ideas change 
 when we grow old. I've often thought about it, 
 Tonks. When we get into the House, rear big fami- 
 lies, carry great industrial responsibilities, the old 
 political zeal seems to fade away. It's strange very 
 strange. Good-by." 
 
 Ben thought of taking a bus to Camden Town, 
 but on consideration he decided to walk; it was such 
 a lovely night. They could begin the meeting with- 
 out him, and they could turn him on to speak when 
 he got there. The sun was setting, and Hyde Park 
 was in a glow of mellow light. People of fashion 
 glided by in expensive motor-cars. Weary mothers 
 dragged their tired children along the pavement to 
 busses going east. The motley crowd of Marble 
 Arch, on a fine Sunday evening, swayed to and fro; 
 rich and poor, high and low, fashion and rags, 
 pleasure and pain, age and youth, intermixed at the 
 busy corner. Here east rubbed shoulders with west. 
 Ben turned down Oxford Street, and soon became 
 fascinated with the thought of how general was 
 the practise of non-resistance. The shop-girl in her 
 Sunday clothes who submitted to the slavery of the 
 counter; the prostitute who never raised her voice 
 against the economic system which forced her to sell 
 her body; the hungry child who accepted stint as a 
 part of its life; the half -starved men and women,
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 83 
 
 old and young, who pottered about the streets day and 
 night and never dreamed of taking action against 
 the upholders of privilege. Everywhere, on every 
 hand, Ben saw non-resistance practised until it be- 
 came a habit by thousands of passers-by. Out of 
 the land of the powerful and rich he passed in a few 
 minutes into the by-ways of penury and filth. He 
 struck across the narrow ways diagonally to Hamp- 
 stead Road. Drunken women, unkempt children, 
 pale girls, shrunken men, noisy youths, without pur- 
 pose, hope or delight, thronged the streets. As he 
 went farther north, away from the main thorough- 
 fare, the neighborhood grew worse. The hopelessness 
 of it all depressed him. Reform seemed to be mere 
 trifling with the dead weight of misery. Yet he 
 thought the miserable found some enjoyment spas- 
 modic, truly in their life. Some laughed, others 
 sang, and round an organ, in an awful street, scores 
 of children danced merrily. Even some elderly 
 women jigged for a while to the amusement of their 
 men looking on. At a corner near Cobden's statue 
 the Salvation Army dispensed prayer and song with 
 military band accompaniment to a dozen stragglers. 
 Standing aloof, with his hands in his empty pockets, 
 a dirty, ragged, sick-looking man snickered and 
 jeered at the Salvationist praying in strident tones. 
 
 "The Lord Jesus Christ is dead, you fool," Ben 
 heard him say. 
 
 The hall was packed and uncomfortably hot. He 
 made his way to the platform and was called on 
 immediately by the chairman to speak. His speech 
 took at first a strong line against armaments. Then 
 he went on and dealt with the enormous rise in
 
 84 "A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 .* 
 
 prices of foodstuffs. He showed how private pocket 
 patriots were the first to deliver a crushing blow 
 against the poor and needy of their own country. 
 The enemy at home was at war with them before 
 we heard from the Government the name of the ene- 
 my abroad. The fleet had sailed because an Aus- 
 trian archduke was murdered. Troops were as- 
 sembling in thousands because Austria wished to 
 punish Servia. Then he told them what he had seen 
 as he came along to the meeting, and the thoughts 
 which came to him as he passed along the streets. 
 Was there not enough misery in Britain without add- 
 ing the cost and suffering of war? Was there so 
 little industrial and social evil at home that we could 
 afford to dabble in the diplomatic adventures of 
 Europe ? The time would come when the workers and 
 the wretched would rise against the rulers and decide 
 to look after their own affairs. 
 
 The audience understood the speech and cheered 
 him enthusiastically when he sat down. He wished 
 he had taken that line in the afternoon at Battersea 
 Park, instead of trying to explain the balance of 
 power and foreign affairs to men who had very little 
 electoral power, seldom a real balance on pay-day, 
 and a notion that the workers of foreign countries 
 were worse off than themselves. 
 
 Down in the gay part of London later that night 
 Ben roamed the street to see if there were any Jin- 
 goes abroad. Round about Piccadilly and Leicester 
 Square would be the locality to find them if they 
 were at all exuberant. Some there were, very few, 
 indeed, but just about enough to help the Jingo 
 journals next morning to refer to "great demonstra-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 85 
 
 tions" in the streets about a score or two of ex- 
 citable young men cheering troops going to the rail- 
 way station. 
 
 How the Commons and the country were swept 
 into the strife in that first week of August was a 
 miracle in tactics more wonderful than any per- 
 formed in the time of Joshua or Jonah. How Lib- 
 eral newspapers (and Liberal members for the most 
 part) fell into the trap was one of the most amaz- 
 ing spectacles ever seen in an "enlightened" country. 
 
 Sir Alfred was anxious and depressed on Sun- 
 day, the second; he was elated and full of fight on 
 Sunday, the ninth. Germany by the violation of the 
 Belgian Treaty had saved him from humiliation. A 
 righteous war meant no qualms of conscience. The 
 protection of small weak countries was the first prin- 
 ciple of British policy. The armed peace had been 
 broken by a Power which had been arming for forty 
 years. After Louvain, Malines and Dinant, the wis- 
 dom and uprightness of Britain going to war were 
 amply confirmed. Sir Alfred would not have had it 
 otherwise. Before Mons he was convinced Germany 
 had made her warlike preparations solely to smash 
 Christianity, western civilization, and the British Em- 
 pire. Coal, oil and shell stocks went soaring sky- 
 high. A small business he had started two years 
 earlier which dealt in pots and pans could not 
 supply the demands of the War Office half fast 
 enough. So that the army should not run short he 
 had with patriotic foresight bought all the avail- 
 able stocks of hardware he could get hold of. "Busi- 
 ness as usual" was the cry, and many of those en-
 
 86 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 gaged m selling merchandise to the army did "the 
 usual" war business, but on a larger scale. An 
 "armed peace" had enriched Sir Alfred; a righteous 
 war gave every indication of showering another 
 fortune upon him. His name figured on all the 
 charity lists for large sums. He was energetic, ubi- 
 quitous and indefatigable in industry, generous with 
 his money, and ready with his oratory, and in his 
 determination firm to save Christian Britain from a 
 Godless Prussia. All through September he worked 
 Incessantly. He visited every branch of his works 
 and told the men the Christian reason why they 
 were making missiles. The destruction of Rheims 
 Cathedral made him burn with an indignation almost 
 as great as that he suffered as a young man when 
 he was ready to pull any such edifice down to the 
 ground. From round about Crowington he had got to- 
 gether a score of young men to enlist for service 
 abroad, much to the annoyance of some neighboring 
 landlords and many of the farmers. He even tried to 
 persuade Evelyn to let two grooms go from the 
 stables at Wilmslow, but she flatly refused to do 
 any such thing, and told him to be off and not bother 
 her again until the war was over. Poor Sir Alfred 
 forgot in his enthusiasm that Count Herbert was a 
 German. 
 
 At Horton House and at Crowington Manor sew- 
 ing classes were established. Bandages, socks, shirts, 
 woolen helmets, belts, etc., etc., were made in hun- 
 dreds. Lady Horton-Birkett presided over these gath- 
 erings, and planned the work from week to week. 
 Evelyn and Clarice, with the servants, plied needle and 
 thread as busily as if they were qualifying for jobs in
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 87 
 
 a sweatshop. They gave up all idea of shooting and 
 hunting that season, and only to keep them fit did 
 they indulge in golf twice a week. Ed had written 
 several times from somewhere in France, but Eve- 
 lyn had received no word from Herbert since August 
 fourth. These two women spent most of their days 
 together. Each morning after a glance at the of- 
 ficer's casualty list in the paper they tabooed all 
 reference to the war. 
 
 Robert had gone to the front; he went away to- 
 ward the end of September. The war pacified Ire- 
 land, for the time being, and troops of a Radical 
 Government were spared for bloodshed abroad. 
 About the middle of October, Fred wrote from Ox- 
 ford to his mother telling her he had enlisted. He 
 was in the ranks, but he hoped dad would use his in- 
 fluence and get a commission for him as soon as 
 possible.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IT WOULD be hard to find two men so different 
 as Captain E. J. Horton-Birkett and Colonel Jaw- 
 ton. They were opposites. It was a pity fate threw 
 them together in the same regiment. Jawton was an 
 accomplished soldier of what was called "the old 
 school" a martinet. The men loathed him, and yet 
 they admired his courage and skill. The trouble with 
 Jawton was he was born without the sense of 
 consideration for others. He was a slave-driver who 
 did not spare himself. At mess he was an arrogant, 
 intolerant militarist, ignorant of everything that made 
 life worth living. He knew soldiering and that was 
 about all he knew. Ed and the colonel from the 
 first never really hit it off. Somehow Ed's deliberate 
 methods got on the colonel's nerves. He would 
 curse in his throat at the way Ed spoke, at the way 
 he walked, at the time he took to consider a question. 
 In conversation at mess, Ed would pursue a subject 
 doggedly, turn it inside and out, worry it until it 
 was done for. This habit of his was perhaps the 
 cause of much of Jawton's umbrage. Somehow he 
 got a notion into his bullet-shaped head that Edward 
 took a particular pleasure in showing him up "set- 
 ting him right" before the subalterns. The colonel 
 was a bit of a "spreader" and often talked at random, 
 and many of his statements had to be corrected. 
 
 What really happened between Jawton and Ed 
 after their regiment was cut up in that last week of 
 
 88
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 89 
 
 October may never be known. Some say Jawton for 
 the first time in action got confused. Certainly the 
 smoke, the dust, the blood and the noise were enough 
 to shake the nerves of a cast-iron effigy. Jawtortf 
 swore his orders were quite clear and that they were 
 not carried out. When the regiment broke it was in 
 among the Germans before the men realized it was 
 to be all bayonet work. All was inextricably con- 
 fused, and the guns of the British artillery were 
 wiping out scores of Ed's Tommies. Where the 
 Germans sprang from nobody knew. Sergeant- 
 Major Tudor said they popped up "outer 'ell an' all 
 under our bloody eye-brow," and all he saw in the 
 melee was Captain Horton-Birkett rushing forward 
 to the place where Major Pomeroy-Fanton fell, to 
 pick him up. Just then Tudor was bayoneted in the 
 shoulder and shot in the leg. He fainted. Lieuten- 
 ant Ercall who was crawling back, his foot badly 
 shattered, saw Ed return and pick up Tudor. Ercall 
 noticed Ed fought with his sword in his left hand. 
 But what happened between Jawton and Ed nobody 
 knew. Wild rumors flew about for some days, and 
 there was a feeling among the men that Captain 
 Horton-Birkett was in disgrace, down at the base. 
 Then some one came up the line and said Ed was 
 badly wounded his right hand smashed and his back 
 and thigh pierced with bullets. He was in hospital. 
 It was thought he would lose his arm. 
 
 "'E went abaht it as if 'e was strolling acrost 
 'Ampstead 'Eath, so 'e did," Tudor told the men in 
 the hospital. "First the major 'e took carried 'im 
 like a blessed baby back a good bit. Then back 
 'e comes after me. 'E was done up proper, but I
 
 90 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 'tmg on to 'im and 'opped it back. 'E's a bloody 
 cucumber, 'e is." 
 
 When Ed was well enough to leave the base hos- 
 pital he was transferred to one at the port. He 
 had lost the thumb and first finger of his right 
 hand, and some bits of his back and thigh. But he 
 never said a word to any one about his interview with 
 Jawton. News, however, from the battle-field travels 
 faster than general's despatches, and a week or two 
 after "something went wrong" with Ed's regiment, 
 it was whispered about the clubs in London that 
 Horton-Birkett was in disgrace. 
 
 Sir Alfred overheard a conversation at his club 
 and learned that his son was in trouble. What he 
 heard made him feel so sick he had to leave the, 
 table where he was dining and get out into the air. ( 
 The gossips did not know he was the father of the 
 man whose conduct they were discussing. He wanted* 
 to know more about it, but he could not muster suf- 
 ficient courage to go back and ask the men who sat at 
 the next table for the whole story. He, however, 
 went over the next day to the hospital in France. 
 Ed was mending, but his father could not drag a 
 word from him about the cause of his disgrace. All 
 he learned from Ed was that in the melee he came 
 face to face with Herbert. 
 
 "Don't ask any more, please, dad," he said. "The 
 doctor says I'll be here for about three weeks. Tell 
 Clarice not to worry about me. I shall be all right 
 soon." 
 
 When Sir Alfred got back to London he found his 
 wife had received a letter from Fred who had heard 
 bad news of Ed, and wanted to know what it was
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 91 
 
 all about. The rumor spread quickly and soon 
 found its way down to Lady Clungford. She kept 
 it away from Clarice as long as possible. But rumor 
 like water will find a hole somewhere. A few days 
 later she and her mother were at breakfast when 
 Clarice dropped a letter she was reading and burst 
 into tears. The letter was from her friend, Lady 
 Cottam, in London. It was short : 
 
 "Belslow Square. 
 
 "Clarice, my love, I 'don't believe a word of it: 
 Ed is not the man to funk anything. 
 
 "This abominable story about Jawton's orders being 
 disobeyed is scouted by all the men who know Ed. 
 My husband says it is absurd on the face of it. If 
 Ed was told to advance at five and funked it why 
 should he advance at five-thirty when there was livid 
 hell raging, by all accounts? Buck up, dearie, and 
 laugh at it. "Your old pal, 
 
 "Nance. 
 
 "P. S. Hubby says Jawton had to make some 
 excuse for the smash-up of the regiment. It's always 
 the way the sins of the big duffers, etc." 
 
 Clarice was all for starting off, there and then, for 
 France. She knew he was wounded, but he had tele- 
 graphed "nothing serious," and Sir Alfred had writ- 
 ten saying Ed would be home in a week or two. 
 Since she saw his name in a casualty list she could 
 not rest; sewing, reading, writing in her diary were 
 tried furtively. She could not fix her mind on any 
 occupation for long. She would set out to walk 
 over to Wilmslow and turn back suddenly, fearing 
 a telegram might come in her absence. Evelyn went 
 over to Clungford every day to see her. Lady Hor- 
 ton-Birkett deserted the sewing circle in London and
 
 92 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 went down to Crowington to be near Clarice. The 
 two mothers, Ed's and Clarice's, schemed and planned 
 how they should keep her quiet and get her interested 
 in some work, but without avail. It was hard enough 
 for them before Clarice heard from Lady Cottam; it 
 was a sad business after to see her wandering about 
 the grounds, keeping out of their way, dreading to 
 speak to any one. Even Evelyn failed to comfort her. 
 
 "I do wish Ed were here," Lady Gungford sighed. 
 "She will be down with a serious illness if this goes 
 on much longer." 
 
 "If we only knew why Ed is in disgrace," Evelyn 
 gasped. "It is these horrible rumors which are so 
 hard to bear. Everybody seems to hear them, no- 
 body seems to believe them, and there's no getting 
 to the bottom of them. Dad says Ed is as silent as 
 a sphinx about it. You may be sure he won't say 
 much it's Ed's dogged way. If there was only 
 some one with grit enough to squeeze the truth out of 
 Jawton's throat I'd be happy, but there's no one. 
 Superior officer, for the army's sake, discipline, you 
 know and all that is dead against us." 
 
 "Ed's a scapegoat," Lady Clungford said. "That's 
 my opinion, Cricket." 
 
 "But surely they will give him a chance to clear 
 himself," his mother put in anxiously. 
 
 "They won't," Lady Clungford snapped. "Don't 
 you believe it, Evie. When you know as much about 
 the army as I do, you'll know the little 'uns must 
 bear the sins of the big 'uns. Did they give Tommy 
 Biggs a chance to clear himself? Suppose you kick 
 up a row about it as his people did? What's the 
 good? Where's Tommy now? Eating his heart out
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 93 
 
 in the West Indies. Justice must not clash with dis- 
 cipline." 
 
 Day after day these women met and discussed the 
 matter without making headway. The rumor was 
 like an epidemic, it persisted in appearing in the most 
 unexpected quarters, without revealing how conta- 
 gion was carried from place to place. The more 
 these women discussed it, the worse it grew, the 
 more indignant they became, and the greater their 
 impotence to probe the matter. They were like 
 sleepers struggling to escape out of a terrible night- 
 mare. 
 
 It was late in November when Ed reached Crow- 
 ington. His train arrived at Minsterley too late for 
 the last connection up the branch line. Sir Alfred 
 had telegraphed to his wife to motor in and fetch 
 him home. She and Clarice went to meet him. It 
 was raining ; a chilly dreary night. 
 
 The train moved slowly along the platform: the 
 women looked eagerly into the first-class carriages 
 for a glimpse of the wounded man. The station, 
 always badly lighted, was heavy with damp murk 
 and clouds of smoke and steam. A Tommy, with 
 his head bandaged, carrying his sack, stepped down 
 to the platform and fell into the arms of an old 
 woman. 
 
 "Eh, lad, tha's 'ome, thank God," she cried over 
 him. "Albert 'Enry! Albert 'Enry! God's mercy!" 
 
 "Get 'old o' this, mother, an' 'ush th' whimperin', " 
 he said, giving her the sack. "Captain's on th' train. 
 I must give a 'and." 
 
 He opened the door of a first-class carriage and
 
 94 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 sprang into the compartment. The lamp was shaded 
 and the blinds were drawn. He called a porter. 
 
 "Give us a 'and matey, in 'ere." 
 
 Clarice and Lady Horton-Birkett had passed down 
 the platform, their anxiety increasing with every step 
 they took, until they reached the engine. With hasty 
 steps they returned and came to the compartment 
 into which the porter had jumped at the request of 
 the wounded Tommy. The women stood holding 
 each other's hands, mute; dread rooted them to the 
 spot. Their eyes fastened on the open door saw only 
 the backs of the porter and the Tommy bending 
 over the seat inside. 
 
 " 'E's orl right when 'e's on 'is pins. Gently," they 
 heard the Tommy say. 
 
 Slowly Ed rose, supported by the men, and stood 
 up under the lamp. They helped him down to the 
 platform. His mother and Clarice went to him. 
 
 "Mater! Clarice, old girl," he said, holding them 
 off with his left hand. "Wait a bit. Keep off my 
 shoulder and thighs." He turned to the Tommy. 
 "How about getting down to the street?" 
 
 "Take yer down in the luggage lift, sir," the porter 
 said. 
 
 "Good. Look after my bags." 
 
 The Tommy went to the guard's van and got Ed's 
 luggage together. His mother and Clarice went with 
 him to the dirty, greasy, smelly lift, and descended 
 slowly to the street level. It was no simple task 
 getting him into the motor. 
 
 "Tell Barnes to drive quietly," he said, when he 
 was laid out on the back seat. "I'm better standing. 
 Can't sit or bend very well bandages, you know."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 95 
 
 "Ed, dear, ought you to have taken such a jour- 
 ney so soon?" his mother asked. 
 
 "Anything's better than that hospital. Besides, I 
 wanted to get back anywhere away from London. 
 I'll be all right in a week or two. Qarice, old girl, 
 I'm a bit of a crock." 
 
 She sat on a front seat with her knees pressed 
 into the edge of the cushion on which he reclined. 
 His left side and arm rested in her lap, and she 
 clasped his free hand. She could not speak. Once 
 or twice on the platform she said, "Ed, old ," 
 but she nearly choked. She gulped down every 
 rising sob, and whenever he raised his eyes to 
 hers she pressed his hand against her breasts. His 
 mother sat quite still, and in the darkness let the 
 tears she had stifled flow in silence. She wondered 
 what was the name of the wounded Tommy, where 
 he lived; the poor, white, thin lad who was so gentle 
 with Ed and who stood, as the motor moved away, 
 erect as on parade and saluted. She would find out. 
 What a way to come home! She thought of thou- 
 sands the millions of mothers of men who came 
 back battered, bruised and broken. And those whose 
 boys never came back. She thought of all the aching 
 hearts, of all the tears. Into the panorama passing 
 through her mind came the scene at the Coronation 
 review when she saw Ed for the first time in a 
 captain's uniform. She remembered her thoughts 
 and her gladness at seeing a clean-limbed handsome 
 man, full of health and vigor. How proud she 
 was to be the mother of fine bred men. And now, 
 that sprawling, wounded fellow, helped by a porter
 
 96 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 and a wounded Tommy, was what the army gave 
 her back in return for her labor and care. 
 
 As the car went slowly through the little town of 
 Benningdale the few oil lamps in the streets threw 
 dim shafts of light across his face, and she won- 
 dered at the strange look in his eyes. She could not 
 think of anything else like it but the old cunning 
 look she once saw in a wrinkled senile child. It 
 haunted her, and she was glad when the car turned 
 /'out of the village into the darkness of the country 
 road. Had they tortured his soul? That was a look 
 which expressed a terrible loathing, she was sure. 
 Such a look as a tortured creature might wear be- 
 tween visits to the rack. Was that the look left by 
 modern war on sensitive souls? She was sure only 
 a brutal injury to the soul could account for such a 
 light in his eyes. 
 
 When they had got him into the house, and she 
 had given orders for her sitting-room on the ground 
 floor to be made into a bedroom for him, she and 
 Clarice were relieved for they could set to work in 
 earnest to minister to his wants. 
 
 "What'll you do, mater? Sure it won't be depriv- 
 ing you?" he asked, as he lay on her great couch. 
 
 "It will be your room," she said. "Now I'll run 
 off and see to some food." 
 
 Clarice took his boots off and found his slippers. 
 They were alone. 
 
 "Rotten nuisance, old girl, isn't it?" 
 
 "Rather. We'll soon have you fit, though." 
 
 "There's nothing much wrong, you know. Nothing 
 very serious, I mean. .Right shoulder, this hand and 
 my thigh. All pretty clean wounds. Lost half my v
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 97 
 
 hand, but I can wear a glove and keep the thing out 
 of sight. Rotten luck that." 
 
 "Why didn't some one come down with you, Ed?" 
 
 "Didn't want any one. Dad wished to come, but I 
 wouldn't let him." 
 
 Something like a sneer flickered about his lips, and 
 his brows contracted, the muscles twitching tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 "I haven't been able to talk to any one, old girl," 
 he muttered. "Only with the nurse. She was a 
 wonder. Set me thinking above a bit. You know 
 I'm not much at deep stuff. But she told me things 
 that made me feel I ought to shut up for years not 
 speak at all only think, just think." 
 
 She looked in astonishment at him. It was not 
 like Ed to talk in that strain. She changed the 
 subject, it made her feel uncomfortable. 
 
 "Who was the jolly little Tommy?" she asked. 
 
 "Lives in Minsterley. Looked after me all the 
 way down. Knows me. Nephew of Tonks down in 
 the village. Lost two brothers. Good little chap." 
 
 She unbuttoned his tunic and fixed his pillows. 
 Suddenly she shook from head to foot and her knees 
 gave way. Before he realized what had happened 
 her head was on his breast and her body throbbing 
 in a paroxysm of grief. Her tears ran in streams 
 down his breast. He felt them trickling under his 
 arms and down his side. He soothed her soothed 
 her, in his big kindly way. Told her to buck up, 
 and keep a stiff upper lip. He was all right, and 
 she need not be ashamed of him. Everything would 
 come all right, and he would hole out on the eigh- 
 teenth green and put in his card. Clarice soon had
 
 98 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 herself in hand again, and when his mother returned 
 to tell him the bed would soon be ready, she and Ed 
 were chatting about Cricket and Wilmslow. 
 
 Doctor Raymond came out each day from Minster- 
 ley; he installed Lady Horton-Birkett and Clarice 
 nurses to tend and dress Ed's wounds. Christmas 
 came and passed, and Harold often came in to have 
 a pipe with the patient who was up and about long 
 before his hand healed. Evelyn sat and read to him 
 by the hour, though Ed seldom heard all she said. 
 Before he left his bed he would lie and look at her 
 with curious eyes full of affection. They had not 
 told him, and he wondered should he tell her of that 
 frightful moment when Herbert looked into his face 
 and cried out, "Cricket, for God's sake, Ed." He 
 dared not let it dwell in his thoughts, it was too 
 terrible, too horrible, for consideration. The memory 
 of it came to him like a flash, and swiftly he had to 
 exercise a great mental convulsion to shut it off, like 
 dropping a shutter over a light. Some day he would 
 tell her tell her of the anguish, the wild love, the 
 beseeching cry that was wrung from Herbert in that 
 crashing moment when Ed's sword went through a 
 German who fell at the feet of his old friend. 
 
 The day they read of the honor which came to 
 Ed was one of torture to him. Half a column in 
 the paper described how Ed went forward to Major 
 Pomeroy-Fanton and carried him out of danger, 
 and how Ed went back for Sergeant-Major Tudor 
 and helped him to a place of safety. Harold ran 
 up the Union Jack on the tower of the church. The 
 school had a holiday that afternoon. The villagers 
 came down at night with lanterns and cheered the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 99 
 
 hero. Clarice drove her mother over to Crowington 
 to kiss the Victoria Cross man. Evelyn stayed to 
 dinner. More of the family gathered at the table 
 than had been there for a long time. Sir Alfred 
 rushed up from town and found dozens of telegrams 
 of congratulation from all parts of the country. 
 Why had Ed not told them? How like him to say 
 nothing. It was a triumph. What about the lying 
 rumors of his being in disgrace now? It was a 
 glorious vindication. 
 
 Everybody seemed to appreciate the honor but 
 Xhe hero. He didn't want to talk about the affair. 
 At lunch he was plied with questions, then in about 
 one hundred words he told them all he remembered 
 of the fight. "Only fellows who write about it 
 and haven't been in it can go into details," he said. 
 What concerned Ed chiefly was how the thing had 
 been done. The Victoria Cross! Fanton and Tudor 
 would be grateful and talk a lot about it. But Jaw- 
 ton! What had happened to make Jawton a party 
 to the business? The more Ed thought of it, the 
 deeper his perplexity. He had seen Fanton and 
 Tudor just before he left France. The major was 
 very bad a horrible wound in the stomach. Tudor 
 was lame, but otherwise progressing well. Neither 
 said anything to Ed about Jawton. It was a mystery. 
 
 In some strange way the Victoria Cross brought to 
 the Crowington family some relief from the gloom 
 which had settled on the house since Ed was 
 wounded. The little ornament had not been formally 
 presented to him; the coveted bit of metal had not 
 yet been struck. But the news that he was to receive 
 it dispelled the feeling of horror which had afflicted
 
 100 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 them, and thoughts of the woe of war seemed to 
 give place to those of the glory of battle. This extra- 
 ordinary change was perhaps attributable as much 
 to the large way in which Sir Alfred spoke at dinner 
 of the mission of the Allies as to the decoration Ed 
 was to receive. Evelyn, however, did not rejoice. 
 Of course, it would not be natural in her case, Sir 
 Alfred thought, though it might be national. Clarice 
 and her mother remembered they were daughter 
 and widow of a soldier, and Lady Horton-Birkett 
 knew she was mother of three. Evelyn left them 
 early, glad to get out of earshot of her father's tags 
 and perorations. 
 
 When the ladies retired for the night, Sir Alfred 
 and Ed s"at up for a while over another whisky and 
 a pipe. Voluble father and reticent son sat buried in 
 large chairs staring at the fizzing, squealing logs. 
 They smoked in silence for some time. 
 
 "I wish you would come up to town for a night, 
 Ed," Sir Alfred said. "I should like to give a quiet 
 dinner " 
 
 Ed cut him off: "No not likely." 
 
 Sir Alfred was half prepared for the answer. 
 
 "Well, will you let my Humberton people have a 
 look at you?" 
 
 "No, indeed. You'll not drag me through the 
 streets of your constituency. I hate that kind of 
 thing." 
 
 His father winced. He had made a mistake. 
 
 "You're safe enough there, aren't you, without 
 doing that kind of thing?" Ed said moodily. 
 
 It was said in just the way that Jawton disliked. 
 Ed did not mean to be unkind, indeed he was not
 
 A STRONG MAN'S UOUSE 101 
 
 conscious of saying anything cutting. It was just 
 his way of saying simply, bluntly, what came to his 
 mind. His father looked hurt. Ed, however, did 
 not turn his eyes that way. He sat and watched the 
 logs twisting, rising and falling, in the blazing grate. 
 
 "Anyway, I'm not going to take it," he said, after 
 a long pause. 
 
 "Eh? Take what?" yawned his father. 
 
 "The cross." 
 
 Sir Alfred sat up and swung round quickly. 
 
 "You're not going to take the cross ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 His father gasped and struggled to speak. The 
 logs tumbled down to the hearth, and save for a 
 flickering end or two of wood, only a charred, white, 
 trellised marked heap of shanks, remained of the 
 tough timbers. 
 
 "It's a left-handed apology," Ed said, "and I'm 
 not going to take it." 
 ' "What d'you say?" 
 
 "It's not what I want." 
 
 "What do you want, then?" 
 
 "Jawton to set me right. That's all, dad." 
 
 "But doesn't the Victoria Cross do that?" 
 
 "No, it doesn't." 
 
 "Then will you have the goodness to tell me what 
 is the trouble between you and Colonel Jawton? I 
 might as well tell you that I wrote to him 
 
 "Wrote to him ! I wish you'd mind your own busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "I couldn't stand it. All those rumors about your 
 funking it. They nearly drove me mad." 
 
 "Did Jawton reply?"
 
 102 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "No, he didn't. An unmannerly man, I should 
 say." 
 
 Ed smiled and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. 
 
 "I should like to know what happened." 
 
 Ed rose and strode up and down the room several 
 times. He stopped at the back of his father's chair 
 and laid his left hand on his father's head. The 
 action startled Sir Alfred. It was the first expres- 
 sion of an affectionate touch he had received from 
 Ed for a good many years. 
 
 "Will you keep quiet? Not tell a soul?" 
 
 "Ed" 
 
 "Will you?" 
 
 "On my honor." 
 
 Ed threw a couple of logs on the embers and re- 
 charged his pipe. 
 
 "It isn't much to talk about, but it finished me. 
 Orders came down early one morning there was 
 going to be a row, and that our lot should get ready 
 to go forward. Then the order was countermanded 
 because mist gathered heavily. Things got so hot 
 as the afternoon wore on that we all looked for a 
 new order to move. No order came. Nothing. At 
 five our shells were spilling in among us, and German 
 machine-guns were spitting death in showers. But 
 no order. Then our wings started, and our men 
 broke hell for leather. Before we got on fifty or 
 sixty yards, I should think the Germans came up 
 right under us. It was thick horrible. Dust, blood, 
 smoke, yells and the roar and splutter of the guns. 
 It was a mix-up a shocking melee. Well, when it 
 was over, and we got back, out of a thousand we had 
 two hundred and nine. Seventy-five per cent, of the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 103 
 
 officers killed and wounded. Jawton, without a 
 scratch, went for those of us who could stand up, but 
 all his fury broke on me. Every officer agreed no 
 order came down. Jawton swore he sent it. He 
 didn't, and he knew he didn't. Hence his rage." 
 
 Sir Alfred sat and wiped the beads of sweat from 
 his head and neck. 
 
 "But why were you the only one to " he gasped. 
 
 "Jawton called me aside and said, 'It's you, you 
 white-livered cur, that's at the bottom of this. You 
 bloody well funked it.' " 
 
 "Good gracious ! Did he know you were wounded ?" 
 
 "What if he did? That had nothing to do with it" 
 
 "I'll have that fellow cashiered" 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the kind." 
 
 "But, Ed " 
 
 "Remember ! Not a word to any one." 
 
 "Did he know you had carried Major Fanton and 
 Sergeant-Major ?" 
 
 "No. And that didn't matter, dad. Well, now. 
 you know the kind of thing many of us have to take. 
 But I'll take no more. I'm done." 
 
 Ed sat down and pulled quietly at his pipe. The 
 fresh logs sparkled with flames which sent flickering 
 shadows across the ceiling and about the walls. 
 There they sat in silence for many minutes. Sir 
 Alfred was wide awake and busy with a thousand 
 thoughts. Some of them hurt badly. Robert was 
 out there "somewhere in France," and Fred was 
 eager to go. The shell and bullet business was never 
 so good. The dividend for the past year had risen 
 to twenty-eight per cent. 
 
 "Look here, dad. Just see some one up in town
 
 104 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 and let it be known that the cross affair should be 
 quietly dropped 
 
 "But, Ed that is" 
 
 "Never mind. You do it. I shan't take it. I 
 don't want it. Say anything you like. You know 
 the man to go to about it. Will you, now?" 
 
 "Certainly if you've made up your mind." 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "It's a great pity." 
 
 "I'm sorry to disappoint you." 
 
 Sir Alfred knew it was no use arguing the matter 
 with Ed. He could see he meant it. 
 
 "I'll take my medicine, but I'll be no party to the 
 kind of crass stupidity incompetency which sends 
 thousands to their death without a chance. War is 
 war, I know. But there's been far too much blun- 
 dering so far to go without protest" 
 
 "Blundering, Ed?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I've heard the most extraordinary rumors in the 
 clubs, but I couldn't believe them." 
 
 "The rumors may be false, but the blundering I 
 refer to will, if things are not soon changed, lead us 
 to disaster. Besides it's all very well in its way to 
 protect the reputations of the men at the top, but 
 more important still is the question of sparing the 
 lives of the men who have to do the biggest part of 
 the fighting. There is such a thing as unnecessary 
 slaughter taking place once too often." 
 
 It was two o'clock when they rose to go to bed. 
 When they reached the hall they saw Lady Horton- 
 Blrkett coming down the stairs. She stopped on 
 seeing them.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 105 
 
 "How you frightened me," she exclaimed. "I went 
 to your rooms twice. Do come, Alfred. You ought 
 not to keep Ed up so late. I've had a horrible 
 dream." 
 
 "All right, mater, it's my fault. Good night, dad," 
 he said. 
 
 He put his left arm round his mother and took her 
 to her bedroom.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 4t 
 
 WHEN Ellen's telegram reached Ben he saw 
 that it must have been delivered at his lodg- 
 ings early in the afternoon. He had been away to 
 report a meeting. What should he do? It was after 
 six, and her train was due in London about five. The 
 maid at his lodgings said no lady had called for him. 
 When he reached the station Ellen was sitting near 
 the bookstall reading a copy of Shaw's Common 
 Sense About the War. 
 
 "I thought it better to wait," she said. "We might 
 have crossed. Well, here I am. What are you going 
 to do with me?" 
 
 They went to Gatti's for dinner. 
 
 "Where are you going? I mean, do you go to 
 Horton House or Crowington?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know, I'll see. There's no hurry for a day 
 or two." 
 
 She was satisfied with him. How well he looked. 
 So refined and sure of himself. His ease and glad- 
 ness sent a warm glow coursing through her breast. 
 
 "If I go to Crowington, will you get away for a 
 few days and come down ?" 
 
 "Yes, I've had no holiday for over a year. I 
 could stay with my people or get a room some- 
 where." 
 
 His eyes danced with pleasure. 
 
 "How did you get away from Dresden?" he asked. 
 
 106
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 107 
 
 "I didn't want to get away. There was no diffi- 
 culty. Have you heard of the Von Hoists?" 
 
 "The German count who took Wilmslow?" 
 
 "Yes. He and Evelyn were engaged. I've been 
 staying most of the time with his mother an English 
 woman, a Martindale. She wanted to know about 
 Evelyn. Every letter she receives from her son is 
 full of Cricket Cricket Cricket, my sister's pet 
 name. He's fighting been wounded twice. I saw 
 him the last time he was convalescing at his mother's 
 house. About a fortnight ago. He saw Ed in a 
 battle about the end of October." 
 
 "Saw your brother in battle?" 
 
 "Face to face. That is the second time I've heard 
 of friends meeting. The other is quite interesting. 
 The son of Parvenstadt, the Dresden doctor, went in 
 June to Chateau d'Oex with his aunt's family Bel- 
 gians. Antwerp people. At Chateau d'Oex they 
 met a party of Americans. Well, young Parven- 
 stadt, Ulric, and his cousin, Ernest, from Antwerp, 
 fell in love with the same girl one of the Ameri- 
 cans. They played tennis, they danced, they climbed 
 together. One night in July these two young men 
 suddenly disappeared, leaving their- parents to make 
 apologies to their friends. After war broke out their 
 families got home as best they could, and the Ameri- 
 cans went into Italy. In one of the battles before 
 Antwerp, Ulric and Ernest met, both severely 
 wounded. They were shipped off to Cologne. Ernest 
 was a prisoner, and after a while he died. Ulric 
 went home when he was well enough, and one day 
 in Dresden met the father of the American girl he 
 fell in love with at Chateau d'Oex. Romantic, eh?"
 
 108 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Terrible. And all to happen in a few months." 
 
 When they had finished dinner she asked him to 
 take her to his rooms and see if she could get lodg- 
 ings in the house. There were rooms to be had on 
 the floor below. A small bedroom and a good-sized 
 sitting-room at the back. She sent to the station 
 for her box and bags. 
 
 "Do they know you are here ?" he asked. 
 
 "I'll write to-night." 
 
 Without her hat and coat, at ease on a sofa, before 
 the fire, what a wisp of a creature she looked ; with her 
 little hands, so plump, and her dainty feet, which 
 seemed small for her short delicate body. She looked 
 at him with eyes full of amusement, full of a kindly 
 satire. She knew few women had ever been so 
 near and free with him. She knew he was per- 
 plexed rather uneasy but as loyal, as firm as ever. 
 
 "You're still a worker, eh, Ben?" she inquired. 
 
 He started and glanced quickly at her: "Yes." 
 
 "Still in love with your work?" she asked. 
 
 "More than ever " he muttered. 
 
 She hoped he would say Ellen. He was always 
 so deferential. In his letters it was "my good 
 friend." 
 
 "You make a decent living?" 
 
 "Oh, yes quite always enough. You see I have 
 no ties. My father and sisters do very well, you 
 know." 
 
 "Have you many friends?" 
 
 "Numbers all over the country. I speak a lot." 
 
 "I must hear you speak," she said, shaking up a 
 pillow and fixing her head on it. "I want to see you 
 on the platform. Women must admire you, Ben."
 
 
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 109 
 
 "Women?" He had not thought of them. He 
 laughed and shook his head. 
 
 "Come and sit here and tell your old, old friend 
 all about it." 
 
 She made room on the sofa for him, a niche near 
 her waist. 
 
 "Come." 
 
 She extended her hand, and her soul thrilled at 
 his physical shyness and spirited ecstasy. He rose 
 timidly, his face full of wonderment. Happiness 
 shown in his eyes. Her little hand, so firm and warm, 
 lay in his. He sat down as if he were afraid his great 
 form would crush her. 
 
 "That's right. Don't be afraid, you'll not crush 
 me. I'm not brittle, Ben." 
 
 He dare not look at her eyes. He fixed his on 
 her supple fingers, and played tenderly with them. 
 
 "Are you really glad to see me ?" 
 
 "I never thought of such gladness " he turned 
 
 his head and met her eyes full upon him. And over 
 her he bowed low, drawn down by the appealing light 
 on her face. She raised her arm and gently drew 
 him to her for the kiss she had hungered for so long. 
 
 "I've waited so patiently," she whispered. "Do 
 you understand? I couldn't let another day pass. 
 I have been ready for you any time since I went 
 away. And you were ready for me. But you 
 would not speak. I know. I've known all along, 
 Ben." 
 
 No, she would have nothing to do with banns and 
 church ceremony. A license would satisfy her if 
 he desired that much. But the old leaven was in 
 him. She must be really legally his wife.
 
 110 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 He arranged for a week's leave to begin the day 
 of his marriage. While he finished some literary 
 work and cleaned up arrears at the office, Ellen 
 went down to Crowington to see her people. 
 
 Ed went to the station to meet her. His hand 
 was not well enough for driving though he knew the 
 chestnut would have taken him with one hand. Eve- 
 lyn and Clarice had gone into Minsterley to do some 
 shopping, and Ellen's wire reached Crowington after 
 they left. As the motor turned up the village street 
 Ben's father came out of his house. He tipped his 
 hat, and Ellen stopped the car. 
 
 "How are you, Mr. Tonks?" she cried, and shot 
 her hand out of the window. 
 
 Tonks took it, rather abashed at Ellen's familiarity, 
 and mumbled: "Nicely, thanks, miss." 
 
 "Good sort, Tonks," Ed said, as they resumed 
 their journey. 
 
 "Yes, very. I'm going to marry his son on Tues- 
 day," she murmured. 
 
 "The deuce you are." 
 
 "Fact." She gave an emphatic nod and smiled. 
 
 "What next, I wonder. Bit of a hurry, isn't it?" 
 
 "We've been in love for years and years ever 
 since he played my accom " 
 
 "That night? You don't say. And all the time 
 you've been in Germany?" 
 
 "All. But no love-letters, Ed not one." 
 
 "He's devilish clever, isn't he? Writer, too, they 
 say. Awful Socialist or something, eh?" 
 
 "Mild not nearly enough to please me." 
 
 "What? Get on." 
 
 "I'm a thoroughgoing philosophical anarchist."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 111 
 
 "Lord, what's that, Ellen?" 
 
 "Something awful down with church and state 
 and all the rest of it." 
 
 Ed loved the merry elfish look in her eyes. They 
 were going to be great pals. 
 
 "The mater!" He laughed heartily for the first 
 time since July. "She'll curl up proper when she 
 hears." 
 
 "Dad's away, isn't he? I went to Horton House 
 and to the Commons." 
 
 "Up north somewhere opening a new plant, I 
 think." Ed frowned. 
 
 "Coining money, eh?" 
 
 "Don't Ellen. It's too awful shocking." 
 
 "How's dad's God getting on?" 
 
 "He's taken him into partnership. But let's drop 
 that, little 'un. It isn't nice a bit." 
 
 She was glad to find out what her brother thought 
 about it all. 
 
 "I wish I could earn my own living like you, 
 Ellen. But that's not possible now. Here we are." 
 
 The car passed up the drive. Lady Horton-Birkett 
 was waiting on the steps. After the usual saluta- 
 tions Ed drew Ellen away to the drawing-room 
 piano. 
 
 "Come, little 'un, and play." 
 
 They gathered near the instrument and watched 
 her attack the keyboard. The years in Dresden had 
 made a musician of Ellen. She was the only mem- 
 ber of her family who had talent. Mother and son 
 sat in amazement while Ellen played a Schubert im- 
 promptu. Then she passed to the Chopin Fantasia 
 and some short pieces of Brahms.
 
 112 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Did you compose all these pieces?" her mother 
 asked. 
 
 "No, mater Brahms, Chopin and Schubert. But 
 I'll play some of mine. This is called Clouds." 
 
 It was the piece she wrote for Heinrich Ulm. The 
 opening was in broad chords denoting sunrise on a 
 clear morning. Little clouds gather and the wind 
 rises. The sun is obscured. Rain begins to fall. 
 The leaves rustle and the trees creak. Somber clouds 
 gather and are blown fiercely across the sky. Far 
 away the sun breaks through the clouds. Then all 
 is dark and the rain falls in torrents. A terrible 
 gale rages and slowly dies away. The wind changes 
 and the sky clears. The sun struggles through 
 again, the last cloud passes away, and the heavens 
 become fine and calm. As a picture piece it was 
 justly popular. 
 
 "What a very strange composition," her mother 
 said. 
 
 "I knew you would prefer the giants, mater/' 
 she laughed, as she took her head and kissed her. 
 "Now I'll play some of your old favorites." 
 
 Then for half an hour she played old waltzes, 
 old ballads, bits from The Mikado, The Geisha, and 
 so on. She made Ed whistle and beat time with his 
 finger. Her mother was all smiles. She knew the tunes. 
 
 In her mother's room Ellen told the story of her 
 engagement to Ben Tonks. Lady Horton-Birkett 
 did not remember him. She had quite forgotten the 
 night of the concert, Ellen's debut. Minsterley Show 
 was another matter; she had worried fearfully about 
 the lost child. 
 
 "What is he like?"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 113 
 
 "Like? I don't know don't know how to de- 
 scribe him," she said slowly, surveying him in her 
 mind's eye. "He's a biggish man, but easy, gentle 
 and rather reserved. He's a thinker. The worst that 
 can be said of him is that he has no vices none I 
 know of. He is very human, but as moderate as an 
 animal out of captivity. He looks like an athlete." 
 
 "Is he well-off?" 
 
 Ellen smiled and shrugged her shoulders: "He 
 can keep himself decently." 
 
 "Can he keep you, too, decently ?" 
 
 "We can keep ourselves." 
 
 "But you will be very well-off, Ellen." 
 
 "You mean " 
 
 "Your father is very rich." 
 
 "We shall not need father's riches. I've kept my- 
 self for over two years now 
 
 "But there will be your share of my aunt's prop- 
 erty," her mother said. "It's not a great deal, Ellen 
 about two thousand a year it brings in." 
 
 "That is different " 
 
 "How different?" 
 
 "Well, I shan't take my father's money." 
 
 Lady Horton-Birkett could not follow the drift of 
 Ellen's thought. Money was money to her mother, 
 no matter where it came from. 
 
 "You're a strange girl." 
 
 She did not hear that. Her mind was fixed on 
 something Ed had said to her in the car. "I wish 
 I could earn my own living like you," he said, and 
 she understood what prompted him to say it. 
 
 "Your aunt's property will go to me and Evelyn, 
 won't it?" Ellen asked.
 
 114 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Yes, and I've thought of making it over to you 
 now. I haven't spoken to dad about it, but " 
 
 "Could you make it over to us now if you 
 wished ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 "I wish you would." 
 
 "I'll see what your father says." 
 
 Her mother seemed to be resigned to anything. 
 Ellen pondered the great change that had taken 
 place in her. She expected a lecture on social dis- 
 tinction, difference of birth and position, but her 
 mother made no objection, nor did she offer con- 
 gratulation. She listened to Ellen's description of 
 Ben's career with an impersonal interest. Inquisi- 
 tive she might have felt, but she gave no indica- 
 tion of desiring particulars and details of courtship. 
 She was not her old self. Ellen thought there was 
 a listlessness about her sometimes that was sad to 
 watch. Her energetic, confident mother was changed, 
 and Ellen would have been better pleased if there 
 had been an outburst of displeasure at her marrying 
 Ben Tonks. 
 
 "Evelyn's at Wilmslow," she said dreamily. "You'll 
 see. Perhaps I should warn you. Herbert set- 
 tled the place on her." 
 
 "I know. He told me." 
 
 "Herbert did?" 
 
 "I saw him a few weeks ago at his mother's place." 
 
 "Oh, then you've seen Adorable." 
 
 "She sent love to you and Cricket." 
 
 Her mother sighed wearily. Her eyes grew dim. 
 Her hands lay lifeless in her lap. 
 
 "Cricket's going to have a child," she murmured.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 115 
 
 Ellen's face lost all its elfish look, and a glow 
 spread over it like a beautiful veil. A quiver of 
 delight shot through her. An impatience to see 
 Evelyn seized her, she wanted to be near her, to tell 
 her about Herbert and Adorable, to comfort her 
 and share her joy as she had shared her sorrow. 
 
 Ed was practising writing with his left hand, an 
 exercise which occupied him for several hours every 
 day, when Ellen found him in the library. 
 
 "Will Clarice and Cricket come here or go to 
 Halters on the other line?" she asked. 
 
 "They motored in from Wilmslow. They'll go 
 straight home. I'm going to Clungford to dine to- 
 night." 
 
 "Get the car out and let's be off," she urged. "You 
 can drop me at Wilmslow." 
 
 From all physical appearances Ellen and Evelyn 
 might not have sprung from the same race let alone 
 from the same parents. They were totally different 
 women. Evelyn was like Ed; tall, strongly built, 
 robustly healthy, handsome figure and strong face. 
 Little Ellen was a by-product, so Ed had often said. 
 "Little 'un" she was always called before she went 
 away to Germany. It was a strange meeting : Ellen 
 lost in the arms of her big young sister, and Evelyn's 
 great tears soaking through her hair. Ellen all smiles 
 and radiantly happy to be with Cricket, Herbert's 
 love, heavy with child. Ed couldn't make it out. He 
 was puzzled. 
 
 "I left Clarice at at Clungford, Ed. Be off. 
 I I want Ellen all to myself," Evelyn smreled, as 
 she turned to the porch and drew her sister into the 
 house.
 
 116 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Ed watched them for a moment, then he lit a cig- 
 arette and got up beside the chauffeur: "Clungford, 
 Barnes." 
 
 There had been so far no difficulty about the serv- 
 ants at Wilmslow Lodge. Lady Horton-Birkett found 
 a housekeeper and told her the place belonged to Miss 
 Evelyn. And Miss Evelyn she was called. The 
 under servants were maids from the neighborhood 
 who knew the Horton-Birkett family; the gardeners 
 were Scotch; the grooms were Irish. It was a big- 
 gish establishment to keep up. But with a large 
 account to draw on at Von Hoist's bank in London 
 there was no reason to curtail expenses. Evelyn 
 was well provided for. The whispers of the servants 
 in the hall about the condition and position of the 
 distress they loved had not gone beyond the place. 
 The constant visits of the Clungford people, and Lady 
 Horton-Birkett, gave an appearance of respectability 
 to an otherwise mysterious eventuality. It must be 
 all right, the servants thought, or her mother and 
 Lady Clungford would not be so free and open 
 about it 
 
 "Poor dear, she's married to 'im, an' don't want 
 fo let on because 'e's a German," Sally Charles whis- 
 pered to Jack Munro, the second gardener. 
 
 "Ye ken aboot richt," Jack nodded. "Ma am 
 Openion is the puir lass is fair fasht at the blatter 
 aboot spies, an' aw that. A hay ma douts aboot 
 all the haverin' in the papers. But what the deils 
 didna ken 'ull no offend their patriotic impulses." 
 
 As time passed the servants accepted the notion 
 that Evelyn was married to Von Hoist, but that she 
 'did not wish to be classed as an alien. It was the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 117 
 
 agitation in the newspapers against alien enemies that 
 forced them to that conclusion. 
 
 The news of Von Hoist Ellen brought from Ger- 
 many to Evelyn was so precious, every word was 
 like gold to her. "Go on," she would cry when Ellen 
 took breath. She kissed the "little 'un" a dozen 
 times, and once nearly squeezed all the life out of 
 her when she said: "He told me to tell you to 
 live for him in happiness and never grieve. He feels 
 sure he will come back for you. He firmly believes 
 any one loving as he does can't be killed." 
 
 Then she told Evelyn about Von Hoist seeing Ed 
 in battle and speaking to him. How he escaped 
 death that day was a mystery explainable only on his 
 theory of the survival of a great love. Adorable, 
 knew everything and accepted everything. 
 
 "When Herbert reached Harwich in August he 
 wrote to his bank in London and told them to notify 
 you to draw on his account for whatever you 
 wished," Ellen said. "That was fine, for it made 
 you independent of dad. 
 
 "Yes, but I didn't think of that," Evelyn mur- 
 mured. "I only wanted to keep this place together. 
 This was to be our home. How he loved it ! It will 
 be just as he wanted it when he comes back. I spend 
 only what is necessary." 
 
 "Do you see dad often?" Ellen inquired. 
 
 "No very seldom. I told him to keep away." 
 
 "I can't tell you how glad I am you take none of 
 his money, Cricket." 
 
 "You refer to the money from armaments?" Evelyn 
 asked, not sure of her sister's meaning. 
 
 "Blood money."
 
 118 
 
 "I hadn't thought of it" 
 
 "Well, you're independent now. Listen! You 
 know the Haughmond property? Well, the mater 
 told me to-day she thought of making it over to us. 
 You know it would come to us on mother's death. 
 It amounts to about two thousand pounds a year." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "About that Now, darling Cricket, I want you to 
 promise me you'll join me in making it all over to 
 Ed as soon as we get it." 
 
 "Ed. But won't he get all" 
 
 "He would but don't you see. Listen. Coming 
 up in the car he told me he wished he could earn 
 his own living. Cricket, he doesn't like to be dependent 
 on dad's money. Really he doesn't. Won't you let 
 him have Haughmond if mother will make it over 
 to us?" 
 
 "Of course, little *un yes." 
 
 Then Ellen told her of her coming marriage to Ben 
 Tonks. It was an hour of pure joy telling her sister 
 all about him. The reserve she felt on telling the 
 story to her mother disappeared, and she indulged her 
 desire to praise Ben to the utmost. Evelyn listened 
 as if it were an old romance in modern dress. It 
 was like the princess and the shepherd boy, or some 
 such tale of silent love told at last. 
 
 "I never thought of you that way," Evelyn sighed. 
 
 "I know. You all thought I was made to be a 
 celebrated spinster fiddling to protect my virtue from 
 long-haired Bohemians. I know, Cricket, what you 
 all thought about me. But I have as great a capacity 
 for deep insatiable love in my little body as any one
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 119 
 
 twice my size. How I envy you, Cricket! Well, I 
 shall have a child. You'll see, darling." 
 
 Later that evening Ellen sent to Crowington for 
 her box. Evelyn persuaded her to spend the few 
 days with her. The note Lady Horton-Birkett re- 
 ceived was brief. 
 
 "Dear Mater, 
 
 "I shall stay with Evelyn for a few days. Please 
 have them pack my box and put it on the car. 
 
 "Affectionately, 
 
 "Ellen." 
 
 There was nothing sad in that, nothing to cry 
 'about. But Lady Horton-Birkett wept bitterly. 
 
 Ed was at Clungford. The house was silent, 
 lonely. She was alone and unhappy.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THESE were the days when Harold found many 
 ways of expressing himself on the glories of war 
 when conducted by a people who were in league 
 with God. He had no doubt as to who was right 
 and who was wrong. The God of his fathers had 
 never deserted the country which had spread light 
 and morality all over the globe. Though there were 
 serious reverses, and victory seemed long in coming, 
 the end was not in doubt. "Onward, Christian Sol- 
 diers" became a part of the service every Sunday at 
 Crowington Church. And Harold's sermons packed 
 full of atrocity stories called louder and louder, as 
 the weeks passed, for retribution and annihilation. 
 The more wounded men seen about the village the 
 more earnestly he cried for recruits. The long 
 casualty lists told in plainer words than he was 
 master of, the story of the cowardice of shirkers. 
 But Britain would triumph, and the fight for Chris- 
 tian civilization would endure until the last man and 
 the shilling were gone. Even if he had to go into 
 one of his father's shops, and help to make shells 
 rather that than the domination of a godless Prussia. 
 The alien enemy hunt agitation occupied his at- 
 tention, and he wrote long letters to the papers urg- 
 ing wholesale interment, reprisals and national serv- 
 ice. He studied German literature for the first time 
 in his life, with a zest far beyond any attempt he ever 
 made in studying English literature. German authors 
 
 120
 
 A 'STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 121 
 
 helped his sermons, quotations saved him much ex- 
 ertion, and Nietzsche was a gold mine of blasphe- 
 mous sentences to hurl at the dozen or two sleepy 
 farmer folk who went to his church. He was so 
 ready with German names authors and titles of 
 books that his fellow parsons, knowing no more 
 than Harold, began to pay him the respect due an 
 authority. He was full of wind and spleen in those 
 days. The bishop asked him to preach a series of 
 sermons at the cathedral. He became popular with 
 the adherents of Anglican militancy, and stood well 
 with the real old county families. 
 
 Soon after the war began his father urged him to 
 put his wife's money in armament firms. She had 
 a few thousands scattered about in soap, rubber, tea 
 and margarine companies, paying about five per cent. 
 The change was effected and prosperity shone on 
 Mrs. Harold's new investments. Sir Alfred made 
 her a present of a small block of shares in the Haigh 
 Shell and Bullet Company on the birth of his first 
 grandson. Mrs. Harold was almost reconciled to 
 dissent and liberalism by the kindness of her father- 
 in-law. 
 
 "Things are going very well, eh, dad?" Harold 
 remarked, in an offhand manner. 
 
 "Very badly, my boy " 
 
 Harold blanched and looked alarmed. "Badly!" 
 
 "You mean the front?" 
 
 "No, the front no! Business." Harold blurted, 
 with a big sigh of relief. 
 
 "Oh, yes, oh, I see. Thought you meant the 
 western front or the Russians. Business, yes very
 
 122 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 well, indeed. But I'm afraid it's going to be a long 
 drawn out affair." 
 
 "It does drag a bit." 
 
 "I wish it were over," his mother sighed. 
 
 "Patience, mother, patience. Wait until we are 
 ready for the great offensive in May. Then I" 
 
 "Evie, did I tell you a Zeppelin passed over our 
 bid house at Hampstead and dropped a bomb not a 
 hundred yards from it?" Sir Alfred said. 
 
 "Mercy!" his wife gasped. "No, you didn't tell 
 me." 
 
 "Providence! Eh, Harold? You know we might 
 
 have been there yet if " Sir Alfred muttered, 
 
 with a reverent shake of his head. 
 
 "God has been good to us," Harold observed. 
 
 His mother looked out of the window and coughed. 
 "Urn!" she said. 
 
 "When is the House going to deal seriously with 
 all these alien enemies and spies?" Harold asked. 
 
 "I can't say. *The Government is slow about it." 
 
 "It's my opinion Germans here signal to these air- 
 ships and do all sorts of things." 
 
 His mother's heart fluttered uneasily. It was a 
 topic she always strove to avoid. Harold had not 
 been told of Evelyn's condition. All he knew of 
 his sister's residence at Wilmslow was that Von 
 Hoist had given her the property when they became 
 engaged. 
 
 "Spies are all over the country," Sir Alfred said. 
 "A very influential man was deported only the other 
 day. It's not known outside, and it will be kept quiet. 
 He was caught corresponding through a third person 
 in Holland."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 123 
 
 "Shameful. They ought to shoot a few/' the 
 vicar exclaimed. 
 
 Lady Horton-Birkett coughed and tried to catch 
 her husband's eye, but she failed. 
 
 Harold was on his feet: "I heard a nice story the 
 other day when I was in Minsterley. I was told 
 and the information comes from the highest au- 
 thority " Just then Ed came into the room, and 
 his mother rose to greet him, thankful Harold's 
 story was interrupted. 
 
 "Hullo, Ed," Harold nodded. "When are you 
 going up to get your cross?" 
 
 "Not yet a bit. Go on with the information from 
 the highest authority," he said. "Sorry to inter- 
 rupt." 
 
 "Oh, yes. But you won't like it, I'm thinking. 
 It's about your pal, Von Hoist." 
 
 "What about him?" 
 
 "One of the worst spies " 
 
 "It's a lie," Ed put in quietly. 
 
 "Fact, Ed." Harold smiled and nodded with cer- 
 tainty. 
 
 "It's a lie." Ed sharpened his tone. 
 
 "Harold, please be careful," his mother pleaded. 
 
 "What should Ed know about it?" the vicar de- 
 manded. "My information is guaranteed " 
 
 "What is it? Out with it!" Ed ordered. / 
 
 "Don't bully me, Ed. I won't have it." 
 
 "Don't wriggle. No cant now. Come on. Who 
 told you?" 
 
 "That is private." 
 
 "And the information, too?" sneered Ed. 
 
 "Well, if you want to know he's been buying
 
 124 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 horses for the German army," Harold snapped tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
 Ed laughed derisively: "At five hundred pounds 
 a piece. Present my compliments to your informant 
 whether he's an archdeacon or a recruiting general, 
 and tell him I say he lies. The only horse Herbert 
 assisted in sending to Germany was the one I pre- 
 sented to his mother. Now listen. To save you 
 from making a complete ass of yourself let me tell 
 you how things stand " 
 
 "Ed, no, no," from his mother in tears. 
 
 "Please don't, Ed," his father cried. 
 
 Harold was pale and trembling from anger. 
 
 Ed put his mother aside and waved his father 
 'from him. He went slowly over to Harold and 
 looked him straight in the face. 
 
 "You should have known Evelyn was engaged to 
 Herbert. You know that, but you forgot. They 
 would have been married had it not been for 
 their desire to see Clarice and me married first. 
 They put theirs off so that ours should be the big do. 
 You would have married them. Don't forget that. 
 Well, war upsets a lot of plans, and in the rush Evelyn 
 and Herbert hadn't time to do things in the conven- 
 tional way." 
 
 "You mean he " 
 
 "I mean Evelyn's going to have a child " 
 
 "Good heavens!" 
 
 "Awkward, isn't it?" 
 
 "But the disgrace, Ed " 
 
 "Not so bad as if you married 'em." 
 
 Ed walked away to the window, lit a cigarette 
 rnd strolled out into the garden.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 125 
 
 "You brought this on yourself," his mother said 
 sadly. She went to Harold and caressed him. "Come, 
 don't be angry. Poor Ed has an awful lot to put 
 up with." 
 
 "I should think he has," Harold sneered bitterly. 
 "So would any one who was known as a funk " 
 
 "How dare you?" his father cried. 
 
 "Dad, dad " his wife pleaded beseechingly. 
 
 "If I thought you believed that dastardly story I'd 
 leave you without a penny," Sir Alfred throbbed 
 with indignation. He stood with clenched hands be- 
 fore Harold trembling with rage. 
 
 "You've never cared for me," Harold whined. 
 "Because I would have nothing to do with your 
 ranting chapel lot. You've hated me ever since I 
 entered the church." 
 
 "And I gave you this living. Go to your vicarage 
 and don't let me see you again." 
 
 "Oh, this horrible, detestable war," Lady Horton- 
 Birkett sobbed, as she passed out of the room. 
 
 Harold had sunk deep into a big armchair. De- 
 jection covered him. He twisted the bowl of his 
 pipe in his white hands, and stared at the toes of his 
 father's boots which were shaped like the claws of 
 a crab. He began to count with the ticking of his watch. 
 
 "Do you believe that story of Ed funking?" his 
 father asked in a deeply grieved tone. 
 
 "Everybody does." 
 
 "That's not true for I've seen Major Pomeroy- 
 Fanton and he says no one at the front believes it 
 but Jawton. And he will have to take back what 
 he said to Ed." 
 
 "Will he?"
 
 126 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Well, they'll want to know why Ed will not 
 accept the Victoria Cross." 
 
 "Not accept " 
 
 "Ed won't take it Won't have it." 
 
 Sir Alfred looked at Harold with a glance of con- 
 tempt. 
 
 "Anyway, you have earned the distinction of being 
 about the only man who thinks the Victoria Cross 
 is presented to cowards. Now, Harold, I want to tell 
 you what I think about your very dear friends round 
 about here and in Minsterley. I know the set you're 
 in, and the people you get your information from. 
 Three of your political and religious friends have 
 owed me money they borrowed some years ago one 
 is a very high churchman, another is a landlord I 
 see, you know the men I mean. Well to-morrow or 
 the next day I ask them to meet their I. O. U.s 
 
 "No, no for heaven's sake. Not my wife's uncle. 
 Not the archdeacon. Please don't." He followed his 
 father as he passed to and fro. "I'm awfully sorry, 
 dad. I lost my temper, really. You know what a 
 beastly bad one I've got. I'm very sorry for what 
 I've said." 
 
 Sir Alfred's relations with the business world 
 taught him how to avenge himself on impecunious 
 swells. He knew the archdeacon hadn't a stiver 
 to bless himself with. He had been in debt for 
 years. He knew Mrs. Harold's uncle lived from 
 hand to mouth. He knew these men despised him, 
 and borrowed his money. He knew they influenced 
 Harold and used him constantly. The threat to ask 
 for the money hurt Harold more than a blow from 
 a fist. He curled up like a feather before the fire.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 127 
 
 For several days after the interview with his father 
 he was remarkably quiet. It was the first time in 
 Sir Alfred's life he felt like thrashing one of his 
 progeny. 
 
 "Alfred, I want to give the Haughmond property 
 to the girls," Lady Horton-Birkett said, as she lay 
 beside her husband in bed one morning in May. "I 
 wish you would attend to it." 
 
 "But why, Evie?" 
 
 "Do it to please me. Ellen hasn't much, you know." 
 
 "She can have all she wants." 
 
 "Yes, but you see, she insists on earning her 
 own living." 
 
 "She's splendid, Evie. There's a girl for you! I 
 wish there were more like her. Independent, fear- 
 less, and no nonsense about her. It is a pity they've 
 been able to go to their own pace so much. I should 
 have liked to see more of 'em. They've shot up be- 
 fore I've realized it. Sometimes I wonder if they're 
 my children. I see so little of them now." 
 
 "You've been so busy, dad. But do transfer 
 Haughmond to Ellen and Evelyn. Get it done for 
 me." 
 
 "Very good, dear. I'll attend to it when I get 
 to town. It isn't much, is it?" 
 
 "No, not much." 
 
 He often wondered why Ellen was so keen to 
 earn her own living. He admired her for it, never- 
 theless, he would have liked to shower luxuries on 
 her. Only once he thought she might not like his 
 chief business in life. Only once, and then he dis- 
 missed the thought with scorn. It was a perfectly
 
 128 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 legitimate industry. There was no law against mak- 
 ing and selling shells. He was the last man in the 
 world to want a war the very last. Yet Ellen al- 
 ways made him feel when she sent him a line in 
 recent years that she was heartily glad she wanted 
 none of his money. She despised riches he knew, 
 and she was an inveterate Socialist or something. 
 Besides, he comforted himself with the notion got 
 from Murger's Vie de Boheme, read on the quiet, 
 that artists worked better on small incomes. After 
 her return from Germany she had been rather face- 
 tious, badgering. She twitted him on armaments and 
 religion. That he put down to her utter detestation 
 of war and churchianity. She was a rebellious pa- 
 cifist. He understood her, and did not take her gibes 
 unkindly. She had always been a naughty child. She 
 was spoiled by too much liberty when she was young, 
 so he thought. Ellen, on the other hand, thought his 
 mental hide was too thick. 
 
 She had, however, upset him by telling him the 
 people in Germany were confident of success, that 
 everything over there was orderly, and though the 
 people were careful and frugal there was food 
 enough. It sounded so pro-German. He didn't like it. 
 He told her so. 
 
 "But I am pro-German," Ellen said. 
 
 "For goodness sake, dear, don't let any one hear 
 you say that," he whispered in awe. 
 
 "Why not? You were a pro-Boer. I remember 
 that. Can't one take sides? 
 
 "No, not if you want a quiet life." 
 
 "Can't I be pro-German without being in favor 
 of their detestable form of government?"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE - 129 
 
 "You shouldn't be pro-German at all." 
 
 "What a nice country to live in. Is thinking per- 
 mitted?" 
 
 "You little tease." He shook his finger at her half 
 in play, and added gravely: "But I mean it Britain 
 is no place for rebels just now." 
 
 "The refuge of the oppressed is gone, eh? Have 
 they dug up John Bright and burned his bones, dad?" 
 
 "You must be serious," he said. 
 
 "I will be, dad, and tell you what I think of your 
 cry pro-German. It means no more than pro-Boer 
 did. Be honest and admit the cry pro-German 
 against English thinkers really means 'don't criticize 
 the Government/ Every decent-minded person who 
 thinks seriously, who wants to believe in the real 
 good of people everywhere, is labeled anti-British. 
 Pro-German as a cry means my country right or 
 wrong. It means no questions are permitted. As a 
 cry it is a cloak under which a body of incompetent 
 statesmen can plunge a nation into an unnecessary 
 war, conduct it with the greatest loss of life and at 
 the greatest cost. That's what I think seriously." 
 
 He looked at her in amazement. She meant it, he 
 could tell she meant it all. And somehow there was 
 enough of the old Radical strain left in him to ad- 
 mire her candor. Though he disagreed with her, he 
 felt good to hear some one express an opinion of 
 that kind without fear. 
 
 When Ellen sent him a note to the House asking 
 him to meet her and Ben at the registrar's office, he 
 was so tickled he could not refrain from telling two 
 or three of his cronies in the smoke room of the 
 Commons. There was some satisfaction in having
 
 130 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 an unconventional daughter he thought. For her to 
 marry a small farmer's son who had climbed up 
 alone to be a well-known journalist, a novelist and 
 a popular lecturer was unconventional he thought. 
 And she looked such a bit of a thing as she stood be- 
 side Ben in the registrar's office. 
 
 "No presents, dad remember, I mean it," Ellen 
 said. 
 
 They went away to Ambleside for a week and 
 roamed about Rydal and Langdale. Then they went 
 back to Crowington. Her mother told her the Haugh- 
 mond property had been transferred to her and 
 Evelyn. 
 
 Ben got on very well with Ellen's mother. It 
 was the first time she had come into contact with 
 a Socialist or something, and the surprise to find such 
 a person was refined highly cultivated, she thought 
 gave her great pleasure. She had met a high 
 church dignitary who was known to be a Socialist, 
 but in his case he came of an old family, and he al- 
 ways voted Tory. Ben was different His father 
 lived in the village, and only a few days ago she saw 
 him carting muck to the fields. Still the only matter 
 that troubled Ellen's mother was the marriage. A 
 legal marriage seemed to her almost worse than no 
 marriage. It was a'pity. Had they been married in 
 a chapel it would not have been so bad. And there 
 was Evelyn. How unusual both daughters should 
 have acted so strangely. Heaven knows she had al- 
 ways striven to show them what's what in a properly 
 conducted Anglican world. She had always been a 
 great church-woman. Was her marriage a failure 
 in that respect? She feared her daughters were athe-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 131 
 
 Ists. They never went to church now. Evelyn had 
 not been to a service since the war broke out. And 
 when she came to think of it Clarice, too, had not 
 been seen at Crowington Church for months. 
 
 Tea on. the lawn at Wilmslow, on a fine warm 
 'day, was an exceedingly pleasant way of spending 
 an hour. The hills and woods of Mickley rose in 
 tiers, intersected with small farms, for a distance 
 of four miles. The view looking south was full of the 
 charm of the Marches. To the north, a long valley 
 widened away far off to the Staffordshire hills. 
 Give Hill stood like a primitive natural fortress 
 down in the west black and bulky against the sun 
 sinking among the mountains of Wales. 
 
 Lady Horton-Birkett sipped her tea and regret- 
 ted she had forgotten her saccharine. Evelyn, Clarice 
 and Ellen were enjoying toasted muffins. Lady 
 Clungford threw bits of biscuit to two Inverness 
 pups. How any one could think of war and be pres- 
 ent in that scene was almost inconceivable. The 
 calm, the joy of the air, the early April rapture of 
 the birds, the numberless greens in hedges, woods 
 and gardens, the great blue, slightly cloud-ribbed 
 sky, and yet each woman thought of the war. Lady 
 Clungford thought of Billy; Clarice of him, cous- 
 ins, friends and Herbert. Lady Horton-Birkett 
 thought of Ed and Robert there, and Fred going. 
 Evelyn's thoughts were all for the father of her 
 child. And Ellen well, her thoughts for the mo- 
 ment were on an inn at Chiem, beside the lake, far 
 away in Bavaria, wheie she had stopped for a 
 while in that last week of July.
 
 132 
 
 "Have you seen Harold, Ellen?" her sister asked. 
 
 "No, what's he doing?" 
 
 "Praising the British God and bullying men to go 
 Where he'll never go himself," Evelyn muttered. 
 
 "Don't be too hard on Harold," her mother sighed. 
 
 "Hard on him? Mother, don't waste your sym- 
 pathy on Harold. Really when I think of him I 
 wonder if this isn't a parson's war," Evelyn cried. 
 
 "No, my dear, it's an old man's war," Lady Clung- 
 ford interjected. "You take my tip, Cricket old 
 men!" 
 
 "Yes, there's something in that," Ellen agreed. 
 "Old fusty notions, senile creeds, fossilized methods, 
 and tottering systems. And some of the old men 
 are young in years numbers of them. A week in 
 London just now is enough to drive a healthy- 
 minded creature to a mad house. You ought to see 
 the recruiting posters " 
 
 "I've heard of them. Awful, I'm told," Lady 
 Clungford exclaimed, raising her hands on high. 
 
 "Really, the impression they conveyed to me was 
 that the authorities implicitly believe seventy-five per 
 cent, of the people of Britain are arrant cowards." 
 
 "Ellen !" her mother cried, shocked beyond measure. 
 
 "I've heard that, dear," Clarice nodded. "General 
 Pennett says they are disgusting." 
 
 "And the literature! Horrors! It's nasty!" Ellen 
 gasped. 
 
 "I think it would be better if the people went to 
 church and tried to get into a Christian frame of 
 mind," Lady Horton-Birkett said. "All this rancor 
 and ill-feeling is most unseemly. In those beautiful 
 letters in the Times written by Mr. Burroughs I find
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 133 
 
 great consolation. If I had my way I would print them 
 in little books and send them into every home in the 
 kingdom. We are suffering because we have for- 
 saken God, because our souls are dark and selfish, 
 and we shall not know happiness and peace again un- 
 til we are at peace with ourselves." 
 
 Their eyes had a far away look in them. The 
 quiet was wonderful. Somewhere in the lane, some 
 distance off, a lad sang a few bars of Tipperary. 
 Then from a meadow came the lowing of cattle call- 
 ing to be milked. The silent intervals seemed to ac- 
 centuate every sound. High above them a lark, like 
 a speck in the sky, had been singing all the time. 
 
 After Lady Qungford and Clarice left them, Ellen 
 asked when Ed and Clarice were to be married. 
 
 "I don't know," Evelyn murmured dreamily. 
 "Since Ed came back Clarice hasn't said a word 
 about it." 
 
 "Nothing has happened?" 
 
 "Nothing. They're the best of pals." 
 
 "What do you think, mater?" Ellen asked. 
 
 "I can't make it out, dear." 
 
 "You think something's up," Evelyn exclaimed. 
 
 "Well, no, not exactly. But I've noticed a change 
 since Ed got better, since Clarice went home and he 
 required no more nursing. He doesn't go over to 
 Clungford so often now, and Clarice hasn't been to 
 see us for quite a month." 
 
 Evelyn twisted restively: "I wonder what's up." 
 
 "They're not a demonstrative pair at any time," 
 their mother muttered wearily. "Evelyn, you might 
 speak to Clarice when you get a chance. She comes 
 every day to see you, doesn't she?"
 
 134 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Yes. She made up her mind to have Billy give 
 her away, you know. Perhaps that's it. Now Billy 
 is at the front she might not care you know, Clarice 
 is funny about some things. I don't know what's 
 the matter. I'll ask her." 
 
 "I thought her brother was dead," Ellen remarked. 
 "Died in India." 
 
 "He got over it. Awfully bad for some time. 
 Drinks like a fish. Awful rotter, they say, but 
 Clarice sticks to him like glue." 
 
 Lady Clungford, too, was anxious about Clarice 
 and Ed. She had noticed something. It was subtle. 
 They were every bit as happy as before, but of late, 
 since Ed was well, they had not met so frequently. 
 The coolness was noticeable when they were apart. 
 It was a coolness which was only evident by con- 
 trast; and Lady Clungford was satisfied it existed 
 and was growing, because Clarice spoke less and 
 less to her of Ed. 
 
 "What's the row, Clarice?" she asked, after dinner 
 one night. "You and Ed had a quarrel ?" 
 
 "No. Quarrel? No, mother." 
 
 "But there's something up, I know. What is it?" 
 
 "Nothing. Really." 
 
 Great tears came gushing from her eyes. She sat 
 tight for a moment trying to control herself. But the 
 passion conquered her, and she threw herself down 
 before her mother in a paroxysm of grief. Her head 
 lay in her mother's lap. It was a long time before 
 she mastered her emotion. 
 
 "Come now, tell me all about it."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 135 
 
 "It it's the story about about Ed Ed funking 
 it," she sobbed. 
 
 "Well, what about it?" 
 
 "He he hasn't said anything to to me. Not a 
 word/' 
 
 "Perhaps he can't. He might get some one into 
 trouble if he did. What would the general" she al- 
 ways called her husband the general "say about it? 
 Mum's the word. Can't be helped! Discipline! Or- 
 ders!" 
 
 "He might have said something to me." 
 
 "Maybe he doesn't dream you would put any stock 
 in the yarn." 
 
 "But it's true. Billy says so " 
 
 "Billy says so?" 
 
 "He wrote to me about it." 
 
 "The devil he did. Where's the letter?" 
 
 "Up-stairs." 
 
 "Get it. Let me see it." 
 
 Lady Clungford did not believe the story because 
 her son said it was true. She knew Billy. It takes 
 all kinds to make an army, anywhere, and she knew 
 her son was not a thinker. Billy failed in everything, 
 but got into the service somehow. A tutor at Brighton 
 did something for him no one else could do. When 
 Billy came into the title he made hay of the estate 
 in five years. He now reposed in the hands of 
 money-lenders and a few very shady commission 
 merchants abroad. The war saved him many finan- 
 cial worries by giving him the refuge of the mora- 
 torium. 
 
 Clarice returned with the letter, tear-stained and
 
 136 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 rather crumpled. Lady Clungford smoothed it out 
 and put her glasses on. 
 
 "March 15, 1915. 
 "Dear Old Girl: 
 
 "I suppose you've heard all about E. H. B. and 
 the rotten mess he's made of it. You must feel rotten. 
 Well I don't wonder. And now I see he's recom- 
 mended for the Vic. X. Good Lord! Out here they 
 say it's influence. His dad's at the bottom of that. 
 
 Good old J n told me E. H. B. was always a 
 
 slacker. Certainly he did something to redeem him- 
 self by helping his major and a sergeant to cover. 
 Mighty glad of the excuse, if you ask me. Well, 
 cheer up, old girl, there's plenty of fish in the sea. 
 Don't break your heart over him. This is to say 
 how sorry I am. 
 
 "Your loving brother, 
 
 "Billy. 
 
 "P. S. I'm comfortably fixed up down at the base, 
 but as keen as mustard to have a go at them. Love 
 to mother." 
 
 Clarice watched her mother's face as she read the 
 letter. Lady Clungford turned it over once or twice, 
 and then made a grimace. She handed it back to 
 Clarice and said: "Your loving brother, eh?" 
 
 "Wouldn't Billy know?" 
 
 "Any one could fill Billy with any yarn so long as 
 they gave him plenty of liquor to keep it down. Poor 
 Billy, he takes after your grandfather, my dear." 
 
 "He's wild, mother, but his heart's all right." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear that," she said, thinking of the 
 years when Billy's heart was in the keeping of two 
 ladies, one in London, the other in Paris, who cost 
 him about fifteen thousand pounds in twelve months.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 137 
 
 Clarice was then about ten years old. She did not 
 know much about Billy. 
 
 "Still, Ed might have told me. It's not nice of 
 him to let me " she stopped suddenly. 
 
 "Let you what?" 
 
 "Well, the last time I went into Minsterley with 
 - Cricket I met the archdeacon, and he well he 
 upset me " 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He sneered when I told him about Ed and the 
 Victoria Cross. He said Ed's dad had tremendous 
 influence." 
 
 "So he has. But ten thousand such 'dads couldn't 
 get the cross for a son if he hadn't a right to it. 
 Look here, Clarice, you've let this thing get on your 
 nerves, or else you wouldn't let a jabbering old beetle 
 like the archdeacon upset you. You ought to know 
 there's a set in this county which loathes Sir Alfred 
 and all his lot. Evie is persona grata. She is hall- 
 marked. But Sir Alfred and his lads are not liked. 
 Don't be alarmed. It's only because the Horton- 
 Birketts are rich enough to buy half this county's 
 families. That's it. When they took Crowington our 
 lot tried to get me to join a clique against them, but 
 I wouldn't touch it with tongs. It failed because 
 most of the men who started it found after a bit Sir 
 Alfred was an easy mark for small investments and 
 I. O. U's. Well the church nobs at Minsterley got 
 hold of that wooden-headed Harold and made a par- 
 son of him. I don't think there was much in him 
 anyway, but that settled it. Little girl, I'm getting 
 on, and I've seen a lot in my time. You take mother's 
 tip and think things out for yourself. And don't be
 
 138 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 a fool about Ed. In an age like this it's a blessing 
 to know a man that doesn't talk much." 
 
 Clarice was learning some history about the neigh- 
 borhood and her friends. It grieved her deeply to 
 hear her mother speak so severely of the archdeacon. 
 
 "But surely Ed will try to clear himself." 
 
 "Try, of course, he will. If they give him the 
 chance. If!" 
 
 "He did say there was. nothing to be ashamed of." 
 
 "Did he? Then you have no reason to worry." 
 
 "And yet he has not got the cross yet." 
 
 "He hasn't been up to town." 
 
 "He doesn't seem to want it." 
 
 "Well, your father didn't think much of medals, 
 and you know how many he had. All I got out of the 
 South African War was a couple of pieces of metal, 
 when, with decent medical attention and food, I 
 should have got your father back again. Men who 
 have had a dose of the British War Office at work, 
 don't think medals compensate for its everlasting 
 blundering and incompetency." 
 
 Lady Clungford picked up a picture paper, kicked 
 her slippers off and settled down to read herself to 
 sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN Evelyn's child was born a new difficulty 
 arose. What was to be done about the par- 
 entage of it? Its birth had to be registered. The 
 more the family council discussed the question the 
 worse the dilemma appeared. Evelyn never de- 
 parted from her intention of simply registering the 
 facts. And in the end her wish was carried out. 
 Count Herbert Von Hoist was recorded father 
 of the child. Ed attended to the business. When 
 the question of baptism came up another council 
 debated for several days without success. Ed said 
 he would rather the child never had water in its 
 life than be baptized by Harold. Ellen was dead 
 against the church in or out of the county. In the 
 end Tonks' Chapel was chosen. Ellen went to see 
 Mr. Bagnell, the minister, and he said he would be 
 glad to baptize it. When Harold heard of it he was 
 angry, and said unkind things ^about the children of 
 Huns. 
 
 Then life for Evelyn was made unbearable. A 
 craftily planned agitation began with anonymous 
 postcards addressed to the Countess Von Hoist, 
 Wilmslow Lodge. The servants were pestered too. 
 One day a man left a package containing a German 
 helmet. Through the post Evelyn received clippings 
 from newspapers recording great slaughter of Ger- 
 man armies. The campaign was ably conducted. 
 The post-marks were from the towns within a radius 
 
 139
 
 140 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 of twenty miles. Some of the servants left, unable 
 to bear the jeers of those serving at one or two 
 houses in the neighborhood. Clarice was not for- 
 gotten. Some one sent her a note asking if she were 
 godmother to the little Hun. 
 
 Then a weekly paper famous for its patriotism, 
 and the businesslike traits of its editor, printed a 
 story of the doing of Count Herbert Von Hoist, 
 "the spy in the pay of the Kaiser." The story left 
 nothing to the imagination of the paper's readers. 
 The editor, knowing the intelligence of his readers, 
 could not risk lowering the circulation by doing such 
 a thing. It is needless to say that edition of the 
 paper sold well for many miles round about Min- 
 sterley. The news agent in Crowington received an 
 extra quantity that week, and was told to bill it for 
 all he was worth. 
 
 The story was an exceptionally fine example of 
 the literature which the war "leaders of thought" 
 sold weekly to a large section of the British public. 
 It was remarkable inasmuch as the writer was ac- 
 curate as to Von Hoist's full name, the date of his 
 birth, his school, his university, and the names of 
 his houses in town and in the country. There ac- 
 curacy came to an untimely end. The rest was as 
 bankrupt of truth as an atheist is when he says he 
 believes God will defend the right. Numbers of the 
 issue were sent to Evelyn. Ed was too late to keep 
 a copy from her. He saw the contents bill in the 
 village, jumped back into the car and told Barnes 
 to drive "all out" for Wilmslow. When he got there 
 Evelyn was on her bed, "raving." They got her to 
 Crowington where she was very ill for some weeks.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 141 
 
 When Sir Alfred heard of what had happened to 
 Evelyn, he felt, for a moment, like giving up making 
 shells to kill enemies abroad and devoting his at- 
 tention to making combustibles to destroy the ene- 
 mies at home. He had had a lively time at the War 
 Office about Ed, and told them what he thought of 
 Jawton. He threatened to raise the question in the 
 House and publish the facts (which he did not pos- 
 sess) in every paper which he could influence. His 
 outburst scared an under-secretary and alarmed a 
 permanent secretary, but only for an hour or two. 
 After lunch the secretaries, under and permanent, 
 forgot there wafs such a person as Sir Alfred Hor- 
 ton-Birkett. 
 
 Ben read the article on Von Hoist. It was so 
 utterly grotesque he could not refrain from laughing 
 outright. To think there were hundreds of thousands 
 of readers in Britain who believed that kind of story, 
 was to him a mockery of common sense. And when 
 he thought of the editor of the paper, that his own 
 son-in-law was the son of a dear old German Jew 
 merchant of respect and high standing in the city, 
 he wondered what some creatures would not do for 
 a living. But Britain was at war! And there was 
 money to be made by giving the scared section of 
 the public what it desired. Much as Ben disliked 
 the whole crew of Bernhardis, Treitschkes, and Bis- 
 marcks, he vowed they did less real harm than the 
 gang of British journalists who throve on such stuff 
 as that about Von Hoist. Ben had not then heard 
 how the article affected Evelyn. At that time he 
 was busy getting out his pamphlet called To Con- 
 scientious Objectors- It was an exposure of the
 
 142 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 methods of recruiting, and an analysis of the social 
 and legal position of those who conscientiously ob- 
 ject to taking part in war. The pamphlet went like 
 wildfire all over the north of England and Wales. 
 Ben and his pamphlet were dealt with severely in 
 the newspapers. He was called pro-German, traitor, 
 lunatic, scoundrel. A great peer wrote to the papers 
 and wanted to know if there was a law in the land, 
 if there was a government equal to dealing with such 
 people and so on. Evidently there was. Copies of 
 Ben's pamphlet were taken away from the publishers 
 and burned. The type was broken up. And the work- 
 ing men of England and Wales were freed from the 
 terrible influence of Benjamin Tonks, the pro-Ger- 
 man. 
 
 The stir made by Ben's pamphlet affected Sir Al- 
 fred in a peculiar way. He was in the House when 
 Mr. Panderton put his question to the home secre- 
 tary on the "disastrous effect" the pamphlet had on 
 recruiting in certain areas. The attorney-general re- 
 plied and informed the House that he was giving the 
 matter his serious consideration. The member who 
 asked a supplementary question as to what lengths 
 the Government desired to go in suppressing "free 
 speech," was called a traitor and told to "shut up." 
 Sir Alfred decided to keep quiet and let justice take 
 its course. The incident however upset him for the 
 day. He had hoped he would be able to put in a 
 word for his son-in-law, just to show Ellen that he 
 had some spirit left. There was not a line in the 
 pamphlet he took objection to, indeed it was just the 
 kind of thing he would have written or spoken 
 when he was Ben's age. It was all in line with his
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 143 
 
 i 
 
 sentiments on the position of non-conformists of fifty 
 years ago. When he met Ellen at Horton House he 
 felt mean. 
 
 "I couldn't get in, Ellen," he said. "The speaker 
 did not call on me." 
 
 "Did any one protest in the name of free speech ?" 
 
 "Isleworth said something, but he was told to shut 
 up." 
 
 "The emasculated Commons !" she said, sinking in- 
 to a chair. It stung her father; he winced as if a 
 hornet had nipped him on his fat neck. 
 
 Ellen did not wait for tea. She left him with the 
 St. Stephen's Gazette. For some time he sat turn- 
 ing its pages over, too disgruntled to read the col- 
 umns his eyes were skimming. When he was quite 
 conscious of what he was seeing he found himself 
 in the middle of an article on "Recruiting," and 
 in it a severe criticism of Ben's pamphlet. The 
 writer granted it was a perfectly correct statement 
 of the position of conscientious objectors to war, 
 but it was not the time to assist our enemies by 
 putting precise ethical and legal notions into the 
 minds of men who were required for the trenches. 
 In such a war we all had to sacrifice some princi- 
 ples, the writer went on to say, and no lover of his 
 country would hesitate to sacrifice his wealth, his 
 life, his all, at such a crisis. Britain was fighting 
 for liberty, free institutions, against Prussian ar- 
 rogance and oppression. 
 
 Sir Alfred saw it all as plain as a pike-staff. The 
 position was perfectly clear. Ben was mistaken. Of 
 course he had no intention of assisting Prussia, not 
 the slightest, but he was bound to make a sacrifice,
 
 144 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 and that he had not done. It was not the time for 
 that kind of a pamphlet. 
 
 In the news columns he read of the awful methods 
 the Germans were adopting to break through the 
 western lines. There had been a dreadful battle in 
 which the enemy had used asphyxiating shells with 
 deadly effect. The news was harrowing. It shocked 
 Sir Alfred so terribly that he determined to see El- 
 len and ask her if such an act was to be forgiven. 
 After the years he had devoted to the business of 
 making warfare as humane as possible, after all his 
 work in connection with the Hague Conferences, 
 it was nothing less than a reversion to barbarism! 
 Frightfulness was the word for it. Asphyxiating 
 shells used against a Christian country ! It was more 
 than a civilized people could stand. Only a godless 
 bureaucracy could think of doing such a thing. Well, 
 if Britain were to be beaten by such methods, de- 
 feat would be preferable to victory obtained by re- 
 sorting to them. The news of the German use of as- 
 phyxiating bombs infused new life into him, and he 
 went about his work after that with fresh vigor. 
 
 At the House that evening he found a note from 
 the mother of Major Pomeroy-Fanton saying her 
 son had returned from the hospital in France and 
 would like to see him if he could spare the time to 
 run down to the New Forest where she had taken 
 a house for the wounded man to recuperate. Sir 
 Alfred wired saying he would go down the next day. 
 He left word to be called early the next morning. 
 When his man brought the tea and the papers he was 
 not refreshed; he had turned and tossed out of one 
 dream into another the whole night. He sat up and
 
 A STRONG MAN'S- HOUSE 145 
 
 sipped the, tea, stupidly blinking at the rays of the 
 sun aslant the foot of the bed. 
 
 The train was moving when he scrambled into 
 it at Waterloo. It was some time before he settled 
 down. He remembered his motor had been held up 
 by a large body of troops passing through Parlia- 
 ment Square to Victoria Station. A man who stood 
 near the window of his car during the block spoke 
 to a young clergyman. The conversation riveted Sir 
 Alfred's attention though he kept his eye on the 
 carriage clock ticking away in front of him. 
 
 "Another lot goin' to be massacred," the man 
 said, with a nod at the passing regiment. 
 
 "Oh, no," the clergyman returned sharply. "Not 
 massacred, certainly not. We shall soon pay the Huns 
 back in their own coin, you see." 
 
 "They're goin' to be massacred all the same." 
 
 "Still, they'll give a very good account of them- 
 selves." 
 
 "So did my two sons both dead." 
 
 "Really! Sorry!" 
 
 "You oughter see our 'ouse. My youngest brother 
 both feet gone, and a son-in-law with only one 
 'and." 
 
 "Very sad." The clergyman shook himself. "Fine 
 body of men !" he exclaimed, craning his neck to get 
 a glimpse of the last lot. 
 
 "Coin* to be massacred." 
 
 While the train sped on through Surbiton and 
 Woking Sir Alfred thought of the man who dog- 
 gedly held to the belief that the troops were "goin' 
 to be massacred." Basingstoke was passed before 
 he picked up the paper. A long article on "Gas,"
 
 146 A STRONG MAN'S I^OUSE 
 
 written by a well-known Radical, caught his eye. It 
 was a protest against the suggestion that Britain 
 should set to work at once to manufacture asphyxi- 
 ating shells. The writer hoped the authorities would 
 not listen to any such horrible suggestion. Sir Alfred 
 heartily agreed. It was monstrous to think of such a 
 thing. We should deserve the contempt of all neutral 
 nations if we stooped to the methods of German fright- 
 fulness ; of that he was firmly convinced. He turned 
 the pages of the paper over indolently and felt the re- 
 action of a bad night and busy morning working upon 
 him. His eyes were heavy. Suddenly he sat up, read- 
 justed his glasses, and stared at the paper. He 
 dropped it slowly, and hid his face in his hands. In 
 the list of casualties he had seen the name of Cap- 
 tain Robert Horton-Birkett among the wounded. A 
 faintness came over him. The train rushed on, the 
 country swam by on both sides, giving him the sen- 
 sation of being thrown violently into the air. His 
 stomach rebelled. 
 
 The short drive in the car to the major's house 
 revived him, though he was weak and trembly when 
 he arrived. Major Pomeroy-Fanton lay on a couch 
 on wheels. There he would lie perhaps for the rest 
 of his life. His wounds were permanent, trouble- 
 some and would require the attention of a nurse 
 every day and night. Sir Alfred had seen him only 
 once before in the hospital, but he knew from Ed 
 he was a tall man of fine physique and great strength. 
 What he now saw was a grotesque parody of Ed's 
 description of him. 
 
 "I wanted to see you about Ed," the major said, 
 in a voice that seemed to Sir Alfred as if it came
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 147 
 
 Out of a deep cavern. "I left France about six weeks 
 ago but the journey nearly did for me. Now I'm a 
 bit better I thought mother might drop you a line. It's 
 good of you to come down." 
 
 He spoke slowly, almost a precise accent was given 
 to each syllable, as if he wished to make quite sure 
 of one word before he ventured on another. 
 
 "I know how Ed feels, at least I think I do. It is 
 hard lines. Very. But what can be done? Only one 
 order came down to us that day, and that was coun- 
 termanded. Jawton, however, still sticks to it he sent 
 an order to advance at five. Even if we had re- 
 ceived that order it would have been too late. Re- 
 serve orders are mostly like that. It has been so 
 from the beginning in this affair. Really we were 
 badly cut up before the men broke and rushed for- 
 ward. Before I left France I was told none of the 
 officers of the reserve received the order Jawton says 
 was given. I want you to tell that to Ed, but you are 
 not to mention my name. I'm not up to having any 
 trouble about it. We all know Jawton is in the 
 wrong. When the commander heard about Ed 
 carrying me and Tudor out of the mess, he acted 
 spontaneously in recommending him for the Vic- 
 toria Cross. He didn't consult Jawton, who damned 
 and blasted everybody for a week when he heard 
 of it, but took no action. That was the test. It is 
 only influence that keeps Jawton where he is. Ed 
 knows his crowd. The lot that would massacre armies 
 rather than change their old methods of fighting." 
 
 Sir Alfred thought of the man who said the troops 
 were "goin' to be massacred." 
 
 He thought of Robert.
 
 148 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "There's too much tittle-tattle going on, too much 
 pushing and pulling, with a certain set. There's 
 enough jealousy at the front to stock all the women's 
 clubs in the kingdom. And here at home one section 
 is free to damn good soldiers who are victims of bad 
 'uns while press criticism of the War Office is 
 frowned upon as rank treason. If the House of 
 Commons knew a tenth of what is going on at the 
 front the members would go mad." 
 
 Going back to town Sir Alfred pondered the ques- 
 tion of responsibility. Was it right of members to 
 hand over blindly the fate of millions of men to the 
 Government? Was it right to connive at a policy of 
 downright deception? Were men sent out by hun- 
 dreds of thousands to be massacred ? And what of the 
 section that was free to damn good soldiers who were 
 the victims of bad ones? What section was it? When 
 he thought of how his own family had suffered, and 
 was suffering, he broke into a hot sweat. But what 
 was there to be done? Parliament was impotent. 
 Sir Alfred knew he could do nothing. Any ques- 
 tion put in the House would be received with sus- 
 picion, or answered by a grieved minister in such 
 a way as to side-track the matter. The prospect was 
 hopeless. There was no one to speak for the men 
 and their company officers. The lists each day might 
 tell the tale of scores of Britain's finest young men 
 slaughtered, but there was on one to ask if the sacri- 
 fice was necessary. Martial rule in the country and 
 martial rule in the Commons, subdued all serious 
 criticism. The Government was supreme; the voice 
 of the people was not heard. 
 
 There was a telegram from Robert waiting at
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 149 
 
 Horton House. He had received slight wounds in 
 the arm and neck, but nothing to cause anxiety. Sir 
 Alfred was relieved. He had thought of going over 
 to France that night. It would have been inconve- 
 nient to leave England at that time for there were 
 persistent rumors about that there would be a change 
 of Government. The reports from the front that 
 some one had blundered in not providing the requisite 
 shells was a matter of great concern to Sir Alfred. 
 
 Shortly after the change of Government Sir Alfred 
 was called upon to lay down new plants in many 
 places and find new .machinery for making shells. 
 In a few weeks a revolution took place in the meth- 
 ods of the industry. It came about in a strange way. 
 Sir Alfred was almost at his wit's end, as to how he 
 could answer the demands of the authorities, when 
 he was asked by his manager to see an American in- 
 ventor who had been kicking his heels about the War 
 Office and some of the big plants in the north, for 
 several months, without making any impression. 
 
 "My machinery can give you the same amount of 
 shells as the French get out of my machines," Mr. 
 McLeod said, "and our machines turn out most of 
 the shells for the French seventy-five gun." 
 
 "Do the War Office people know that?" Sir Alfred 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes. If they have opened my letters yet." 
 
 "Can you supply me with a large number of ma- 
 chines ?" 
 
 "A very large number." 
 
 A cable was sent off at once to Mr. McLeod's 
 works. Then the American told Sir Alfred some of
 
 150 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE ' 
 
 his experiences in trying to rouse British munition- 
 makers to a better understanding of the position. It 
 was really a story of the crass stupidity of men 
 wedded to antiquated methods. Here Mr. McLeod 
 was snubbed, there he was laughed at, somewhere 
 else he was regarded with suspicion. But at the War 
 Office he did not even get the satisfaction of being 
 noticed, let alone snubbed. 
 
 "You're at least eight months too late, Sir Alfred," 
 he said. "If you had gone to work on modern 
 methods when the French did your spring offensive 
 would have borne some practical results, and you 
 would have saved tens of thousands of lives per- 
 haps. Now I'm afraid it's going to be a long 
 drawn out affair. Well, it can't be helped now, but 
 it's a thousand pities to see the very flower of Bri- 
 tain's youth slaughtered out there and all for the 
 want of practical men at the head of affairs. I'm 
 an engineer and a maker of shell machinery, but I 
 tell you I hate to see the bonny lads going out to 
 face German science and German organization with- 
 out an equal chance when the guns go off." 
 
 "You're right, Mr. McLeod. It is not fair." 
 
 "Now the thing is to get it over as quickly as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 The phrase stuck in Sir Alfred's mind. Get it 
 over as quickly as possible, yes, that was the most 
 humane thing to do. 
 
 "If you had known of my machinery in the 
 middle of last July, and had got to work at once, 
 most of your difficulties would have been over by 
 now. Aye, it's a pity. In this department you're 
 all fifty years behind the time. And yet you come to
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 151 
 
 us for machinery for boots, and cloth, and printing, 
 and a hundred other things. You never thought of 
 bringing your machinery of making shells up to date. 
 Aye think of it." 
 
 "But such a concern as mine could not take the 
 initiative, Mr. McLeod. We supply the War Office 
 according to its orders. They tell us what they 
 want, and we make it. If we had got your plant it is 
 quite possible the authorities would not have even 
 tried one of your shells." 
 
 "Just so. Just so. But Sir Alfred your German 
 connection " 
 
 Sir Alfred winced, turned mottled red, and then 
 white to the lips. He fidgeted about with a paper 
 knife, and picked the palm of his hand. Mr. Mc- 
 Leod shrewdly noticed the effect of his remarks, and 
 went on. 
 
 "Your German connection is making a grand shell. 
 The other day in France I saw one which was cap- 
 tured in a trench. It hadn't been used. It was 
 perfect. The French artillerists told me they are 
 awful missiles to come in a shower. They can 
 plow through anything. Well, I think I can help you 
 to turn out just as good a shell. But the thing is to 
 get it over as quickly as possible." 
 
 For many weeks after the interview with Mr. Mc- 
 Leod, Sir Alfred was far too busy to go down to 
 Crowington. Having given Horton House over to 
 the authorities for a nursing home, he took a room 
 at the club and lived the gloomy days in an atmos- 
 phere of depressing political respectability.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 DURING the weeks when Evelyn lay sick at 
 Crowington her mother spent many lonely 
 hours in which she surveyed the past. Though Eve- 
 lyn's child brought some happy moments to her, it 
 often enough reminded her of the years when her 
 own children were left to the care of nurses and 
 pedagogues, while she devoted herself chiefly to 
 social and political affairs. Ambition drove her 
 into "the swim," there to find opportunities of ad- 
 vancement. Early in her married life she realized 
 the limitations of Alfred. She knew he would not 
 be of any use to her social aspiration, that he would 
 find all his pleasure in industrial achievement, and 
 rely on the Government to reward patient merit, and 
 large subscriptions to party funds when, and how 
 they wished. Besides, he was a strenuous dissenter, 
 a leader of the English movement against the Es- 
 tablished Church. His simple origin, too, was not in 
 her favor. She had, however, enjoyed the struggle 
 carrying such an impost to victory. Alfred had given 
 them riches, but she had brought them distinction. 
 
 When she surveyed the wondrous past and 
 thought of the social, political and financial gain, she 
 found the loss of family love and cohesion outweigh 
 all the advantages on which she had placed so much 
 store. It was so strange to her that the war should 
 be the means of revealing all the shortcomings of her 
 domestic affairs. Her marriage had been a partner- 
 
 152
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 153 
 
 ship: Alfred's money and business ability united to 
 her poverty and social standing. The partnership was 
 a success. But when all the short-lived tendernesses 
 were counted up had there been love in their married 
 life? Good as he was, easy-going, seldom ill-tem- 
 pered even for a moment he was, after all, that 
 kind of man who can live without love so long as 
 the necessary woman is there when she is required. 
 Perhaps, if they had suffered reverses in the early 
 years, fine gold might have been found in Alfred. Re- 
 verses were not for them, however, and success car- 
 ried them smoothly along the road of monoto- 
 nous respectability. She wondered if with fewer 
 children it might have been different. 
 
 And her sons and daughters. She had known for 
 a long time they had not much love for their father. 
 He was not a lovable father. When they were little 
 he seldom saw them. She could not remember when 
 he visited the nursery. Yet he was the most indulgent 
 father she had ever heard of; indeed, he had always 
 let their do just as they wished. When Ed said he 
 would like to go into the army, his father made no 
 objection, though she knew he had hoped Ed would 
 go into the business. When Harold chose the church 
 for his career, his father never said a word against 
 it. (That was an omission Harold never forgave 
 him.) As for the girls, she knew they did not care 
 whether their father existed or not. Ellen looked 
 good-humoredly upon him as a political nobody, a 
 religious hypocrite, an industrial charlatan and an 
 artistic noodle. Evelyn always kept out of his way 
 though he provided her with every luxury. He loved 
 them both in his dull expressionless way. He loved
 
 154 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 them all, but he was bereft of lovable means of dem- 
 onstration. They saw only the material generosity 
 of their father, which to them was large enough to 
 cover a multitude of parental deficiencies. 
 
 When Lady Horton-Birkett thought of how the 
 children stood to one another she derived no satis- 
 faction. They all despised Harold, the one she had 
 placed so much faith in. Robert scarcely knew them 
 since he joined the army. He seldom came home. 
 Fred had been away for the most part of eight years 
 at school and the university. Ed was the only boy 
 who showed the slightest affection for his parents 
 and his home. Ellen and Evelyn did care for Ed; 
 there was something strong about him. 
 
 So the war in some strange way threw a search- 
 light on the family and brought out all the gains and 
 losses of their lives. And in those hours, when she, 
 alone in the silent house, surveyed the past there 
 seemed so little gained for all the expenditure of labor 
 and care that what was left of life seemed scarcely 
 worth desiring. 
 
 Twelve miles to the southeast of Crowington stood 
 an old town remarkable for its Norman church and 
 Elizabethan cottages. There were some hundred 
 Irish people in its community, and tucked away in a 
 very quiet and beautiful lane there stood a Catholic 
 chapel, built by a rich landlord at the beginning of 
 the nineteenth century. Lady Horton-Birkett had 
 been over visiting a sick relative in that neighbor- 
 hood when she met the village priest. And he it 
 was who persuaded her to view the chapel. There 
 she found calm. Often after that first visit she 
 went over to it and got the sexton to let her in, and
 
 155 
 
 now every Sunday she went heavily veiled to mass. 
 At first it was a change, something during the week 
 to look forward to, having all the interest of clandes- 
 tine pleasure, with no risk to her, and no harm to 
 her family. No one knew her in the community 
 save the priest, and he would keep her secret. When 
 summer came she went farther afield and visited 
 some of the well-known Catholic communities in 
 North Wales. Her interest increased. One day after 
 a visit to Holywell she found Ellen at Crowington. 
 Her daughter had come from town to spend a week 
 or two with the Tonkses in the village. 
 
 "Do you believe in God, Ellen?" she asked, after 
 a chat about Harold. 
 
 "Yes, of course, I do. What a funny thing to 
 ask." 
 
 "Do you? Really?" 
 
 "Yes, mater. Why?" 
 
 "But you never go to any church." 
 
 "No, certainly not. And what's that go to do with 
 a belief in God?" 
 
 "Ellen! Isn't a church the temple of God?" 
 
 "Mater! What nonsense! The body is the temple 
 of God. The soul is the shrine. The kingdom of 
 God is within you. ' Nowhere else. You might as 
 well say a house is a home. Is it?" 
 
 "It is where a home should be," her mother 
 sighed. 
 
 "True. But why did you ask me if I believed in 
 God?" Ellen asked curiously. 
 
 "Well, dear, I have not been happy lately, and 
 somehow I have got out of the habit of going to our 
 .church here."
 
 156 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "I don't wonder. You've found out God is not 
 there. Just as years ago I found out our house was 
 not a home. As we've all found out. So you've 
 come to your senses at last." 
 
 "Don't be unkind " 
 
 "I shan't be sentimental, mater." 
 
 "I thought you were an atheist, Ellen." 
 
 "I know you did. Father thinks so, too. An athe- 
 ist! Because I don't go to church! It is too silly. It 
 is almost as stupid as saying some English people are 
 traitors because they do not support this Govern- 
 ment. Well, anyway, I'm glad you have got out of 
 the habit of going to church. Now you'll probably 
 be a happier woman." 
 
 "Are you happy, Ellen?" 
 
 "Happy?" Her eyes shone with gladness. She 
 clasped her hands in pure delight. "I never dreamed 
 of such happiness." 
 
 "I'm so glad, dear. Kiss me, Ellen." 
 
 She kissed her mother warmly, and said: "I'm 
 going to be a mother." 
 
 How different! she thought. But then Ellen was 
 so unlike them all. She seemed to have come from 
 another stock. Perhaps her father's mother was the 
 strain from which Ellen derived. 
 
 Ed and Ellen had tea in Evelyn's room. The in- 
 valid was improving, but she was not strong enough 
 to get down-stairs. The baby throve apace and de- 
 lighted its mother every day with acrobatic exhibi- 
 tions of linking- its fingers and toes. It rolled about 
 on the bed crooning and howling every afternoon 
 for an hour while Evelyn made the sound of the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 157 
 
 cricket, which made the baby laugh until it hic- 
 coughed. She worried a good deal about Wilmslow, 
 and harried Ed daily as to the condition of the 
 place and the care of the hunters. The horses were 
 sent to a farm on the Crowington estate. Ed dare 
 not sell them. Evelyn believed the war would soon 
 come to an end, and Herbert would come back. She 
 would listen to no suggestion that would entail part- 
 ing with anything Herbert left there. 
 
 "How long do you think it will last, Ed?" 
 
 "Don't know. Another year, maybe. It may de- 
 pend on the Dardanelles and the Balkans. Seems 
 to me from what can be gathered from our papers, 
 the Russian line, and the French, too, won't affect 
 the end very much. The winning or losing of a 
 trench or two here or there can make little difference. 
 Peace might come soon after Germany gets through 
 the Balkans to the Black Sea. That's my opinion." 
 
 "Ben's opinion is something like that," Ellen re- 
 marked. 
 
 "How's Robert getting on?" Evelyn asked. 
 
 "Quite all right. He's much better and says he'll 
 be ready to go back very soon,'" Ed said. 
 
 "It's monstrous, the way they're flinging wounded 
 men back again," Ellen put in. "Very few get the 
 chance of making a thorough mental and physical 
 recovery. It's horrible." 
 
 Then followed the usual silence after a reference 
 to the slaughter while they examined their thoughts. 
 
 "And dad what's he doing?" Ed asked, after a 
 long pause. 
 
 "Coining money. He's got a lot of American ma-
 
 158 "A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 chinery which turns out shells faster than a ma- 
 chine-gun can make corpses. He's in high feather." 
 
 "What's he think of the Coalition Scramble 
 Stakes?" 
 
 "Oh, he's sick about it. Just think of dad having 
 to support a Cabinet half made up of the other lot. 
 But he gets over it by saying it is his sacrifice." 
 
 "He is a joke," Evelyn muttered. "And Haugh- 
 mond ? Is that attended to ?" 
 
 "Yes, all ready," Ellen replied. "You tell him." 
 
 "No, you, little 'un." 
 
 "Well, all right." 
 
 Ellen looked at Ed for a moment or two and won- 
 dered how he would take it. 
 
 "Sit down, Ed, I've something to tell you." 
 
 Ed sat on the edge of the bed and looked across 
 it at Ellen. 
 
 "You know that Haughmond land in Dorset old 
 aunty left to mother ?" 
 
 "Yes. What's up?" 
 
 "It's yours." 
 
 "Mine." 
 
 "Yes. Evelyn and I have left it to you." 
 
 He was puzzled. "How left it " 
 
 "Mater turned it over to us, and we turned it over 
 to you. Don't you see?" 
 
 "But what for?" 
 
 "Well, we thought you might like something of 
 your own to fall back on. It's nearly two thousand 
 a year." 
 
 "But I've got my pay." 
 
 "Stupid, you can't keep Clarice on your pay."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 159 
 
 "Clarice has eighty thousand pounds," Evelyn in- 
 terjected. 
 
 "Thunder and lightning, I didn't know that," Ellen 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Never mind that," Ed said. "Why have you 
 girls given the Haughmond place to me?" 
 
 They cast glances at each other, stammered 
 alternately a syllable and got no further. Ed eyed 
 them both with an amused expression. 
 
 "Out with it," he ordered. 
 
 "Well because Ed, it was because we thought 
 you didn't want any money coming from munitions," 
 Ellen blurted. 
 
 "Yes, that's it, Ed," Evelyn put in emphatically. 
 
 He had felt that was their reason for doing it. 
 
 "Aren't you glad?" Evelyn inquired. 
 
 "Better take dad's hoard than your bit," he mused. 
 
 "Our bit! I'm provided for, Ed," Evelyn said. 
 
 "And Ben can earn all I want," Ellen asserted. 
 
 "Look here, girls. Fve thought of all this since 
 I came back, thought of it no end, and there's no way 
 out for us. I'm not good at moralizing, as you know, 
 and preaching's not my line, but I've made up my 
 mind to start afresh when this war's over. I know 
 about gees, and that's about all. So I'm going 
 to breed hunters. Good, clean, brave, healthy 
 horses " 
 
 "And Clarice" 
 
 He was struck dumb and stared hopelessly at them 
 for a while. His eyes told them he was hurt, and 
 that his silence meant an inward struggle to control 
 an emotion that pained him. They were too moved
 
 160 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 by his eyes full of suffering to speak and turn the 
 subject. 
 
 "She mightn't want to begin afresh," he muttered. 
 "It would not be fair to ask that. Would it, now ?" 
 
 "But but, Ed listen !" Ellen cried. "Haughmond 
 is yours, and you must have it. That's settled. You 
 needn't take a penny of dad's money. Evelyn and 
 J will not want for anything. Remember, I kept 
 myself for years in Germany, and I can always get 
 a job as a musician. Now, you must be sensible. 
 Do, Ed." 
 
 "You'll want it, you see," he muttered. "The war's 
 not over yet, and you never can tell. It's awfully 
 good of you, but it won't do." 
 
 "How are you going to breed hunters without 
 money?" Evelyn asked sharply, exasperated by his 
 refusal. 
 
 "Don't know yet. You see, I'm good at nothing 
 much, and that's the only thing I really know about. 
 I can't do any more soldiering." 
 
 He held up his right hand, and waved it, as if he 
 were sweeping that career out of his path. 
 
 "Don't, Ed," Evelyn cried beseechingly. 
 
 "Anyway, I've made up my mind I'm going to 
 start afresh. Perhaps I'll make a poor beginning. 
 I can't tell yet. If dad were ruined through it, 
 suppose he lost all his money in the end, then I'd 
 have to work for my living " 
 
 "If he were ruined!" Ellen murmured. "I wish 
 for his own sake that might happen. No such luck." 
 
 "In any event I mean to go on my own." 
 
 "But not all of dad's money has been made from 
 shells and armaments," Evelyn remembered.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 161 
 
 "I know. But that makes no difference, Cricket. 
 In a case like this there's no choice. It's all or 
 nothing." 
 
 "You're right, Ed absolutely," Ellen exclaimed. 
 
 The chat in Evelyn's room had a great effect on Ed. 
 For several days he wandered about the fields of 
 Crowington wrestling in his ponderously slow man- 
 ner with the weighty questions he had to decide. 
 Soldiering had done for him. From the moment 
 he met Herbert face to face in battle, and heard his 
 wild cry for his love, for Cricket, Ed cared no more 
 what happened to him. It was his desire to end it 
 all that sent him back into that hail of bullets for 
 Pomeroy-Fanton and Tudor. Life at that price was 
 not worth living. But he lived through it. Unlike 
 so many young men, driven by the methods of re- 
 cruiting advertisements and orators to the front to 
 find relief in "suicide" from the curse of blood, he 
 had fought gallantly since the beginning. "Suicide" 
 had not occurred to him. He was a soldier by pro- 
 fession. To be shot and not shoot was never in his 
 mind. Indeed "suicide" was not known until long 
 after he was back in England. The quarrel with 
 Jawton had made no difference; it was the shock 
 of meeting Herbert. It amazed Ed when he re- 
 membered how much he thought about in that mo- 
 ment. With incalculable rapidity he suffered such 
 thoughts as "I might have killed him," and "Why 
 him?" and "Why any man?" Herbert he knew and 
 loved. But there was not a German in all that wild 
 battle he had cause to hate or personal desire to kill. 
 The man he struck down at Herbert's feet was
 
 162 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 perhaps obeying Herbert's orders, perhaps actu- 
 ally defending Herbert at that moment. 
 
 Ellen had worked wonders in Ed she knew not 
 of. While he was lying in his mother's parlor his 
 sister brought to him some Tolstoy tracts. He read 
 these works in the hours when he was alone, but 
 never spoke to any one about them. Ellen thought 
 he had not looked at them, as he never mentioned 
 them. One day she brought War and Peace to 
 him and told him to read it. He made no promise, 
 however ; but at night, and when he was well enough 
 to go about, he read it with deep interest. This work, 
 too, he mentioned to no one. So Ellen in that way 
 brought about a complete change in Ed's views of 
 life. And all the time in his rambles, and at night, 
 he was eating his heart out for Clarice. He knew 
 the stories of his cowardice had affected her in some 
 way. She did not come over, and she did not send 
 messages. Though they lived only a few miles apart 
 they did not meet, for Ed went seldom to the village, 
 and now Evelyn was at Crowington, he kept away 
 from Wilmslow. The sense of misunderstanding 
 possessed Ed and Clarice more sharply that if they 
 had quarreled. And the position of his family made 
 him feel he should spare Clarice from the ill-will 
 of their neighbors. He and Evelyn were lepers and 
 it were better for their friends isolation should be 
 complete. How dreary the time was for him. How 
 much a prisoner he felt within the bounds of the 
 estate. He became so familiar with every field that 
 the place seemed to shrink smaller and smaller every 
 day. If his hand were only well enough to begin 
 riding! It was healing now, but it had been an ob-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 163 
 
 stinate wound, and the three fingers left on his hand 
 felt numb, as if they would be of no use to him. He 
 was, however, making progress with left-hand writ- 
 ing, and he was reading more than he ever did before. 
 
 Ben had promised to spend Minsterley Flower 
 Show week with Ellen at his father's house. She 
 wanted to go one day to the show in commemora- 
 tion of their first meeting years ago. Evelyn placed 
 her car at their disposal. It was a lovely August day 
 when they left Crowington to ride in to Minsterley. 
 The show was, however, shorn of much of its popu- 
 lar interest owing to abandonment of side-shows, but 
 the flowers and fruits were every bit as fine as in 
 the days of peace. In the afternoon Ellen and Ben 
 called on an aunt, the old woman who met the 
 wounded Tommy the night Ed returned from the 
 French hospital. 
 
 "It's good a thee to come," old Mrs. Vaughan 
 said, as she got tea ready for her guests. "We'm 
 not used to gran' folks, but tha's welcome, surely. 
 Albert 'Enry's gone back to trenches, 'e 'as, poor 
 lad, these five weeks. Gone afore 'e was ready and 
 willin', I'm thinkin'. 'E's last of all mine as they 
 took. Bill war killed early on, Jim 'e died in 'orspital, 
 John Griffith 'e war blown ta atoms on 'is ship. 
 Three jead outer five. T'other Robertson Vs con- 
 sumptive and not able." 
 
 "Where are the girls, aunt?" Ben asked. 
 
 "They'm married. Three 'as childer in war. I 
 anna 'card as anys killed yet. Praised be God for 
 them mercies. 'E's seen fit to take my three, 'E 'as. I 
 mun bear up if it be Ts wish."
 
 164 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan shed few tears. She went busily 
 about her work, and laid before them tea, scones, 
 hot muffins, apple jelly and eggs. Everything was 
 beautifully clean. It was an inviting meal. 
 
 "Have you been to Crowington lately?" Ellen 
 asked. 
 
 "No, ma'am. It's a bit of a journey for me. I 
 anna bin there for nigh on ten years. It war good 
 o' your mother 'er ladyship to come in and see 
 Albert 'Enry. 'E war fair set up about it. 'Er's 
 good to me. Praise be to God." 
 
 Later that evening when Ellen and Ben were riding 
 back to Crowington, Ben, after a long silence in which 
 he thought of his aunt, said: 
 
 "It's lucky for the men called a Government that 
 the true non-conformist mothers of England really 
 believe it's God's will."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE Registration Act caused much excitement 
 at Crowington Manor, and the question of who 
 should distribute the papers to the villagers raised 
 considerable discussion. There were numbers of 
 nosey people in the district who were willing to 
 undertake the job. Harold and his friends welcomed 
 the measure; but Ed and Ellen were opposed to the 
 act and would have nothing to do with it. Ben said 
 it was the last thing in Prussian interference, and 
 that it would bring the people shortly under the 
 lash of the conscriptionists. The discussion which 
 took place on the Sunday evening was heated and, be- 
 fore it came to an end, some hard words passed. 
 
 "I think Harold wants to distribute the papers," 
 Sir Alfred said, by way of testing the feeling of the 
 meeting. 
 
 "Not Harold," Ed began. 
 
 "Why not ?" his father put in. 
 
 "He's a conscriptionist. It wouldn't be fair." 
 
 "Quite against the spirit of the promise of the 
 Government that the act was not a bridge for the 
 conscriptionists," Ellen remarked. 
 
 "But Harold knows all the people. He is vicar," 
 Sir Alfred said testily. 
 
 "And can bulldoze some of them to his heart's 
 desire," Evelyn snorted. 
 
 "Well, the schoolmaster " her father suggested. 
 
 "No. He's Harold's tool." 
 
 165
 
 166 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "But, Ed, some one must do it" 
 
 "Then you do it, dad." 
 
 "No, no," Lady Horton-Birkett cried. "Dad 
 must not do it. It would not look nice going from 
 door to door like a rent collector." 
 
 "But he is one, mater," Ellen observed. 
 
 "Dad would be fair about it," Ed said, with a 
 tone of finality. 
 
 Sir Alfred felt flattered for a moment, but all the 
 same he did not like the job. It was undignified. 
 Still, he had never seen the majority of his tenants 
 to speak to, and it might give him an opportunity 
 of thanking each household for what it had done 
 for the empire. 
 
 "Has any one found out how many men have gone 
 to the front from our village?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes, I have the figures," Ellen answered. She 
 took out of her bag a note-book and turned its 
 pages. "Up to the end of May: two hundred and 
 three houses: fifty-two enlistments, nine killed and 
 thirty wounded. A month ago there were eleven 
 totally disabled men at home. One house the Mill- 
 ingtons lost two boys under eighteen, who enlisted 
 by giving wrong ages, the father is wounded and 
 totally disabled. The mother is in the lunatic asylum 
 and Jennie, the eldest daughter, not sixteen yet, has 
 four under fourteen to look after. Then there's " 
 
 "Ellen, Ellen, for God's sake stop," her mother 
 cried, "I can't stand it." She burst into tears. 
 
 "It is fiendish, isn't it?" she observed. "I thought 
 dad would like to know before he distributed the 
 papers. Here are my notes." She handed the book 
 to her father. "You might care to look them over.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 167 
 
 You'll find there how many women there are over 
 sixteen and under sixty-five for the purposes of the 
 Act." 
 
 "Our village has given its share," Ed muttered. 
 
 "How many men gone from the estate are killed 
 and wounded?" Evelyn inquired. 
 
 "From the estate, four of our men enlisted; two 
 gardeners, a groom and a chauffeur. A gardener, 
 Evans, is wounded, and Vance, the groom, died of 
 fever," Ed replied. "We have only three men left 
 here and they are over fifty the boys are under 
 fifteen." 
 
 "Well, when Fred goes, there will be only Harold 
 left to enlist," Evelyn sighed. 
 
 "A little work in France might make him modify 
 his views on conscription," Ellen insinuated. "A 
 few weeks at the front might do him a lot of good." 
 
 "Must these registration papers be distributed, 
 dad?" Ed asked. 
 
 "Most certainly. Why do you ask?" 
 
 "It seems to me an insulting thing to do down 
 here. Surely the village can do no more. Who is 
 left? The women can't be spared; the children and 
 the farms must be looked after. I went into the 
 matter pretty carefully last week, and I'm blest if 
 I can see what good will be done here by delivering 
 registration forms. If it must be done then you 
 should do it, dad. It's a ticklish business and must 
 be done carefully." 
 
 "You're quite right, Ed quite right," his father 
 said. "I will do it myself." 
 
 Ellen sat near her mother and inwardly fumed 
 .with anger at her father's sublime indifference to the
 
 168 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 woe that affected nearly every cottage in the vil- 
 lage. She had hoped he would express some word 
 of sorrow, that he would show some sympathy. She 
 hoped in vain. To her he seemed to be hypnotized 
 by any order issued by the Government. His ser- 
 vility was complete. She did not know he had qualms 
 as to the dignity of the proceeding. She judged 
 him by his appearances. So smug and aloof he 
 seemed as he listened to their arguments, that she 
 began to regard him as a stranger wholly ignorant 
 of the facts. Or was it the cursed spell of "Govern- 
 ment" which subdued every bit of pity in him? And 
 this man was once a Radical. Ellen wondered if it 
 were not a myth; the story of his youth and his 
 fight for disestablishment and religious liberty. He 
 reminded her of a Prussian official who read out a 
 list of killed to a group of old men and women in 
 a village on the borders of Saxony. He went on 
 reading in sharp steely tones, never heeding the 
 grief of the listeners. Then when he had spoken 
 the last name he turned to a colleague and told a 
 bawdy story to the accompaniment of loud guffaws. 
 Ellen thought indifference could not be more com- 
 plete. 
 
 "If you deliver the forms here I'll never speak to 
 you again," she said, rising and going to her father, 
 who had lighted a cigar find was playing with the 
 almost burned match. 
 
 The attack was so unexpected he dropped his ci- 
 gar: "What!" 
 
 "I mean it. If you stoop to such a contemptible 
 act as to hand a registration form into any cottage 
 in the village, I'll never speak to you again."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 169 
 
 Her eyes sparkled with anger. Her frail body 
 seemed to grow as she stood before tfte huge bulk 
 of her father. 
 
 "Ellen I I can't understand," he stammered. 
 
 "Can't understand! Have you lost all sense of re- 
 finement? Is there no limit to which you will go 
 like an old sheep so long as the Government leads 
 the way?" 
 
 Lady Horton-Birkett left the room. 
 
 "But the law of the land " 
 
 "You know that is not so. Law of the land! And 
 since when have you accepted laws the land has had 
 no part in making? You've destroyed the laws of 
 the land. Every law worth having is gone abol- 
 ished abandoned." 
 
 "But only for the duration of the war." 
 
 He looked for all the world like a great big dunce 
 in a village school blurting out wrong answers to 
 simple questions put by an impatient teacher. 
 
 "Nonsense! You would find a pretext for any 
 enormity as long as the Government committed it. 
 You think these abominable laws have only to be put 
 into force when they are passed by a gagged House. 
 You never think of the pain, the sorrow they will 
 bring. You talk about fighting to save Christianity 
 when you ought to know it doesn't exist. You prate 
 about democracy when you know the war killed 
 its only chance to rise. You ask men raised in pig 
 pens, called cottages, to go and be slaughtered for 
 western civilization. And you have the amazing im- 
 pertinence to associate God with all your hellish pro- 
 ceedings. When was God not used as a cloak fot 
 national sins? You cram the papers full of lies.
 
 170 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 You can't bare to tell the truth about defeat and 
 losses, and you foist petty advances on humbugged 
 people as war-ending victories." 
 
 The others were struck dumb by Ellen's outburst. 
 They were too amazed to intercede or restrain. To 
 see little Ellen hurling denunciation into her hu- 
 miliated father's face was a fascinating sight and 
 riveted their attention as would a dramatically acted 
 scene on the stage. It was so grippingly interesting 
 they did not realize their relations to the actors. 
 When Ellen, breathless, stopped speaking they looked 
 to their father to reply, but he turned away with a 
 sad shrug of his big shoulders and sank into his arm- 
 chair. Whether that action of his was interpreted 
 by Ellen as one of contempt for her censure it set 
 her almost in a flame. 
 
 "Can nothing stir you out of your indiff erence ?" 
 she cried, stamping her foot and turning toward 
 him. "Are you so immersed in making shells and 
 money that pity can't touch you?" 
 
 "Some one has to make shells, and they can't be 
 made for nothing," he retorted angrily, stung at last 
 to show temper. 
 
 Ed suddenly realized it was not wise for Ellen 
 to work herself into such a passion. 
 
 "Come, Ellen, be quiet now," he said, taking her 
 arm. "Evelyn, come, take her away." 
 
 Evelyn put her arm around her sister, who broke 
 down and sobbed violently, and led her from the 
 room. Ed shut the door, and after a pause in which 
 he glanced at his father's form, strolled back to him. 
 
 "I'm sorry, dad," he mumbled. "But you brought 
 it on yourself.'*
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 171 
 
 "I never said a word not one." 
 
 "No, but it's the way you act. Somehow you 
 don't understand " 
 
 "Understand what?" 
 
 "It's hard to explain, dad. But you seem to us 
 to be ignorant of how others feel. You go on mak- 
 ing money, giving speeches, attending meetings, 
 preaching recruiting sermons, and seem to forget 
 we are well, having a pretty rotten time of it down 
 here. This is the first time you've been to see us 
 for a deuce of a time. Here's mother eating her 
 heart out about something, Evelyn's chased out of 
 Wilmslow, and well, things are all wrong. Up in 
 town you don't get time to think. Down here we 
 don't get time to do anything else. You plan up in 
 town, and we see the results of it down here. I'm 
 not blaming you, mind. You're in it, and you've got 
 to stick it, I s'pose." 
 
 "What can I do?" 
 
 "I know. That's the rotten part of it. It's got 
 you, and you can't get loose. It's what some people 
 call 'the system.' That's what's all wrong. It was 
 'the system* which got hold of you when we were 
 little 'uns. It took you away from us then, and we've 
 seen very little of you since. In a way it's like the 
 Government who have thought so much of the empire 
 that they've forgotten there is such a place as Britain. 
 Power and glory overseas, and poverty and grime 
 at home. You know what I mean. I've heard you 
 make electioneering speeches in that strain when the 
 other lot was in office. It's like as if you'd 
 made a machine you daren't leave for a blessed mo- 
 ment."
 
 172 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "But I had to think of you all and make money 
 to educate you and to give you some position." 
 
 "And now we don't want it " 
 
 "Want don't want what?" 
 
 He sat up, blew his nose noisily and blinked at 
 Ed. 
 
 "The money." 
 
 Sir Alfred thought for a while but failed to grasp 
 what his son meant. 
 
 "You ought to know, dad. Perhaps it's best you 
 should know. It might help you to take things 
 easier." 
 
 "Know what? What is it?" he asked querulously. 
 
 "Well Evelyn, Ellen and I will not want any 
 money. You needn't take another order so far as 
 we're concerned." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Candidly we won't take it. We've made up our 
 minds. Maybe you don't know what to make of me. 
 It's funny, I know. But I've changed, dad. All 
 my old notions have been clean knocked out of me. 
 I'm going to start afresh, if I have to begin on 
 nothing." 
 
 "What are you going to do?" his father whined 
 plaintively. 
 
 "Well, the army has no use for this kind of thing," 
 Ed said, holding up what remained of his right 
 hand. "So they can let me out as soon as they 
 like one less to pay. Anyway, whole or maimed, 
 I should get v out when it's over even if I went 
 through it. What I'll do doesn't much matter. I'm 
 not ambitious. So you needn't worry about me, 
 dad."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 173 
 
 "Ed, my boy," his father said, rising and taking 
 him by the shoulders, "I know you've had a rough 
 time of it. They have treated you shamefully 
 cross or no cross. But that Jawton business will 
 be set right if I have to " 
 
 "Never mind that. I don't think of it now, so 
 put it out of your mind. You couldn't set it right 
 if you tried. The system wouldn't let you try. It's 
 discipline. Jawton is a colonel, I'm only a cap- 
 tain. There it is in a nutshell. But the other 
 matter is the important one, dad." 
 
 "Which is that?" 
 
 "Money. Business." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Can't you give it up?" 
 
 "Impossible, Ed, I can't desert the Government 
 just when they need me most. Besides, think of the 
 enormous number of new plants I am putting down 
 all over the country. The expense is fearful." 
 
 "I see. You can't cut loose, can you?" 
 
 "It's unthinkable, my boy. Duty is a hard task- 
 master. And I have my duty to perform " 
 
 "Well, we'll not go into that, dad," Ed said 
 quickly, fearing his father would launch into a 
 series of perorations on sacrifice, duty and patriotism. 
 "But but do understand, Evelyn, Ellen and I 
 won't take any money we shall not need it." 
 
 "Won't take any? You mean " 
 
 "I can't make it plainer, dad. We shan't take a 
 penny of what you've made." 
 
 "There's some reason I don't " 
 
 "We don't like the way it's been made." 
 
 "Armaments."
 
 174 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Now you've got it, dad. Armaments. That's 
 it. We're sorry very. It's best you should know 
 it might make it easier for you to get out when 
 you haven't got to think of us." 
 
 The conscience of Sir Alfred had been so long 
 encased in thick tough hide it was too late to try 
 to touch it For over thirty years he had suppressed 
 it, kept it dormant so long, that it had become a 
 hard shriveled kernel in his big shell. He had 
 used it so little of late years it had lost its sense 
 of response. 
 
 "I never thought you would be squeamish," he 
 murmured. 
 
 "Squeamish! Why it almost makes me sick to 
 think of taking up an attitude that seems moral. 
 I'm no saint. And my conversion came a bit late. 
 Besides, I've enjoyed myself on your money a deuce 
 of a time. I can't explain clearly, but I've changed 
 completely. In a way it's a funk but I began to 
 funk while I lay thinking in the hospital. The thing 
 that knocks the stuffing out of me is the fact that 
 we have been living on the money of your shells 
 which are used by most of the combatants. For all 
 I know I was wounded by your patents fired by 
 Germans. And Herbert twice wounded might have 
 been laid out by ammunition from our factories here. 
 That's horrible. War's bad enough, God knows, but 
 this business is really damnable." 
 
 He knew he could give Ed a complete answer if 
 he wished, but he kept silent. It interested him to 
 listen to his son, who only a little while ago, would 
 have blushed to attempt to put a half dozen sen- 
 tences together in one speech. Now to hear him
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 175 
 
 thread so much together in his slow rather ponder- 
 ous way interested the fluent platform man. He 
 caught himself thinking what a fine effect in time 
 of peace he could make with the same material, if 
 the other side were in, and he not interested in mak- 
 ing ammunition. 
 
 "Hope you don't feel hurt," Ed muttered. 
 
 "Hurt. Oh, no. I look at all these things from a 
 different angle. I am after the good that is sure to 
 come out of the evil. Only through the pain and 
 woe of war can Prussian militarism be crushed. 
 There can never be enduring peace until that is ac- 
 complished. We dare not sheath the sword until 
 that is done. Now, you must not confuse two di- 
 ametrically opposed ideas. Industry is one thing 
 war is another. You don't for a moment believe I 
 set up the shell and bullet business to bring about 
 war, do you? The idea's preposterous! When I 
 began that business everybody was agreed armies and 
 navies were indispensable forces for the defense of 
 empires food supply merchant-marine and all that 
 kind of thing. I supplied a perfectly legitimate de- 
 mand, one that had the full sanction of both po- 
 litical parties. The business grew. International re- 
 lations became strained, and the great nations formed 
 themselves into two diplomatic groups. Naturally, 
 our friends, France and Russia, desired to have as 
 good ammunition as ours, and I cooperated with 
 them in opening plants but solely for purposes of 
 defense. Then Austria and Germany got to know 
 about our products, and they wanted to manufacture 
 them. Well, I, never dreaming the two groups would 
 really go to war, extended our business to Germany
 
 176 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 and Austria, believing they were as keen as we were 
 to keep the world's peace. But I was taken in. De- 
 luded, Ed. They meant to smash us all the time. 
 Peace was not in their hearts. They had sold them- 
 selves to Satan and Nietzsche. Instead of the peace 
 principles of the prophets and our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 they took the godless guidance of Bernhardi and 
 what's the other fellow's name? There you have 
 it." 
 
 He wound up with a flourish of his arms, and 
 extended his hands with a final gesture of delivering 
 the whole truth to Ed. He was so pleased with the 
 effect that he wished the speech had been made to 
 the Grand Council of Dissenters. He knew it would 
 have fetched them all. 
 
 "Now to bed. I have a busy day in town ^to-mor- 
 row. Good night, my boy." 
 
 With a tap on Ed's shoulder, he left him silent and 
 oppressed. The debate had wearied Ed, so much 
 talking fatigued him. He felt like going up to bed, 
 but he thought his father had to be answered. How, 
 he did not know. That there was a reply, he felt 
 sure. He sat down to think it over and charged his 
 pipe. He was puffing away when Ellen came into 
 the room. 
 
 "Little 'un! Not gone yet?" he said. 
 
 "No, I waited until he went to bed. I've been 
 with mother. She's pretty sick, Ed. Evelyn's with 
 her now. Walk a bit of the way with me. It's a 
 beautiful night." 
 
 They started off to the village in the cool tranquil 
 night. The stars hung low, and the elms rustled 
 gently in the fitful breeze. Some ducks, high up,
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 177 
 
 passed over toward Gungford ponds. And Ed 
 thought of Clarice and nights on the white road, 
 driving back and forth. The happy indolent days 
 of ignorance of and trust in the future. 
 
 "Ben will be sitting up for me," Ellen said. 
 
 "It's late, little 'un, and you've got to take care 
 of yourself." 
 
 He towered above her as she took short firm steps 
 at his side. It amused him to see her elfish white 
 face in the strange bluey light upturned to his own. 
 
 "What did you make of dad?" 
 
 "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My fault I think." 
 
 "Your fault?" 
 
 "I think so. You see I'm all mixed up when I 
 argue. I can only feel what is right and wrong. 
 I don't know yet how to put it into words. He had 
 me squarely beaten at the end, but he wasn't right by 
 a long shot. I was licked, but he didn't convince 
 me." 
 
 Ellen liked that big brawny brother of hers. She 
 felt he was full of good stuff. 
 
 "Dad's an expert juggler, Ed. He hasn't been 
 a party politician for nothing, nor a denominational 
 fanatic 1 in his youth without learning the art of 
 arguing away for an opponent's points. He won't 
 face up to them. Not likely." 
 
 "That was it, was it?" Ed thought. Then he re- 
 membered how skilfully his father evaded the real 
 issue between them and buried it under a heap of 
 pulpit buncombe. He laughed at the way he had been 
 done by his father. 
 
 "Pretty slick, isn't he?" Ed chuckled, amused at 
 his own simplicity.
 
 178 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "As crafty as a weasel." 
 
 "It's the life he leads, I s'pose." 
 
 They walked on in silence for some time. At 
 "the Twins" two enormous oaks the road turned 
 sharp to the south, and down the hill they noticed 
 one or two lights in the bottom where the village 
 lay. 
 
 "Mother's going to become a Catholic," Ellen 
 said. 
 
 "Is she?" Ed muttered, with as little concern as 
 if he had been told she was going to bed. 
 
 "Yes. She told me so to-night. Dad doesn't know 
 yet." 
 
 "Will he cut up rough about it?" 
 
 "Sure to. He hates Romans worse than Huns. 
 He'll be at his best on that when he hears. I told 
 mother to do just what she likes and not worry." 
 
 Ben was half-way up the village street starting 
 out again to meet his wife. They saw his tall fig- 
 ure moving like a black streak up the middle of the 
 road. 
 
 "I've been down twice. Hullo, Ed. Will you come 
 in?" 
 
 "Just a moment for a cup of hot milk," Ellen 
 pleaded. 
 
 The house was quiet, the others were all in bed. 
 It was their busy season, and they retired unusually 
 early. 
 
 "Harry came home about seven just after you 
 went out," Ben said. "He has thrown up his job 
 in Manchester." 
 
 Ellen turned to Ed and said: "Harry is Ben's 
 young brother an architect. You don't remember
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 179 
 
 him, Ed. He only came here occasionally since he 
 went away to study." 
 
 "He's had a pretty, bad time of it," Ben ex- 
 plained. "He won't enlist. Some weeks ago he be- 
 gan to receive anonymous postcards: 'Why don't 
 you enlist, you coward?' You know the kind of 
 thing. Usually sent by old men or young women. 
 He's been fearfully pestered, so I gather. Then a 
 woman stopped in the street and gave him a 
 white feather. To make things worse it was dis- 
 covered his employer's wife was born in Germany. 
 Then they made things hum. His employer had to 
 close the office and shut up his house. Now, he has 
 gone to live near the sanitorium in Scotland where 
 his half-demented wife is lodged. Nice, isn't it?" 
 
 "Culture, par excellence!" Ellen exclaimed. "But 
 what can you expect when we are educationally 
 ninth in the list of nations? The people are not to 
 blame here any more than they are to blame on the 
 Continent. Taste is not an instinct, and refinement 
 is not to be expected from wage slaves. They don't 
 get a decent chance. The ruling classes here are 
 every bit as stupid, as cruel, as they are in Prussia. 
 There's really nothing to choose." 
 
 "Harry is a sensitive creature," Ben remarked, 
 after a pause in which Ellen poured the milk into 
 glasses. "He is an artist and fanatically moral. War 
 hurts him. The thought of it unhinges him. He's 
 a peculiar chap. Almost delicate in feeling a lot 
 of the woman in him. But very brave morally in- 
 deed, he is one of the most truly courageous fellows 
 I know." 
 
 They sipped their milk and thought of Harry.
 
 180 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "He'll crack up, I'm afraid," Ben said. "He stood 
 it all right until they started to persecute Mrs. Rav- 
 ensworth, his employer's wife, then he buckled up." 
 
 "I'm glad he has come home," Ellen said. 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock when Ed left Tonks' 
 house in the village. Everything was still, the fitful 
 breeze had died away. In the east, miles away to- 
 ward Staffordshire, open forges every now and then 
 flashed their ruddy lights against the sky. As he 
 turned past "the Twins" he saw the glare of a motor 
 approaching down the road. He walked on toward 
 it, keeping well in near the hedge to let it pass. It 
 must be running slowly, he thought, as he advanced. 
 Strange it did not pass him. Then he realized it 
 must have stopped, something gone wrong with it. 
 When he got up to it he found Harold with some 
 of his friends standing near the car. One was 
 slightly intoxicated. They had been to a recruiting 
 meeting in the Potteries. The chauffeur was busy 
 changing a tire. 
 
 "That you, Ed?" Harold asked, peering over the 
 side of the car. 
 
 "Yes. It's only a puncture, isn't it?" 
 
 "That's all." 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 Ed was moving off again when the intoxicated 
 man exclaimed: " 'S that your brother, Vicar? 
 Lemme have a look at him. So that's the chap that 
 
 Whether Harold put his hand over his friend's 
 mouth or not Ed could not tell, but he heard a bit 
 of a struggle and some fierce whispering going on. 
 
 Ed thought for a moment, and then went back.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 181 
 
 Harold and another man stood between Ed and 
 the fuddled person. The lamp shone full upon them. 
 They watched Ed make straight for them. On he 
 came, and went through them, as they gave way on 
 each side. 
 
 He grasped the gurgling roysterer, turned him 
 round and looked him straight in the face. He 
 blinked at the strong light. Ed had his back to it, 
 and his face looked like a black patch to the blink- 
 ing tippler. 
 
 "Now finish what you were going to say." 
 
 Ed's left hand held him in a tightening grip. 
 
 "Oh, my God. Leggo. My arm!" 
 
 It was no use struggling. Ed had his fingers full 
 of the soft flesh, and he was veKed. 
 
 "Christ you're hurting." 
 
 "Say it " 
 
 Harold came up: "Ed, it's Victor Lawley he's 
 only drunk." 
 
 "He'll be sober in a minute." 
 
 Harold's other friend strolled away to watch the 
 chauffeur. 
 
 "Apologize, Victor," the vicar shouted into Law- 
 ley's face, clouded and wrinkled with pain and rage. 
 
 "Let him think it over," Ed murmured. "I'm not 
 pressed for time." 
 
 "He'll hold you there till daylight, you fool," 
 Harold cried, exasperated at his friend's obstinacy. 
 "Apologize, you ass." 
 
 "I I apologize." 
 
 Victor was limp when Ed let him go. 
 
 They listened to Ed's feet crunching along the 
 highway, until they were sure he was out of earshot.
 
 
 182 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Did he hurt you?" Harold asked. 
 
 "Blast him, yes. Thought his bloody fingers were 
 going right through my arm." Lawley replied. 
 
 "Serve you damn well right, you silly ass," the 
 third man muttered. "You forgot he had another fist." 
 
 "Ed's a terror when he's roused," Harold re- 
 marked. 
 
 The chauffeur put his tools away, brushed the 
 'dust from his knees, and soon they were whirling 
 off toward the vicarage which lay about a mile be- 
 yond the village. 
 
 Ed trudged on. His thoughts were occupied with 
 the careers of Harold's friends. Victor Lawley was 
 the son of the archdeacon, and now enjoyed the 
 honor of buying fodder from farmers for the Gov- 
 ernment. Victor was an only son a gambler, a 
 tippler and a gentleman of debt and leisure. The 
 other Ed knew him. He was the Honorable Wil- 
 loughby Stoke. His father owed Sir Alfred a lot of 
 money. Willoughby was a nephew of the bishop. He 
 was buying horses for the Government. But he knew 
 more about horses than Lawley knew about fodder. 
 His distinction in life had been bankruptcy and 
 women. Both were "good fellows." "Jolly dogs" 
 the county w,ould say of them. They were first- 
 class recruiting speakers, full of jest and humorous 
 stones. Harold was good to them, their connections 
 were so influential. 
 
 So, thought Ed, as he walked up the drive, young 
 Harry Tonks is hounded out of Manchester because 
 he has conscientious objections, and Lawley and 
 Stoke, both of military age, buy fodder and horses 
 for the State.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 HARRY TONKS had not been long in the village 
 before the vicar heard of his visit. Knowing 
 nothing about the reason why he left Manchester, 
 Harold took an early opportunity of sizing him up, 
 as they passed on the road, and decided then and 
 there Harry was physically fit to be shot. All the 
 family of Tonks were nothing but mean, narrow, 
 bigoted dissenters, so Harold thought. He disliked 
 them all, and particularly Ben, who, by marrying 
 Ellen, had let him down badly before the whole 
 county. Lawley, who was staying at the vicarage 
 while he was buying fodder in that area, was larking 
 with Mrs. Harold's nurse maid in the garden when 
 the vicar, after seeing Harry, walked up the path. 
 
 "Victor, that you?"' Harold shouted over some 
 bushes at the fodder merchant, who was chasing the 
 frightened nurse around a bed of gladiola. "What 
 you up to?" 
 
 "Playing tick to amuse the baby," the glib Victor 
 answered. 
 
 The nurse hastened to her charge and wheeled 
 it off toward the house. Lawley joined the vicar, 
 and dropped a sly wink. 
 
 "Now, don't, Victor. Play the game while you're 
 here," Harold said, referring to Lawley's sport with 
 the nurse. 
 
 "Nothing, my boy, to be alarmed about. Inno- 
 cent fun, I assure you." 
 
 183
 
 184 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Harold knew his guest, and how innocent his fun 
 had been on a former visit to the vicarage. 
 
 "Look here," he said. "You know Tonks?" 
 
 "Chap that married your sister?" 
 
 "Yes. Well, his brother is here. Been here for a 
 week or so. Skulking ' 
 
 "Not in khaki?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Anything wrong with him?" 
 
 "Nothing. He looks a fine up-standing chap." 
 
 "Damn his cheek. He'll have to get into khaki," 
 Lawley exclaimed. "You're vicar here, Harold. Why 
 the devil didn't you ask him what he jolly well 
 means ?" 
 
 "Only saw him for the first time to-day just now." 
 
 "Get after him at once. It's your duty, Harold." 
 
 Harold thought he might meet Harry in the street 
 about the time the London papers reached Growing- 
 ton, so next morning he strolled into the village and 
 hung about talking to the shopkeepers, on the watch 
 for his prey. Harry, who had been for a long walk, 
 was returning home when he met the vicar, whom he 
 scarcely knew, at the top of the village. 
 
 "Good morning," Harold saluted. 
 
 Harry looked sharply at the vicar and dropped 
 him a nod. He did not stop, but cast Harold a look 
 which a rather preoccupied man might give to a 
 stranger. 
 
 "Oh a" Harold blurted stupidly. But Harry 
 had passed, and was striding down the street. 
 
 The worst of it was, Tomlinson, the draper, was 
 putting up the awning for his shop window and 
 saw what happened. Harold turned crimson. He
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 185 
 
 burned with chagrin and vexation. Tomlinscin was a 
 deacon at Tonks' Chapel. 
 
 When Lawley heard the story from the vicar he 
 laughed merrily. Secretly he was glad. He felt 
 some respect for Harry Tonks and was keen to see 
 him. 
 
 "Didn't he know you?" 
 
 "Everybody here knows me," Harold exclaimed. 
 
 "But, Harold, Harry Tonks has not seen you for 
 years not since you've been vicar, I should think," 
 Mrs. Harold remarked. 
 
 "You don't understand," Harold snapped. 
 
 "You forget the cloth," Lawley explained to her. 
 "He should have known the vicar by the cut of his 
 coat." 
 
 "If I had my way I'd teach these vulgar ranters 
 some manners," Harold growled. 
 
 "Have another go, Harold, but let me be with 
 you the next time," Lawley laughed, as he slapped 
 Harold on the back. 
 
 The next day Harry had a visit from a county 
 recruiting officer who found him most affable and 
 communicative. 
 
 "There's been some mistake," the officer said 
 apologetically. "I was given to understand that you 
 wanted to enlist, but didn't understand about the pay 
 and pensions." 
 
 "No, I don't want to enlist," Harry said, smiling 
 blandly at the discomfited officer. "Such an idea 
 never entered my head." 
 
 "And I've come up all the way from Minsterley - 
 
 "I'm very sorry you've had your journey for 
 nothing," Harry said, opening the door. "It's too
 
 186 
 
 bad. I hope no one has been playing a silly practical 
 joke. All my intimate friends know I am a non- 
 resister." 
 
 The man marched down the path and mounted 
 his cycle. When he reached the office at Minsterley 
 he spoke his mind freely to the officer in charge, and 
 wound up his report with: "I'm not used to being 
 made a fool of for nothing." 
 
 In Harold's correspondence the next morning there 
 was a letter from his friend, Colonel Hinstock, saying 
 the time was too serious for practical jokes, that 
 one of his men had wasted several hours going 
 out to Crowington to see a non-resister who at no 
 time ever dreamed of enlisting. 
 
 Harold spent a restless day. He moped about the 
 vicarage, ill-tempered and quarrelsome, and when 
 Lawley returned in the evening, after a day spent in 
 buying fodder, he was not the better pleased for see- 
 ing his friend the worse for liquor. 
 
 They quarreled that night after dinner, and Law- 
 ley left the vicarage the next morning, much to the 
 relief of Mrs. Harold and her baby's nurse. 
 
 Who selected the village of Crowington for a re- 
 cruiting meeting puzzled a lot of people who read 
 the announcement posted about the parish. Who was 
 there t recruit in that place of sorrow? There 
 might be a few men on the outlying farms to be 
 spared after the harvest was in, but scarcely enough 
 to make it worth while holding a meeting. Still, 
 there were the bills: At the Horton-Birkett Insti- 
 tute, old General Pennett in the chair, the member 
 for the division, Mr. Jevons Oldcastle, and an ar-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 187 
 
 ray of county folk including the vicar. Crowington 
 was one of the few villages where political meetings 
 were not held. The seat had been overwhelmingly 
 conservative and it was a hopeless task for the other 
 side to attempt a serious contest. Hence the notion 
 some villagers bruited about that the meeting was 
 really one to give them an opportunity of seeing their 
 member. 
 
 Ben said he would come down from town to at- 
 tend the meeting. The bills were posted on a Satur- 
 day morning, and the gathering was to take place 
 on the next Monday week. Interest deepened as the 
 days passed, and great things were expected from 
 the platform of notabilities. 
 
 But the delivery of the registration forms had to 
 take place before the meeting was held, and Sir Al- 
 fred came from, town to perform his promise. He 
 had informed the authorities that he would under- 
 take personally the work, and asked for the forms 
 to be sent direct to him. He had passed a strenuous 
 week in town with the War Office and members of 
 the Cabinet. The question of high explosives per- 
 turbed the minds of editors and officials. For weeks 
 the serious shortage of ammunition had been dis- 
 cussed on platforms, in the columns of newspapers 
 and in Parliament, where, oddly enough, less discus- 
 sion was permitted than in the press. Sir Alfred 
 found himself in an extraordinary dilemma. He 
 was urged by the Government to turn out- asphyxi- 
 ating shells. It was awkward, for the founder of the 
 great ammunition industry which never deviated a 
 hair's breadth from Hague rules, had only a few 
 weeks ago at the meeting of the Grand Council of
 
 188 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Dissenters, moved the resolution of condemnation 
 against Germany's employment of gas shells. But 
 what could he do when the Government in such a 
 crisis asked him, nay, ordered him, to turn out the 
 very kind of ammunition he had denounced as the 
 "brutally inhuman invention of a fiendish govern- 
 ment"? Earnestly he prayed no report of the Gov- 
 ernment's request would get into the papers. The 
 authorities did, however, appreciate the delicacy of his 
 predicament, and promised to save him unnecessary 
 pain. 
 
 All might have been well but for the action of 
 one of his board of directors. At the meeting hur- 
 riedly called to consider the Government's appeal to 
 the firm to make gas shells, Mr. Leverton protested 
 solemnly against such a course. He reminded the 
 board of the esteem which the firm had won all over 
 the civilized world by conforming strictly to Hague 
 rules of warfare. To adopt the methods of Ger- 
 many, methods which had revolted the whole world, 
 would be a sacrifice of principle he, for one, would 
 never tolerate. The Government arsenals should 
 shoulder responsibilities of that kind, it was most 
 unfair to lay them on individual manufacturers. 
 There was a limit to sacrifice of principle, and if 
 the board determined to make gas shells for the 
 Government, he would be obliged to place his resig- 
 nation in their hands. 
 
 That evening a London newspaper announced the 
 resignation of Mr. Leverton, owing to the firm's in- 
 tention of making asphyxiating shells. Provincial 
 organs copied the startling news, and into the local 
 pauer which circulated from Minsterley, crept the 
 \
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 189 
 
 report of Mr. Leverton's stand for principle. Ellen 
 read it, Ed read it, and they marveled at the change 
 wrought by war and time on their father's pet 
 schemes. 
 
 "France began it last October," Ed said, as he 
 threw the local print aside. "I remember reading a 
 very full account of the effect of their shell." 
 
 "I read it, too," Ben acknowledged. "It was in the 
 Daily Caligraph. The description of trenches full 
 of German dead covered with yellow dust was hor- 
 rible." 
 
 "Well, you never know what will happen in war," 
 Ellen exclaimed. "What horrifies you to-day may 
 be your only hope to-morrow. The cant of Sunday 
 is the practise of Monday. For my part somehow 
 I respect the real soldier who goes about it without 
 twaddle and hypocrisy. I can understand Admiral 
 Fisher when he says, 'If you rub it in both at home 
 and abroad that you are ready for instant war, with 
 every unit of your strength in the first line and 
 waiting to be first in and hit your enemy, and kick 
 him when he is down, and boil your prisoners in oil 
 (if you take any), and torture his women and 
 children, then people will keep clear of you !' " 
 
 "Ellen! That is frightful," Ed muttered. An ex- 
 pression of disgust covered his face. 
 
 "I know, but it is the real thing. I have been 
 reading a book by Major Stewart-Murray, called 
 The Future Peace of the Anglo-Saxons, a strange 
 title just now and he says, The worst of all er- 
 rors in war is a mistaken spirit of benevolence.' 
 Pon't you really agree, Ed? Don't you see the utter 
 folly of the soldiers actions in war being directed
 
 190 
 
 by pacifists at home? Major Stewart-Murray says: 
 'He who uses his force unsparingly without refer- 
 ence to the quantity of bloodshed, must obtain a su- 
 periority if his adversary does not act likewise!' 
 That is obvious. Consider our methods in South 
 Africa. If there is one thing more than another 
 that I can't stand in dad's gospel of cant it is 
 his perfectly damnable delusion about Christian meth- 
 ods of warfare. Poor old man, may the 'gas' pill 
 he has to swallow purge him of all slobber and 
 slop." 
 
 It was a glorious night when Sir Alfred started 
 out to deliver the registration forms. His secretary 
 had prepared the envelopes, addressed them and ar- 
 ranged them in order, so that his employer might 
 do all the cottages on his left hand. The preparatory 
 work was neatly done. Not for many months had 
 Sir Alfred thought of taking so long a walk quite 
 five miles. All he had to do was to knock at each 
 door and hand the papers in with a word or two of 
 explanation. But before he finished all the cottages 
 on his outward journey he was hot and somewhat dis- 
 tressed. Going down the hill in the village he began 
 to ponder the real need of his mission. It seemed to 
 him unnecessary, tiresome, trivial. Why should he 
 waste so much time? Anyway, there was no one in 
 Crowington the Government would use. Ed was right. 
 It did seem a gratuitous insult. He had knocked on 
 so many doors, and had spoken the silly sounding 
 words : "You are to fill in these forms and sign them," 
 without any more response than, "Thank you, Sir 
 Alfred," that he ached for want of some opposition.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 191 
 
 All zest in the work was gone before he turned at 
 the far end of the village to start the homeward 
 journey. At some doors he pushed the envelope in 
 without explanation, and in his haste to get the task 
 done he dropped the bundle in attempting to close a 
 door opened by a child of five years. The envelopes 
 fluttered about the pavement, and, as he gathered 
 them up, Sir Alfred passed some terse remarks about 
 the president of the Local Government Board who 
 came into his mind just then as the instigator of his 
 fruitless errand. 
 
 He knocked on Tonks' door and passed an envel- 
 ope to Lizzie, Ben's sister. It was addressed to Babbi- 
 combe, the grocer. Lizzie called after Sir Alfred 
 whom she had not recognized, "Here, this is not 
 for us." Back he trudged to the woman standing at 
 the door. 
 
 "This is for Babbicombe," she said. 
 
 "Oh, is it? Thank you. Sorry. They've got 
 mixed up. The light is not good, is it?" he mut- 
 tered, fumbling the disordered packet. 
 
 "Come inside," she said, holding the door open. 
 
 "Thanks. Just to see and put them in order," 
 he said, passing into the house. 
 
 "Oh, it's you, Sir Alfred," Lizzie exclaimed, when 
 she saw him in the lighted room. 
 
 Old Thomas Tonks sat in his chair near the fire- 
 place, and at the table eating supper sat Ellen, Ben, 
 Harry and Ed. They all rose the moment Lizzie 
 said, "Oh, it's you, Sir Alfred." He stared at the 
 group and turned red; his coloring deepening every 
 second. It was the first time he had set foot 
 in Tonks' house. Had he guessed whose house it
 
 192 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 was he would have seen the registration forms in hell 
 before he accepted Lizzie's invitation to step inside. 
 
 "Dad!" Ellen blurted. She could not suppress a 
 smile, her sense of humor was too much for her just 
 then. 
 
 "Sir Alfred, welcome," Ben said, placing a chair 
 against the back of his father-in-law's knees. 
 
 Lizzie had shut the door, and had taken his hat 
 and stick. Ed pressed him down on the chair. His 
 father's heavy chin drooped low, and his big round 
 shoulders seemed to heave into a greater curve as he 
 searched the envelopes on his lap for the one ad- 
 dressed to Tonks. 
 
 "Hope I'm not intruding?" he ventured, in an 
 apologetic tone. "I dropped the bundle, and the en- 
 velopes are disarranged." 
 
 "Oh! I see! You're delivering the registration 
 forms," Ellen cried. 
 
 "Yes, but I'm afraid I've lost the one for this 
 house. I can't find it " 
 
 "Don't trouble, Sir Alfred," old Tonks said in a 
 tense tone. "If you did find it it would be of no 
 service." He glared at his visitor, and his shaky 
 voice rose in volume. "No one here would sign away 
 his liberty " 
 
 "Liberty! But Mr. Tonks the law!" 
 
 "Freedom is the only law I recognize. I am no 
 traitor to my fellows. Shall I forget the past? Shall 
 I make myself the slave of passions which are 
 cruel and merciless? Never, Sir Alfred, never." 
 
 "Granddad, don't forget Sir Alfred is our guest," 
 Ben interposed quietly. 
 
 "I speak to him as one dissenter to another," the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 193 
 
 old man cried. "He is no guest of mine. For nearly 
 thirty years he has lived here and this is the first 
 time I have spoken to him. He is the president of 
 our grand council and I will speak to him under 
 my own roof as I would speak to him in council." 
 He turned his glance on Sir Alfred, who tapped his 
 toes impatiently on the stone floor. Then under the 
 scornful eyes of old Tonks he quailed like a boy in 
 dread of a certain whipping. The old ranter seemed 
 to hover over him like an avenging angel ready to 
 launch the full record of the sinner on the world be- 
 fore giving chastisement. 
 
 "You have avoided me," Tonks cried in a voice 
 of thunder. "You have shunned me." 
 
 Sir Alfred knew it was true. He had avoided 
 meeting Tonks. The truth burned in like a hot coal. 
 
 "I I I I have been so busy " Sir Alfred began. 
 
 The old man cut his explanation off with: "Busy 
 as Satan from all accounts and at his worst work, 
 too. I know your work. And you the president of 
 dissenters !" 
 
 "What have I done, Mr. Tonks?" 
 
 "Done! You have poured contempt upon us here. 
 This chapel has never seen your shadow on its 
 threshold. For years I counted the Sabbaths you 
 spent at Crowington, hoping, praying, you would have 
 the pluck to snap your fingers at the county and 
 worship God in your father's way. But no. No, 
 your social position here was more important than 
 your duty to your chapel. If you had left us, shunned 
 us openly, scorned worship with us, cursed us, we 
 would not have felt it so sorely as your silent con- 
 tempt."
 
 194 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE. 
 
 "I am exceedingly grieved to hear you say that," 
 Sir Alfred muttered. "Exceed-ing-ly. Such thoughts 
 never entered my mind. I came here for rest and 
 quietude. My life in town and in Parliament has 
 been so strenuous I have scarcely had rest enough 
 during the week to keep me up. I regret I deep-ly 
 regret to know that my conduct has been misunder- 
 stood." 
 
 Harry sat in a corner of the fireplace, balancing 
 a poker on the high fender. He knew his grand- 
 father's mind on the position for he had been the 
 recipient of his confidence in regular weekly letters 
 over a period of seven or eight years. 
 
 "A man can please himself, grandad," Harry 
 muttered, without looking up. "He is not obliged 
 to attend chapel." 
 
 "That is perfectly true," old Tonks replied, "but 
 when a man is leader of a cause he has to think of 
 the effect of his actions on his followers. Leaders 
 are not free, bad leaders are free to please themselves 
 only. A real leader must sacrifice himself; the price 
 of his leadership is the loss of his own individual 
 freedom." 
 
 Sir Alfred listened to the old ranter and marveled 
 at his power. Once again he felt the keen interest 
 in the struggle upward of the true peasant breaking 
 away from the shackles of ignorance and ecclesiastical 
 slavery. How firm the old man was in his notions 
 of conduct. Long years of deep study of the Eng- 
 lish Bible had given him clear speech and fearless 
 expression. 
 
 "Is there such a thing as leadership in non-con- 
 formity?" Ben asked. "I mean is there any one who
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 195 
 
 really leads the mass to a goal, and is there a mass 
 who follows to a goal?" 
 
 "No, not now, Ben," the old man shook his head 
 sadly. "Our men ceased to lead when through party 
 policies they mingled with our foes. When riches 
 came to them, and gave them social advancement, 
 they forgot the past and lost interest in half-won 
 fights. Religious freedom is no more a cry to rouse 
 the peasant dissenter, and the tyranny of the church 
 is fast regaining its hold." 
 
 "I don't think so, Mr. Tonks," Sir Alfred returned 
 suavely. "The church is in a sad state. It has taken 
 a very worldly part in this crisis. It seems to me the 
 future is ours. True, the Brotherhood movement 
 has taken great masses of young men away from the 
 strict life of the chapel, but they are with us still 
 in spirit. Now, the church is finding its pews grow- 
 ing emptier and emptier every year. Soon it will 
 be a mere shell a m-e-r-e shell. The fight in the 
 House there is none in the country against the 
 Welsh Disestablishment Bill is to my mind an indi- 
 cation of the weakness of the church. The bitter- 
 ness, rancor and acrimony it rouses in many great 
 Anglicans, convinces me they know they are support- 
 ing a dying cause. The loss of temper and judgment 
 means a great deal in my opinion and they know 
 their sway is at an end. Now " 
 
 "That may be, but " old Thomas broke in. 
 
 "Allow me, Mr. Tonks. Al-low me. Now, I 
 heartily agree with you about the change in certain 
 non-conformists. Wealth has been the undoing of so 
 many. The ease it brings, the desire to fall back 
 and just enjoy the luxury and pleasure of existence,
 
 196 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 is highly detrimental. No one knows that more than 
 I. But it is a passing phase. This awful war will 
 bring us out of it all a purged and finer people. Out 
 of this terrible evil great golden good will come, 
 and" 
 
 "No, no good out of evil. The devil's text, Sir 
 Alfred. Why good out of evil? Can there not be 
 good without evil? No good can possibly come from 
 war" 
 
 "Mr. Tonks really! Did not Jesus say I come 
 not to bring peace, but a sword " 
 
 "Never! Not in that sense! Horrible notion!" 
 the old man roared. 
 
 "Then in what sense, pray?" Sir Alfred ventured 
 meekly. 
 
 "That His gospel as expressed in the Sermon on 
 the Mount would be fought by upholders of tyranny, 
 oppression, and evil, with the sword. There is no 
 other meaning. Jesus was prophetic. He saw quite 
 clearly that the poor in preaching His doctrine of 
 justice would be put to the sword by the rich. And 
 has that not been the history of the world before 
 His time and after that when peaceful men ask 
 for justice in the name of God, Caesar puts them to 
 the sword? You talk of this war purging us. Does 
 it look like it? When was there so much wickedness 
 in all the world as now? Look at the newspapers 
 day after day. Think of the debasing appeals for 
 men, aye, posted on the walls of this almost manless 
 village. The war purge us of evil? What happened 
 to your own daughter Evelyn? She was persecuted 
 by her own countrymen. Look at your son, Harold. 
 A vicar parading the countryside in search of men
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 197 
 
 to be massacred. And Ben for stating the case for 
 conscientious objectors, hounded in the press, de- 
 nounced from pulpit, and the victim of the anony- 
 mous postcard writer. Now, Harry, driven from his 
 work because he will not enlist. He, too, slandered 
 on postcards, and here, in this village, harried by 
 recruiting officers from Minsterley. And now you 
 come with your registration forms come here to 
 this house ! Will the war purge you ?" 
 
 "Granddad! Come, come!" Ben exclaimed, going 
 to the old man and trying to soothe him. 
 
 "I don't mind, Ben," Sir Alfred protested, with a 
 smile of great tolerance. "Your grandfather is of a 
 school, I am very sorry to say, lost to this genera- 
 tion. I deserve all he says. But, of course, I am 
 of another time. Perhaps I am as much a product of 
 these days as your grandfather is of the days of 
 Cobden and Bright." 
 
 "Isn't grandfather rather a product of a much 
 earlier time?" Harry asked, still balancing the poker. 
 "He seems to me to be thinking in old religious 
 terms, not political terms." 
 
 "I think so," Ellen said, "but dad is in a strange 
 atmosphere. He does not know your methods of 
 debate. You must admit, Harry, we are peculiar 
 folk in this house. This is not called Liberty Hall 
 for nothing. I was amazed when I came here at 
 the freedom of expression. You get to realities, if 
 I may say so. Dad is a parliamentarian he is 
 steeped in the atmosphere of the Commons where 
 realities are seldom faced. Dad speaks the argot of 
 the lobby and the party platform. Loyalty to party 
 and the party leaders is his fetish. Grandfather
 
 198 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 knows nothing of that. Would you say, Ben, grand- 
 father owes loyalty to God?" 
 
 "Yes and no, but aren't we getting dangerously 
 Pharisaical ?" 
 
 "A bit priggish?" Ellen suggested. "Maybe." 
 
 "I don't agree, Ellen," her father demurred. "You 
 were on safe ground in your distinction. And now 
 I think of it, Mr. Tonks' interpretation of Christ's 
 statement, 'I came not to bring peace, but a sword,' 
 is very clever." 
 
 "Send, not bring. Send is the word. And why 
 Christ? Why not Jesus?" Harry asked. 
 
 "Well, Jesus if you prefer it," Sir Alfred snapped 
 testily. "But I feel sure I'm on safe ground when 
 I say He had to resort to violence corporal punish- 
 ment on occasion." 
 
 "When?" Ellen inquired. 
 
 "In the temple," her father replied, with a superior 
 smile. "Are we not told that He made a scourge a 
 scourge, mind you! of small cords and drove the 
 money-changers out of the temple?" 
 
 "John says so but only John," Harry said. 
 "Matthew and Mark give a very different account. 
 Luke supports their testimony in chapter nineteen, 
 verse forty-five." 
 
 Sir Alfred's mouth opened wide in astonishment. 
 Harry was bent over the fender, his back to Sir 
 Alfred. He spoke calmly, easily, as if the subject 
 were familiar an oft-debated one. 
 
 "If you will turn to Matthew twenty-first, the 
 twelfth verse, you will find nothing there about a 
 scourge. Jesus simply cast the money-changers out 
 and overturned their tables. In Mark eleventh, verse
 
 199 
 
 fifteen, you will find complete corroboration of 
 Matthew's account of the incident. Nothing about a 
 scourge. He simply turned a gang of thieves out 
 of the temple. That was all. He did them no bodily 
 harm. Only John, writing long years after the event, 
 mentions a scourge. Well, I prefer the evidence of 
 Matthew and Mark, and they do not tell of anything 
 which violates the theory of non-resistance." 
 
 Sir Alfred's pride was hurt. He, the President of 
 the Grand Council of Dissenters, to be set right on 
 Scripture, and before old Tonks, was humiliating. 
 
 "Then I prefer St. John," he exclaimed. 
 
 "As you wish," Harry smiled. "He was certainly 
 the theologian." 
 
 "Anyway, he fully appreciated how sinful it was 
 to turn the temple into a den of thieves, and that 
 they thoroughly deserved the scourge," Sir Alfred 
 said, his voice becoming hoarse from anger. "Whip- 
 ping is too light a punishment for some evil-doers. 
 But I am not prepared to carry this argument fur- 
 ther. Suffice it to say, the work of the world must be 
 done." 
 
 "There, dad," Ed exclaimed suddenly, as if he 
 had been looking long for some point to lay hold of, 
 "that's the very thing. That's what Ellen means. 
 Those meaningless phrases which pass muster in 
 party politics and will not stand analysis. 'The work 
 of the world must be done.' Now what on earth 
 does that mean?" 
 
 His father was perplexed for a moment. He had 
 never been asked point-blank to tell the meaning of 
 a well-worn phrase. It seemed to him meticulous 
 criticism to nail him down to a definition of it.
 
 200 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Mean. What wha wha does it mean?" he 
 stammered. 
 
 "Yes. What is the work of the world?" 
 
 "Why a um civilization " 
 
 "You mean the work of civilization as it is prac- 
 tised to-day must be done? You will admit, dad, 
 there is Tory civilization and Radical civilization. 
 Which is it that should be done? You have always 
 strongly objected to the former " 
 
 Ellen paused and a strange smile hovered about her 
 mouth. 
 
 "Years ago before we took Crowington," Ed put in. 
 
 "Yes, when we were young. You know, dad, 
 you have not been much of a Radical since you 
 became a landed proprietor. Still great changes 
 have taken place in both parties. The Tory party 
 has become quite socialistic in its endeavor to catch 
 votes; and the Liberal party of late years has done 
 its best to copy all the bureaucratic legislation of 
 Germany. Old age pensions, insurance, town plan- 
 ning, and all that patriarchal method of poulticing 
 social ulcers has been cribbed from Prussia. So 
 doing the work of the world, or civilization, if you 
 prefer it, in the legislative sense, won't do, will it?" 
 
 Her father looked at her queerly through his half- 
 closed lids. It seemed to him that his children were 
 bent on showing him up before the Tonkses. Or 
 did they forget while they were discussing the ques- 
 tions that he was their father? The thought came 
 into his mind and made him feel desolate, forgotten. 
 
 "Well, I have always tried to do the work of civil- 
 ization," he said sadly. "We can only do the best 
 that is in us."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 201 
 
 "And what is the work of civilization?" Harry 
 inquired. 
 
 "The work of civilization?" Sir Alfred repeated 
 in a surprised tone. "Oh, the work of progress." 
 
 "Industry ? Social affairs ? Government ?" 
 
 "Yes certainly. The great work of administering 
 a country's laws, and " 
 
 "Is that worth doing?" Ben asked. 
 
 "Ben, I am amazed at" Sir Alfred said regret- 
 fully. 
 
 "But, 'dad, you have spent half of your political 
 life in trying to annul many of the country's laws," 
 Ellen reminded him. 
 
 "Of course, and that was doing the work of the 
 world," her father exclaimed triumphantly. 
 
 "Would you agree it is the work of the world that 
 nine nations are doing in killing millions?" Harry 
 asked. 
 
 "No, of course not. That is a return to barbarism. 
 I do not mean the work of war " 
 
 "But that is what concerns you morning, noon and 
 night," Ed observed. 
 
 "Well, we can not leave our men to be slaughtered. 
 We must send them support. We must give them 
 weapons and munitions to defend themselves. We 
 must be patriotic." 
 
 "And give them asphyxiating shells?" Ed inquired. 
 
 "Mr. Leverton would not," Ellen put in. 
 
 "Mr. Leverton, Mr. Lev-er-ton," her father re- 
 peated, with fine scorn. "He has only left the board 
 of the company. He has not sold his shares." 
 
 "Still, he did protest against your making gas 
 shells," Ellen remarked.
 
 202 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "And if he did! What of it? The Government 
 must be obeyed. They order us to make the shells, 
 and we dare not disobey." 
 
 "Dare not?" thundered old Tonks. "Dare not?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Tonks, dare not," Sir Alfred shouted, 
 losing his suavity, nettled by the heckling. "And 
 you would not dare to brave public opinion* This 
 is not a business of braving a lot of grooms and 
 laborers as in the old days, when they threatened to 
 throw you in the horsepond, if you preached against 
 the wishes of the squires and parsons. I know how 
 you braved public opinion in the old days. But this 
 is different. We are in the midst of the greatest 
 war the world has ever known, and the public are 
 in no mood for sentimentality. If I refused to make 
 the shells what then? Every one would cut me, my 
 constituents would disown me, the papers would call 
 me traitor, the church would crow over the downfall 
 of a leading dissenter, I should be hissed in the 
 House, my business ruined I I might be shot." 
 
 He glanced at each face and found no sympathy. 
 
 "Well !" he blurted hoarsely. 
 
 "Well," old Tonks muttered. "What of it?" 
 
 "That's it, you see," Harry said kindly. "Sir 
 Alfred can't understand us. He thinks he believes, 
 rather that the papers, the church, the House and 
 all that, matters. He thinks the ruin of his business 
 is important. He might be shot. We are thinking of 
 something else?" 
 
 Somehow Harry from the first had grated on Sir 
 Alfred's nerves. He had heard of Harry Tonks 
 from Evelyn. There was something too calm and
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 203 
 
 bland about him. He never got ruffled, and spoke in 
 cutting kindliness, a logic hard to meet. 
 
 "I don't wish to be rude," Sir Alfred said, looking 
 straight at Harry, "but it's my opinion you should be 
 thinking of going to France to see what it's like to be 
 shot at." 
 
 There was a heavy silence for a moment, then 
 it was broken by the deep breathing of old Tonks. 
 Their eyes wandered not, their faces were set and 
 serious. 
 
 "You are entitled to your opinion, Sir Alfred," 
 Harry said quietly. 
 
 "You may be obliged to go yet." 
 
 "They may try force, but I shall resist " 
 
 "And you a non-resister," Sir Alfred grinned. 
 
 "You're thinking of physical resistance. I would 
 not resist that way." 
 
 "Anyway, you would be shot." 
 
 "What of it? That would be better than doing 
 any one any harm." 
 
 Harry rose and kissed Ellen. 
 
 "Good night," he said. "I think I'll go up-stairs 
 and be alone for a while. Good night, Sir Alfred." 
 
 He held out his hand. Sir Alfred, like a man in a 
 dream, took it mechanically, and dropped it. His 
 eyes were fixed on Harry's face; there was pain 
 there, and suffering lay in the eyes. It struck Sir 
 Alfred to the core to see a young strong man hiding 
 an agony of the soul. Harry went away silently 
 and shut the stair door it was like as if he had 
 passed out of the world. 
 
 "Come, dad, I'll walk home with you," Ed said.
 
 204 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE ' 
 
 Sir Alfred shook himself, and took his hat and 
 stick. Ellen went to him and kissed his cheek. 
 "Good night, Mr. Tonks," he said. 
 
 They walked in silence until they got out of the 
 village. It was very dark, and Sir Alfred was so 
 uncertain of the way Ed had to take his arm to 
 steady him. The warm strong arm of his son was 
 good to feel, and he pressed it affectionately, tightly 
 against his side. 
 
 "I told you we were changed, dad," Ed said. "All 
 changed! It will be a bit difficult now, but you 
 mustn't think we don't you know feel just the 
 same about you. We do. We feel more than ever 
 all of us do." Again Ed felt the tight squeeze of 
 his father's arm and side. 
 
 "Don't feel sore at old Tonks. He's mighty blunt 
 but sound as a bell. He takes things to heart, he's 
 so old, you know. They've given Harry a pretty 
 bad time of it " 
 
 "Oh!" Sir Alfred stopped dead. 
 
 "What's up?" 
 
 "I've forgotten the registration forms left 'em 
 on the table," he gasped. 
 
 "Never mind, to-night. Send your man down for 
 them in the morning, and get the rate collector to 
 deliver the rest." 
 
 "No, I'll do it, Ed. I'll do it myself in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 They went on again, the young man used to the 
 darkness steering the old man whose eyes were fail- 
 ing. It was late when they parted at the foot of the 
 wide staircase in the big quiet house.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 \ 
 
 ED was not sleepy when he turned the light out. 
 He lay for a long time thinking of Harry. Since 
 the night on the road when he gripped bibulous Vic- 
 tor Lawley's arm, he had hated himself for feeling 
 revengeful. It troubled him sorely for days. The 
 incident seemed to him so childish. Poor Lawley 
 only gave expression in a drunken moment to a 
 thought he would have suppressed had he been sober. 
 And what did it really matter if Lawley believed he 
 was a funk? 
 
 Harry had triumphed that night over his father, 
 and now Ed felt he ought to have left Lawley alone. 
 Harry had much more reason to lose his temper. 
 In his case there was no superior officer to shield, to 
 be sacrificed for, as in his case. Army discipline 
 did not apply in Harry's case. The more he thought 
 of the way Harry took his father's insinuations the 
 more certain he became of the victory of mind force 
 over physical force. Honor, which leans on what 
 people think of you, paled into insignificance when 
 compared with that honor which is planted firmly 
 in the truth of what you think of yourself. The 
 false conception of honor was responsible for most 
 of the woes of the world. Diplomatic honor rested 
 entirely on what others thought. Political, social and 
 commercial honor lay seldom in the real mind of 
 individuals. Strife arose from false conceptions of 
 honor. Ed might have struck Lawley that night. 
 
 205
 
 206 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Indeed he could not understand how he refrained 
 for his anger increased with every step he took back 
 to find the tipsy fellow. So his mind worked as he 
 lay sleepless in bed after the scene in Tonks' house. 
 
 Lady Horton-Birkett was up early. She had or- 
 dered the car to be ready at half past eight to take 
 her to Penasaph. Sir Alfred was surprised to find 
 her in her room dressed in hat and cloak. Her 
 breakfast lay untouched on a tray near the bed. 
 
 "Going out?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, Alfred/' 
 
 "I heard the car. Where you off to?" 
 
 "Wales, dear" 
 
 "Wales. Without your breakfast?" 
 
 He stood near the tray and looked the food over. 
 In his dressing gown and pajamas, his thin hair 
 ruffled, and his dark seamy face and chin bristly, he 
 looked strangely unkempt and neglected. 
 
 "Surely you're not going so far without eating?" 
 
 "I shan't want anything until I return." 
 
 "What's up, Evie?" 
 
 She wondered how he would take it. Should she 
 tell him or get the ceremony over first, and then 
 break the news? There was a strange feeling at her 
 heart, a sinking feeling, something like fear of him. 
 
 "You're very mysterious," he sneered. "What 
 about?" 
 
 "Perhaps I ought to tell you now " 
 
 What frightened him he did not know. It was 
 her manner perhaps. Anyway he blurted out : "Good 
 God, what is it?"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 207 
 
 "Don't be alarmed," she smiled uneasily. "It's 
 nothing. I am going to communion." 
 
 "All the way to Wales ?" 
 
 "There's no church here, dear." 
 
 He rubbed his head and stared at her over his 
 glasses. 
 
 "Where's it gone to ? It was there yesterday." 
 
 "There is no Catholic chur " 
 
 "Catholic !" he gasped. 
 
 He drew in a long breath and steadied his glasses, 
 which tilted over as he raised his head. 
 
 "You're going to communion at a Catholic 
 church?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "My God my God! D'you mean to tell me that 
 you're going to be a Catholic ?" 
 
 "Yes, from to-day." 
 
 "You're going to worship images idolatry! 
 you're going in for holy water and confession and 
 all that rot?" 
 
 She sat down and waited for him to finish his 
 remarks. 
 
 "What for? Why, in God's name? Have you 
 thought of what it means? Do you know you will 
 blast my career? Me, a dissenter, the president 
 He gasped for breath. "It's awful! Frightful!" A 
 violent fit of coughing shook him for several seconds. 
 "Anything but that. Call yourself an atheist, a Mo- 
 hammedan, anything you like but a Roman." 
 
 He sank on the bed, crushed, helpless, a picture of 
 miserable impotence. She kept silent and let no ex- 
 pression of anger or contempt settle on her face.
 
 208 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Who's at the bottom of this?" He sprang up 
 and went to her. 
 
 "I am," she said, rising calmly. "No one, but me, 
 Alfred. I must have some consolation. I can't find 
 it in Harold's church, and you I scarcely ever see 
 now " 
 
 "Of course not. How can I be here when the 
 Government is at me all the time. I have to stay in 
 London ready to be on hand any moment." 
 
 He paced up and down wrestling with his thoughts 
 which hurt him and favored her. 
 
 "Great heavens! Everything's going to pieces," 
 he cried. 
 
 "Yes, everything. Nothing will ever be the same 
 again. We are all adrift, Alfred, and I must clutch 
 something to bear me out of all this despair. I have 
 been very unhappy. I can't live in tears forever 
 my nature will not bear it. Do, please, do let me 
 find peace where I can. No one shall know. I shall 
 not make you look ridiculous, dear. Let me find 
 God in my own way. That's- all I ask." 
 
 She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. 
 
 "I knew it would hurt you, Alfred, but something 
 compelled me to do it. Our quarrels Harold, I 
 mean you know and poor Evelyn's trouble then 
 Ellen and Ed. You left me alone to bear all that. 
 It was more than my mind could stand. You have 
 business, the House, and the war to think of, lots 
 of things to take your mind off your family matters. 
 Now, don't take it to heart. Remember it is my own 
 affair, and I shall keep it entirely to myself." 
 
 He dare not speak. All he could do was to wave 
 his hands hopelessly and turn away to the window.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 209 
 
 "It's late," she said. "Good-by, I must go." 
 
 The car hummed away down the drive. He heard 
 the horn sound like a low moan as the car signaled 
 at the gate to turn into the road. A slight drizzle 
 was falling, the trees were still, and the grass so 
 green. He could see a patch of the drive far away 
 to the left, and the figure of Ben walking briskly 
 toward the house. Immediately he thought of the 
 registration forms. Was Ben bringing them to him? 
 A heavy sigh shook him as he turned away to go to 
 his room. Passing the door of Evelyn's room, he 
 heard her singing to her babe. He listened for a 
 while and then went in. 
 
 "Dad, what's the matter?" Evelyn cried, with 
 startled eyes. "You look awful." 
 
 He sat down on the bed and rubbed the baby's 
 bare fat legs. 
 
 "Cricket, how long's your mother been thinking of 
 being a Catholic a Roman?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know. Why?" 
 
 "She told me she is going to communion this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Well, if she is?" 
 
 "Ah, you don't understand " 
 
 "No, I don't. I never could understand anything 
 about that kind of thing. But can't she please her- 
 self, dad, what she does with her own soul?" 
 
 "Her soul belongs to God. 
 
 "I know. That's what I mean." 
 
 "But a Roman" 
 
 "Can't a Roman give her soul to God?" 
 
 "God is not a painted plaster cast 
 
 "No, not any more than God is a dissenting chapel
 
 210 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 or Harold's church. Leave mother alone, dad. 
 She's going to be a happier woman. It's refreshing 
 to find even one's own mother worshiping anything 
 but the god of war these days." 
 
 She leaned forward, picked the crooning baby up 
 and shook him joyously above her head. 
 
 "Here is my god. Look at him, dad. What 
 sweeter heaven than his truthful eyes. Kiss him! 
 There! Lord, you're bristly this morning. Now be 
 off and shave." 
 
 Ben had brought the forms. A note from him 
 said they were found under the table. Sir Alfred 
 felt as he regarded them that Ben had hastened to 
 get them out of the house. After breakfast Sir 
 Alfred sent for his secretary, the immaculate Mr. 
 Tring, and asked him to deliver the rest of the forms 
 as he was feeling far from well. Mr. Tring, who 
 was an expert statistician, readily complied, and 
 clad in burberry and suitable boots started on his 
 errand. The Sunday papers came on the ten o'clock 
 train and interested Sir Alfred for half an hour. 
 One contained a long article on the patriotism of 
 dissenting churches, and incidentally, the great work 
 done by Sir Alfred Horton-Birkett, Bart, M. P., 
 in manufacturing munitions. When Ed joined his 
 father the morning had become gloomy, and heavy 
 rain soaked the paths and lawns. The outlook was 
 cheerless, and it seemed as if they were in for a 
 long wet day. 
 
 "Been over to see Herbert's gees at the farm," 
 Ed said. "I wish Cricket would let me sell them. 
 Prices are high, and they'll do no good over there 
 eating their heads off."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 211 
 
 "We're importing a lot of mules," his father re- 
 marked disconsolately. 
 
 "I know. What's in the papers?" 
 
 "Nothing much. It's going to be a long business, 
 I'm afraid. 
 
 "Three years more, eh," Ed muttered, reading a 
 paragraph pointed out by his father. "Hullo! here's 
 something about you. Gas shells!" 
 
 Ed read the article through. 
 
 "I wish they could have done without that," he 
 said, rilling his pipe. "It's a great pity. Retali- 
 ation knocks the bottom out of the moral attitude we 
 took up when the Germans used gas." 
 
 "We must do something," his father said in ex- 
 tenuation. 
 
 "Sorry you had to do it." 
 
 "Can't help myself." 
 
 "The girls and mother feel it terribly." 
 
 "I feel it myself. Nobody seems to think of my 
 feelings." 
 
 "But can't you throw it up?" Ed asked. 
 
 "And- leave our fellows to be wiped out?" 
 
 "They'll be wiped out anyway. If it isn't gas, 
 it's muddle. If it isn't one tiling it's another. All 
 the nations are being wiped out. Look at the Dar- 
 danelles. It isn't war, it's scientific slaughter now. 
 Everything is changed. We've had to swallow every 
 single principle we started to establish. Lemnos and 
 Salonika! Persia and the blockade. Then the black 
 races. It is all hell gone raving mad. Get out of it, 
 "dad." 
 
 "I can't." 
 
 "What are you afraid of? The business? We
 
 212 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 don't want it. Throw it up. I shan't touch a penny 
 you leave. Really, dad " 
 
 "But you've lived on munition money as you call 
 it nearly all your life." 
 
 "That can't be helped. Still, I don't intend to live 
 on any more." 
 
 "What keeps the house going I should like to 
 know?" 
 
 "Munition money," Ed replied. "But I pay mother 
 my salary for my keep. I pay her what it would cost 
 me to live moderately in a good class hotel in town. 
 It's the best I can do. I only stay here because of 
 mother and Evelyn." 
 
 His father was too astonished to speak. He blew 
 his nose violently, and wiped his eyes. 
 
 "Can't we make you understand we are in down- 
 right earnest about this business?" Ed asked gravely. 
 "Don't think we're thinking so much of ourselves 
 we're thinking chiefly of you of what you will 
 suffer when it is all over. It seems to you the mind 
 of the people will not change, that you will always 
 be lauded as a patriot. Now you know, I'm no 
 scholar, but since I've been home I've been reading 
 what happened to governments who led peoples into 
 war. It's interesting very. When the war's over 
 you'll have to reckon with our folk, and the reck- 
 oning will be a heavy one. I should think you'd 
 see that as a politician. The other side seems to be 
 pretty certain that your lot's out, when this is over, 
 for twenty years." 
 
 "There's something in what you say, but the system 
 has got me. It holds me fast. It wouldn't let me 
 go if I wished to tear myself away."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 213 
 
 "Ben says there is a way. It is merely an expe- 
 dient." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Leave the firm and give all your shares to the 
 wounded." 
 
 He watched his father closely and saw a new 
 light in his eyes. A kindly smile spread over his 
 face. 
 
 "You would have enough from the old coal and 
 oil business to keep Crowington going moderately. 
 Why don't you do it? You need make no excuse 
 just do it." 
 
 The light faded from his face, and he shook his 
 head sadly. "But I must be worth nearly two mil- 
 lion," he muttered. 
 
 "All the better. All the more for the fellows who 
 shot the stuff away." 
 
 "I'll think it over," his father said with a deep 
 sigh.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 MAJOR COLNE and Billy were old friends. 
 They were in India together for some time 
 before the war began. When they met in Flanders 
 the major was recovering slowly from a wound in 
 the neck. Billy urged him to go home to recuperate. 
 
 "Go to my place, and my mother'll take care of 
 you," said Billy, forgetting Clungford was really his 
 mother's place, for she had saved it from the wreck 
 of Billy's fortune. 
 
 Colne had been at Clungford for some days when 
 Clarice heard him mention Jawton's name. Instantly 
 she thought of Ed and wondered if Colne had any 
 special information, news first hand, of the day Ed 
 was wounded. 
 
 "Do you know Colonel Jawton?" she asked. 
 
 "Quite well. 'Brimstone' Jawton was in India 
 when I went out seven years ago. Billy knows him." 
 
 "Did you see him when you were in France?" 
 
 "Several times. Do you know him?" 
 
 "No. But I heard about his regiment being cut up 
 last autumn. I've often wondered about it." 
 
 "Bad business that," Colne said, compressing his 
 lips and wrinkling his thin cheeks. "Very bad." 
 
 "What happened?" Clarice asked, fear tapping on 
 her heart. 
 
 "Well, the fact is Jawton's orders were not car- 
 ried out. He was in charge of reserves which were 
 to advance at five in the afternoon. All his officers 
 
 214
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 215 
 
 had been given written instructions everything was 
 perfectly clear." 
 
 "Were the orders given to each officer?" 
 
 "Each one by Jawton himself. Billy has the whole 
 story from old 'Brimstone.' " 
 
 "And what happened ?" 
 
 "Well, not to use too many military terms, the 
 center did not move and kept the wings back " 
 
 "But the reserves moved ultimately " 
 
 "When it was too late." 
 
 "Terrible! Who was to blame?" 
 
 "Oh, what's his name?" Colne pondered, tapping 
 his toe with his cane. "Bir Birkett." 
 
 Clarice was afraid to help him. She kept silent. 
 
 "Birkett. Birkett Horton-Birkett. That's the 
 name. Regular case of funk nerves, I s'pose. Of 
 course, the story's common property now." 
 
 "Do many men suffer from nerves funk?" 
 
 "Heaps." 
 
 "Then why is the Horton-Birkett case notorious ?" 
 
 "Suppressed the orders." 
 
 "I see. There is no doubt about that, Major 
 Colne?" 
 
 "None whatever. Of course, one doesn't like men- 
 tioning these things. They're not nice." 
 
 Clarice yearned to ask why Ed was offered the 
 Victoria Cross ; why a funk, a man who had lost his 
 nerve, should carry two men out of fire, but she re- 
 frained. There was lurking in her another yearning 
 to confront Ed with this man. To make Ed break 
 his silence, to hear what he would say to it all. 
 The thought of doing it grew in shape and completely
 
 216 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 took possession of her. Her motives were strangely 
 mixed, but she did not stop to analyze them. She 
 wanted the matter cleared up, settled. 
 
 In the afternoon she drove Major Colne over to 
 Crowington. He did not know where she was taking 
 him. He was content to let his charming companion 
 drive him, motor him and walk him where she 
 wished. The major was deeply smitten. Billy had 
 said little or nothing about his sister. She was a 
 delightful surprise to a man who thought he was 
 going to spend a few days with a lonely old widow. 
 As they drove over the heath Colne admired his 
 companion sitting up at his side, driving a stylish 
 cob. She was pretty, strong and auburn. He 
 glanced at her figure and liked the strength of her 
 head and bust. "A deuced fine woman," he thought. 
 As she turned into the drive she asked if he minded 
 her calling on some friends. No, he didn't mind. 
 She asked for Ed. They were shown into the draw- 
 ing-room. Ed came, pipe in hand, hurrying to greet 
 her. 
 
 "Garice, old girl," he began. 
 
 "Ed, I've brought Major Colne, who is staying 
 with us for a few days. He's a friend of Billy's." 
 
 Her heart sank. She saw the men bow, and no- 
 ticed the embarrassment of the major who looked at 
 her for her friend's name. 
 
 "Yes. Do sit down." Ed waved them to chairs. 
 
 "I didn't catch the name," Major Colne remarked. 
 
 "Major Colne, this is Captain Horton-Birkett," 
 Clarice said timidly. Her heart thumped like a trip- 
 hammer. 
 
 "Oh y-e-s," Colne drawled, fixing his eye-glass.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 217 
 
 "Perhaps you will tell Ed Captain Horton-Birkett 
 what you told me this morning " 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Isn't this rather unusual?" 
 the major asked, not in the least flustered. 
 
 "I'm sorry, but " The rest stuck in her throat. 
 Ed saw she was in great distress. 
 
 "What is it, Clarice?" he inquired kindly. 
 
 She rose with difficulty, and steadied herself at the 
 side of the piano. 
 
 "It's about about Jawton and the orders " 
 
 "Well, go on, dear." 
 
 "Major Colne says you suppressed them " 
 
 Colne raised his hand reprovingly: "Scarcely. I 
 said it was the common report. Let us be accurate." 
 
 "I didn't," Ed said quietly, "but what does it matter 
 now?" 
 
 This stung Clarice into energy again. She flashed 
 a glance of scorn at him. 
 
 "What does it matter? Don't you care what they 
 say about you? Major Colne says it was a regular 
 case of funk. Was it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You didn't suppress the orders?" 
 
 "That is obvious. Would I be here if I did?" 
 
 "And you take it all so calmly " 
 
 "Yes. Did you bring Major Colne over to tell 
 me what is said?" 
 
 "Y-e-s, I did," Clarice stammered in vexation. 
 
 "Very good. Now, Major Colne, proceed please." 
 
 Colne took his eye-glass out, put it in again and 
 coughed. 
 
 "Perhaps you ought to know I hadn't the faintest 
 notion I was going to meet you," he observed.
 
 218 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Well. Here I am. Don't hesitate, Major." 
 
 "I have not nothing more to say. I'm sorry this 
 has happened. I merely told Miss Clungford what I 
 had heard." 
 
 "But, Ed Ed," Clarice gasped, "won't you say it's 
 all a lie that Jawton lied?" 
 
 "No. I'll not discuss Jawton." 
 
 "You can't very well do that, can you?" Colne 
 put in. 
 
 "Not any more than you can discuss any action 
 you can know nothing about You were not there. 
 You only know what the army gossips say " 
 
 "But why don't you put an end to the gossip by 
 clearing yourself?" Clarice cried. "Ed, you don't 
 seem to understand. You leave me open to meet 
 these statements without a word. It is hateful of 
 you. Have you no pride? Haven't you the courage 
 to tell them it's all lies?" 
 
 He saw how deeply she felt the gossip. He knew 
 how proud she was. And in his mind a short ques- 
 tion, the one that he had borne for weeks trying 
 to decide finally, kept putting itself to him: "Is it 
 fair to ask her to share the new life?" 
 
 Here was a chance to put an end to it. 
 
 "I don't care, Clarice," he murmured wearily. "I 
 am very sorry you are suffering for my faults 
 very sorry, but I must take my own way of meeting 
 slanders." 
 
 She went over to Colne and said: "I owe you an 
 apology, Major Colne. It wasn't nice of me to bring 
 you here this way. Please forgive me. I think we'll 
 go now." 
 
 Ed opened the door for them, and bowed as they
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 219 
 
 drove away. It hurt worse than any wound. He 
 noticed when Colne helped Clarice up to her seat 
 that he didn't seem to mind what she had done. 
 
 On the way back to Clungford, Colne was very 
 chatty. 
 
 "Strange man that," he said. "Always had a pe- 
 culiar reputation. I remember a lot about him now. 
 Could never get on with old 'Brimstone.'" 
 
 But he saw little of Clarice that night. She had a 
 headache and did not appear at dinner. Lady Clung- 
 ford, too, was not cheery. It was a dull night. Colne 
 was out of temper, and thoroughly bored before ten. 
 In leaving him, Lady Clungford said she always re- 
 tired early. 
 
 "There's little to do here," she remarked. "But I 
 hope you will not mind what we do. Just stay as 
 long as you like, and enjoy the country." 
 
 "Thanks, Lady Clungford," he said, "but I think 
 I shall have to go over to Minsterley to-morrow and 
 spend a day there with some old friends the Pad- 
 getts." 
 
 "Minsterley, eh? Well, take an old woman's ad- 
 vice, Major. Don't believe all you hear in Minster- 
 ley." 
 
 Colne left Clungford at lunch next day without 
 seeing Clarice. 
 
 "Was Clarice here to-day, Ed?" his mother asked 
 at dinner. 
 
 "She brought a man to see me a Major Colne." 
 "Oh! What about?" 
 
 "Some gossip. About well, never mind, mater." 
 "May I ask about Clarice ?"
 
 220 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Yes. But that is all over. Don't let us say any 
 more." 
 
 "You don't mean you and Clarice have quarreled, 
 do you?" his father inquired. 
 
 "No there's been no quarrel." 
 
 "Oh ! a well yes " Sir Alfred muttered, watch- 
 ing Ed's face. 
 
 They ate in silence. Evelyn toyed with the silver 
 between the courses. Her mother, full of the spiri- 
 tual experience of the morning, seemed content. 
 Ed drew figures on the cloth with the prong of a 
 fork, while his father with hands clasped on the table 
 seemed to sink deeper and deeper into his gloomy 
 thoughts. It was a strange meal. All the gaiety 
 and joy of the family board of some years ago were 
 gone. Like shadows they sat without sense of the 
 presence of the others. Not until they found their 
 corners in the pleasant ingle of the billiard room 
 did they rouse themselves out of their moodiness. 
 
 "Have you heard from Fred?" Lady Horton- 
 Birkett asked. 
 
 "He's still in Ireland," her husband replied. "Very 
 proud of his commission. He wants to go to the 
 Dardanelles, but he thinks there's no chance at pres- 
 ent. He's at the school of musketry, learning ma- 
 chine-gun work." 
 
 "That'll suit Fred," Evelyn said. "He was always 
 keen on a mechanical toy. Didn't he want to be an 
 engineer, mater?" 
 
 "Yes, before he went to Oxford." 
 
 "Robert is quite well again, I hear. He has been in 
 a terrible battle only four hundred and seventeen 
 left out of one thousand. He wasn't scratched."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 221 
 
 "Did any one look at the casualty list to-day ?" Eve- 
 lyn asked. 
 
 They seldom spoke of casualties. When the papers 
 came each looked them over and said nothing about 
 dead or \vounded friends and acquaintances. They 
 had lost so many. A tacit understanding had made 
 casualty lists taboo. 
 
 "I didn't see the papers to-day," Lady Horton- 
 Birkett said. 
 
 "I don't look at the names now," Sir Alfred 
 muttered. 
 
 "They're very heavy. I just glanced at the list," 
 Ed said. 
 
 Evelyn rang the bell and asked the butler to bring 
 the Observer. Sir Alfred dozed off, and his head 
 (dropped until his chin rested just above the diamond 
 in his shirt. He breathed heavily. His wife read 
 a tract, and Ed blew rings of smoke from the bowl of 
 his pipe. 
 
 "Jawton, Ed?" Evelyn cried, staring at the paper. 
 
 "Eh yes what?" her father mumbled, waking 
 up suddenly. 
 
 "Died of wounds." 
 
 "Who" 
 
 "Colonel Thomas Q. Jawton." 
 
 "What about him?" Sir Alfred asked, now quite 
 awake. 
 
 "Dead! Died of wounds!" 
 
 "God bless us, you don't say so?" 
 
 Ed knocked the ashes from his pipe: "Poor 
 chap !" he muttered. 
 
 Sir Alfred rose and stood with his back to the fire- 
 less grate. He watched Ed for a few minutes.
 
 222 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Ed, I went to see Major Pomeroy-Fanton some 
 time ago now," Sir Alfred began. 
 
 "Where did you see him ?" 
 
 "New Forest. He was taken there by his mother. 
 Awful sight, Ed. Terrible! His mother wrote to 
 me asked me to run down he wanted to tell me 
 something. It was about Jawton." 
 
 "He spoke to you about Jawton?" 
 
 "Yes. Why?" 
 
 "He was under orders, to say nothing about 
 about" 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Were you all under orders ?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Well, perhaps he thought he might die. Anyway, 
 he told me no orders came from Jawton that day." 
 
 "Did he?" 
 
 "He said that was for my own information." 
 
 "Have you kept it quite to yourself, dad?" 
 
 "Never breathed a word to any one." 
 
 "But why on earth didn't you tell Ed before this ?" 
 Evelyn demanded angrily. 
 
 "Well, I I thought he would like me to keep it to 
 myself." 
 
 The night was fine. After the heavy rain a fresh 
 drying breeze blew from southeast, and the fields 
 gave their odors to the winds. The leaves rippled in 
 swaying rhythms, and the poplars in the park leaned 
 their tops in nodding curves toward the flash in the 
 western sky. Furnaces sent their flares upward to 
 the heavens, Staffordshire way, where iron ran night
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 223 
 
 and day, and down ,ihe line to Minsterley a freight 
 train rattled in and out of Penlow woods. The en- 
 gine left a trail of flame behind. Ed turned his steps 
 toward Bramble Lane, and climbed its steep winding 
 ways until he reached Top House Farm, which stood 
 upon a plateau two hundred feet above the village. 
 The great valley spread north and south for forty 
 miles at his feet. Cottage lights gleamed here and 
 there, in clusters in the hamlets, and over Minsterley 
 a soft glow hung like the reflection of a fading fire. 
 It was a night to glory in. But Ed's thoughts were 
 all of Clarice and what had passed that day, only 
 a few hours gone when she brought Colne to see 
 him. So Jawton was dead. She could not have 
 known that. But did Colne know it? What might 
 have happened had she waited another day? No, it 
 was all for the best, hard as it was, she should think 
 he had not the courage to defend himself from 
 slander. She was gone. It was only fair he should 
 not ask her to share his lot. He walked back around 
 Clungford way, going down the other side of the hill 
 to the heath, and met Harry Tonks heading for Crow- 
 ington. They walked on for a mile in silence. 
 
 "I've been to see a friend near Edstaston," Harry 
 said. "He's in great trouble. He's had to give up 
 his church." 
 
 "Pressure?" Ed asked. 
 
 "Yes, of a kind. A colleague of his went into a 
 factory to assist in making shells " 
 
 "And his people urged him to do likewise?" 
 
 "No, but he received postcards telling him to do 
 so. He's had to fetch his small family down here to 
 his mother. Since he's been here he has been per-
 
 224 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 sistently canvassed. He has his wife and three chil- 
 dren, no income now, and a conscientious objection. 
 His wife would rather see him shot than go." 
 
 "Pretty bad case." 
 
 "Yes. Hard very. I'm afraid he's not physically 
 strong enough to bear the strain. These men go 
 down under it when their bodies are frailer than 
 their souls. One man I know was bullied into going 
 to a recruiting office. He was a gentle creature, 
 strangely modest, excessively refined, but manly 
 withal. The doctor, pressed for time, used him 
 roughly, pushed him about as if he were a lump of 
 dough and told him if his courage were 'only as 
 sound as his body he would be worth a charge of 
 shrapnel. He died about a fortnight after that exam- 
 ination. Brutality killed his soul. And he was one 
 pf the most brilliant electrical engineers of the young 
 school we had. But war can't waste time in cod- 
 dling the sensitive. War must have its food, tender 
 or tough." 
 
 "Have you heard much about what is called 'sui- 
 cide'?" Ed asked, referring to the stories about some 
 pf the men, forced by brutal, economic and social 
 methods to enlist, who decide to be shot and not 
 shoot. 
 
 "Yes, a good deal," Harry replied. "A certain 
 society kept a list of the names of men who enlisted 
 to get out of the soul struggle, and in three months 
 over twenty men out of four hundred were killed." 
 
 "So many?" Ed gasped. "That's awful." 
 
 "Derbyshire, the delegate who went to The Hague 
 last February, came back with a report from a Ger- 
 man Socialist a woman that many of her fellow
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 225 
 
 countrymen practised 'suicide/ I believe it is done 
 to a very considerable extent. A friend who gives 
 his evenings to local Red Cross work in a big city 
 told me some fearful stories he had heard from the 
 wounded. A sergeant, of the Earl's Own Foot, who 
 had been out from the beginning of the war, said 
 several of the men of that regiment stood up, unable 
 to bear the strain any longer, to be picked off by 
 snipers." 
 
 "The revolt of the soul, eh?" 
 
 "It's the only way out." 
 
 "How will it all end?" 
 
 "In death spiritual death." 
 
 They parted in the village. The lights were out 
 and only the sound of the wind in the trees was heard. 
 Between the gusts the stillness was deep. Ed turned 
 northward and soon left the village behind. Night 
 lay gently over the hamlets and fields, and the soul 
 of the world sighed over the dreaming women and 
 old men who grieved in their sleep for the lost. 
 
 The registration forms were delivered and into every 
 cottage fear spread like a disease. The old feared 
 for the young, and the young puzzled how to answer 
 the questions. Only men devoid of all knowledge 
 of cottage life in the country could have framed 
 such questions. Ed and Ellen had to assist many 
 people in filling up the forms. "Are you skilled in 
 any other work?" was a bureaucratic conundrum 
 which caused more head scratching than all the 
 puzzles that ever came into Crowington. It was a 
 busy week for Ed and Ellen. News spread quickly 
 over the countryside that the captain and Mrs. Ben
 
 226 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 knew the answers to most of the questions, and they 
 were called in to help numbers of cottagers out of 
 their difficulties. 
 
 A man of sixty stopped Ed on the road. 
 
 "Capt'n, would yer mind? I be sore troubled. 
 Them papers beat me. What be I to do?" 
 
 "What's your age?" Ed asked. 
 
 "Sixty come All Souls' Day. But will they take 
 me to fight?" 
 
 "No, no. All you have to do is to answer the 
 questions." 
 
 "But what for, if they dunno want me ter fight?" 
 
 "Just to have a record of available men and 
 women." 
 
 "Be women going to fight?" 
 
 "No. Women may be wanted to work in certain 
 factories." 
 
 "My ould woman?" 
 
 "How old is your wife?" 
 
 "Sixty-two gone midsummer. But her's worse en 
 me with rheumatics asthma, too. And what'll the 
 grandchilder do?" 
 
 "Have you to look after your grandchildren?" 
 
 "Aw. Four on 'em. 'Their father's at front, and 
 their mother's dead. Three o' my lads joined the 
 army. Two's at front, an' one's at Masham training." 
 
 "Where do you live?" 
 
 "At cottage above Hill House Farm." 
 
 "I'll come up this evening and help you." 
 
 "Thankee, Capt'n, it'll be a mercy." 
 
 Ed found the work of exceeding interest, and the 
 simple folk appealed to him. He gained their con-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 227 
 
 fidence, so hard to win after generations of oppres- 
 sion. 
 
 Several mornings after his interview with Clarice 
 and Major Colne he received a letter from the head 
 nurse at the hospital in France where Jawton died. 
 It was a strange document. The address was blocked 
 out by the censor. It ran: 
 
 "Dear Sir 
 
 "I have spent many hours with Colonel Jawton 
 who died last night from terrible wounds. He never 
 lost consciousness. I think it is only fair and right 
 to tell you what I learned from him concerning you. 
 The censor here consents to my making the state- 
 ment to you, but he says I must not divulge it to 
 any one else. 
 
 "Colonel Jawton said he was entirely to blame for 
 the mishap in which you were wounded. He forgot 
 to give the order to the reserves. An order had 
 been given and revoked and a new order issued, but 
 owing to the shortage on the staff he got confused. 
 The rapidity of the attack on the first line, and the 
 miscalculation of German strength and preparedness, 
 were the causes of the chaos. The colonel was for 
 some time under the impression he had sent the new 
 order down, but a long time after he came to the 
 conclusion he must have been thinking of the first 
 order which was revoked. This has troubled him 
 more than his wounds. 
 
 "My friend Nurse Wilkin attended you at Hospital 
 
 (censored) and told me about you and the 
 
 gossip of (censored). So I hasten to let 
 
 you know what I heard from the colonel. Nurse 
 Wilkin has given me your address and wishes to be 
 remembered most kindly to you. 
 
 "Sincerely yours, 
 
 "Margaret Eames Browne."
 
 228 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 What an amazing mess and muddle all war was! 
 Ed thought. And it was for this millions of men of 
 Europe were drilled and thrown into action. The 
 victims of incompetence, seeking victory through 
 paper military plans made by shallow minds, wading 
 through the chaos of blood and grime to the triumph 
 of slavery and economic woe.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE villagers of Crowington assembled early at 
 the doors of the Institute. Word had come 
 to them that the parishes round about had been 
 persistently canvassed for three days, and the farm- 
 ers had been urged to fetch up their men to hear 
 the great speakers. The people of Crowington were 
 not going to take a back seat, not likely, at their 
 first real political meeting and let the folk from be- 
 yond the village fill the front forms. For an hour 
 before the appointed time for opening the doors 
 over one hundred men and women stood in the gravel 
 path which led to the steps of the building. There 
 were many more women than men, and the men 
 were not of military age. Shopkeepers and parish 
 functionaries mingled with the laborers and pen- 
 sioners. As the hour wore on they were added to 
 by farmers and their workers from farms lying some 
 distance away. Jennis, of Heath Farm, had brought 
 in his milk cart three of his men. Boulton, a grazier, 
 had driven in two, and old Mrs. Fox of the Vale 
 House, came in her wagonette with three, a wag- 
 goner, a cowman and her coachman. 
 
 There was room enough when the first rush was 
 over, and though the Crowington folk were in first 
 they did not get front seats, these being reserved for 
 the gentry. Then others dribbled in in twos and 
 threes. The younger men either stood at the wall 
 at the back of the room, or sat quietly on the back 
 
 229
 
 230 A STRONG MAN'S. HOUSE 
 
 bench. Those in the body of the hall spoke in whis- 
 pers; there was less animation than to be found 
 at church before the prelude. Lady Clungford and 
 Clarice were the first to take reserved seats; Mrs. 
 Harold and her sister followed, from the anteroom. 
 When Ed stalked into the hall few noticed him for 
 he took a seat at the back. Ellen and Ben, too, were 
 content with seats near the door; they did not see 
 Ed, he was sitting on the other side of the hall. 
 Every now and then Ben rose and surveyed the 
 audience. He could see no men of military age in 
 the forms in front of him. 
 
 "How many have they drummed tip ?" Ellen asked. 
 
 "About a dozen, I should think," he ventured, "and 
 they seem to be nearer forty-five than 'thirty." 
 
 "Did you see the recruiting officer from Minsterley 
 in the yard?" 
 
 "Yes. He asked a man to join " 
 
 "Did you hear what he said?" 
 
 "No, I didn't catch his reply." 
 
 "He said, 'Ask sumon who anna got a wife, a 
 mother and six little 'uns to fend for.' " 
 
 "Harold will not land much of a catch after all 
 his hard work?" Ben said. "What a business! 
 Seventy-five per cent, of the audience women and 
 very old men. The fanners don't look pleasant 
 about it." 
 
 The speakers filed on to the platform. After a 
 moment's hush a few people in front applauded. 
 Old General Pennett was a favorite, a kindly sports- 
 man and what was called a "good landlord." Mr. 
 Jevons Oldcastle was a surprise to most of the 
 people. They had seen photographs of him at elec-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 231 
 
 tion times, but the full figure of the original was 
 quite unlike the picture on his election address. He 
 was much older, fatter and heavier than they ex- 
 pected. The champion of conservatism at close 
 quarters was no fire-eating politician; Mr. Old- 
 castle indeed was a mild-looking, short-sighted gen- 
 tleman of seventy-two years. He was accompanied 
 by Mr. Ruggles, the well-known orator, who had 
 made speeches on nearly every important question 
 which had appeared in British politics for a genera- 
 tion. Of him it was said that he could make as 
 good a speech for either side, as his necessity re- 
 quired. The question of the hour was his bread 
 and butter, and for not much of those necessaries 
 he was ready to throw the whole weight of his 
 oratory on the side which appreciated his skill. The 
 Reverend Harold Horton-Birkett and other county 
 notabilities made up a platform of various degrees 
 of merit. 
 
 General Pennett was blunt and breezy. He did not 
 know why Crowington, of all places, should be 
 chosen for such a meeting. It seemed to him un- 
 necessary. There were places, if the newspapers 
 told the truth, where there were "slackers" by the 
 thousand. Crowington had done its best and could 
 not spare more men. The farmers had been obliged 
 to work night and day to get the harvest in, and 
 what the devil they were going to do about plow- 
 ing only the gentleman with the pitchfork and tail 
 could tell. The general was delighted to meet his 
 dear old friend, the member for the division, whom 
 he had not seen for seven years. On rising to ad- 
 dress his constituents Mr. Oldcastle explained how
 
 232 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 the great affairs of the country kept him constantly 
 at Westminster watching and waiting to turn the 
 Government out of office. At least that was his posi- 
 tion until war broke out. Since the Coalition, of 
 course, like every loyal Conservative, he had given 
 the Government his unqualified support. Lightly he 
 touched on the many great domestic questions laid 
 aside for the time being, then he dealt with the need 
 for conscription and high explosives. He did not 
 mention the Kaiser, atrocities and the Russian all- 
 conquering retreat. (It had been arranged in the 
 anteroom that these matters should be left to the 
 rhetorical Mr. Ruggles.) For over half an hour 
 Mr. Oldcastle spoke as if he were addressing an 
 empty room. The audience listened in silence, many 
 of them noticed the general nodding in his chair, 
 and some took strange interest in the bored expres- 
 sions which settled on the faces of the people on the 
 platform. 
 
 Relief came in the shape of a telegram which was 
 passed up to the general. The incident brought the 
 speech of the member to an abrupt end, and he sat 
 down. On calling on Mr. Ruggles, the general an- 
 nounced the telegram was from Sir Alfred Horton- 
 Birkett who had missed his train connection, but 
 hoped to reach the meeting before nine o'clock. 
 
 Then Mr. Ruggles gave the drowsy people a taste 
 of his quality. He launched into an examination 
 of the Kaiser's international police-court record. It 
 drew tears and laughter from the unsophisticated, 
 and amazement from the educated. His accounts of 
 the marvels of the German spy system were engross- 
 ing. He mentioned a long list of men who had
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 233 
 
 lived in England, eating the food of royalty, and the 
 aristocracy, taking great British honors, laying concrete 
 foundations for Krupp guns, buying the best of the 
 country's horses, stealing the plans of arsenals and 
 dockyards, and sneaking into the offices of the state 
 departments for the purpose of learning our military 
 and naval secrets. After reciting many deeds and 
 familiar names he came to that of Count Herbert 
 Von Hoist. 
 
 "You ought to know all about it. You 'ad one 
 of them here. 'E was a beauty. What did 'e call 
 'imself? The 'unting chap that started his little 
 game early in life at school here, and then at our 
 university. As big a scoundrelly spy as to be found 
 in Europe. Count 'Erbert Von 'Olst " 
 
 "That's a lie!" 
 
 The shock was terrific. Mr. Ruggles did not turn 
 pale because a statement of his had been called a 
 lie. Many a time in his career he had been called 
 a liar to his face without turning color. But at such 
 a meeting! It was a wholly unexpected challenge. 
 How was he to suspect the presence of any one bold 
 enough at a meeting in a thoroughgoing Conserva- 
 tive village to give his statement the lie? There 
 was commotion on the platform and much hurried 
 whispering. Harold was motioning frantically to 
 the general who sat up and glared fiercely at the 
 confused and stammering Mr. Ruggles. The audi- 
 ence showed no desire to help him out of his em- 
 barrassing predicament; they sat silent but intensely 
 interested. 
 
 "Who who who says it's a a lie?" 
 
 "I do." Ed rose and sat down all in one moment.
 
 234 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "So do I," said General Pennett, with emphasis 
 on each word. 
 
 Harold rose and went to Mr. Ruggles. He whis- 
 pered something. Those in front said it was a fierce 
 whisper to the effect that Mr. Ruggles should drop 
 % that, and get on with something else. The damage 
 had, however, been done. To be called a liar by 
 two soldiers, one in the audience and the other in 
 the chair, was too much opposition for the orator. 
 He resumed in a floundering choppy sea of observa- 
 tions, but never recovered his control. Harold longed 
 for him to sit down, he prayed for Sir Alfred to 
 come to the rescue. He saw the meeting getting 
 out of hand. His friends on the platform turned to 
 one another and chatted in whispers. For half an 
 hour he endured the agony of the politician who sits 
 and sees an important meeting swaying over to the 
 other side. Ruggles had been told to speak for an 
 hour, and as speaking for an hour was his bread 
 and butter, he stuck at it with a bravery little appre- 
 ciated by those who look for it only on battle-fields. 
 The general passed the time drawing squares and 
 circles on the agenda paper, and Mr. Oldcastle studied 
 his engagements in his note-book. 
 
 Sir Alfred was just in time to save the meeting. 
 He came in breathless, as if he had run all the way 
 from Minsterley instead of riding in his motor at 
 forty miles an hour. Mr. Ruggles sat down while 
 the audience applauded Sir Alfred, who stood bowing 
 acknowledgments with an ease that proclaimed his 
 familiarity with such incidents. The general called 
 on him to speak at once. Then without note or re- 
 flection he dealt with the military situation as if he
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 235 
 
 had just returned from all the many fronts from 
 Bagdad to Soissons. Sir Alfred tried to make clear 
 the provisions of the various acts, such as the Muni- 
 tions Act and the Registration Act. His explana- 
 tion was simple, but it failed to rouse enthusiasm. 
 Neither piece of legislation seemed to concern the 
 audience. The laborers of military age at the back 
 of the hall were relieved to learn that the registra- 
 tion forms they had filled did not mean they would 
 be taken away to fight for their native land. Sir 
 Alfred ventured to remark he hoped there would be 
 no need for conscription. He was opposed to all 
 forms of compulsion. Anything which might divide 
 the country was to be avoided at all costs. The 
 hour was dark. They had suffered terribly, but 
 there was a silver lining to every black cloud. More 
 men and more munitions were urgently required, and 
 these would be forthcoming. He had no more doubt 
 of that than he had of what the end would be. Vic- 
 tory would come to British arms, because the cause 
 was just. God would not forsake His own. Western 
 civilization would triumph because it was the highest 
 the world had ever known, and its Christian ideal the 
 noblest man had yet reached. 
 
 It was a good speech, sound in its principles and 
 wise in its expediency. The art of omission was 
 practised without fear of detection. When he sat 
 down the general took his hand and chatted affably 
 with him until he forgot to call on the next speaker. 
 Mr. Oldcastle joined the group and patted Sir Alfred 
 on the back. It was a delightful thing to see all 
 party strife laid to rest. Harold, who was down to 
 move the resolution, waited impatiently for some
 
 236 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 moments. After seeing some people at the back move 
 toward the door he sprang up and shouted: "The 
 meeting's not over. Wait, please. I have to move 
 the following resolution." 
 
 The resolution welcomed the National Registration 
 Act and pledged the meeting to support the Govern- 
 ment in introducing effective measures to bring the 
 war to a speedy and successful conclusion. Harold 
 began by saying the hour was late for a country audi- 
 ence, but that he would not detain them long. To 
 fight such a war the army must have men and mu- 
 nitions. He had gone about a good deal making re- 
 cruiting speeches because he was convinced it was 
 his duty as a Christian to help to overthrow the god- 
 less philosophy of modern Germany. But when he 
 saw millions of young men hanging back it made his 
 blood boil. There were thousands of slackers and 
 shirkers, he was sorry to say, who would rather 
 soak themselves in beer and do everything in their 
 power to prevent the factories turning out ammu- 
 nition, so badly needed by our brothers in the trenches, 
 that he sometimes despaired of the end. General 
 Pennett had wondered why this meeting had been 
 held in Crowington. He would try to explain. He 
 had a list of thirty men of military age living in 
 the parish who had not enlisted. It was shameful. 
 If there were one hundred parishes in the west 
 counties containing thirty men that meant three thou- 
 sand probable soldiers, and so on. It was not fair 
 to the men who were crying out for support against 
 unscrupulous foes who had been preparing to crush 
 us for over forty years. He could name men living 
 in their midst who pught to be in khaki. Only a
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 237 
 
 few days ago he saw one a Mr. Harry Tonks 
 loafing about 
 
 "Put the resolution and sit down," Ellen cried. 
 
 "I will not" 
 
 "Name the others," Ben demanded. 
 
 "I will please myself " 
 
 "What is keeping you? Why don't you go?" Ed 
 asked. 
 
 That evidently had not occurred to Harold. He 
 was visibly embarrassed. But only for a few mo- 
 ments. 
 
 "I am a clergyman, and my duty is here among 
 my parishoners. If I were free I would not hesitate 
 for a single second. For God and the Right I should 
 seek any death. It would be a holy duty to fight 
 against the Mammon of unrighteousness. And let 
 me tell you particularly those men hanging about 
 at the back of the hall that it is better to .go now 
 than to wait to be fetched. What is there to fear? 
 The soldier's life is full of honor and glory. If 
 I had not been a clergyman I would have been a 
 soldier. There is no greater service man can do 
 than defend his country. At the front you will find 
 men full of nobility and sacrifice. The Government 
 pays them well. There is separation allowance, some- 
 thing for the children, pensions, and every conceiv- 
 able compensation. Now, you men, will you volun- 
 teer? The recruiting officers are here. Is Mr. 
 Harry Tonks here?" 
 
 Ben rose. 
 
 "No, but his brother is, and I think we have heard 
 quite enough from you, Vicar. You have specially 
 singled out my brother and some men at the back of
 
 238 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 the hall here. Why I don't know. That is some- 
 thing only you can explain." 
 
 General Pennett was not a good chairman. He 
 allowed Ben and Harold to enter into a discussion 
 without calling for order. 
 
 "I have the floor. Sit down," Harold shouted. 
 
 "There is a limit to procedure when an audience 
 is taken advantage of as you have taken advantage 
 of this to-night. You have brought a man here to 
 speak that is an insult to the intelligence of men, 
 even men who dare not protest. You sat and listened 
 to statements that you knew were false until your 
 brother and General Pennett showed their disap- 
 proval. Now I want to tell this audience before 
 you make another appeal for recruits, that con- 
 scription is not yet." Ben turned about and faced 
 the audience. "Men, you must consult your own con- 
 sciences. Do not let yourselves be bullied and brow- 
 beaten by any one into fighting when you do not 
 wish to. By signing a registration form you do not 
 pledge yourself to enlist. If you do not want to 
 enlist there is not yet any law that can force you. 
 You have given your brothers, sons and fathers. 
 Crowington has done its share " 
 
 A recruiting officer and a policeman moved from 
 the door to the place where Ben stood speaking 
 calmly, deliberately. The policeman touched Ben on 
 the shoulder and asked him to come outside. 
 
 "You're arrested," Harold cried. 
 
 "I know. Arrested for interfering with your re- 
 cruiting meeting, Vicar. I'm not taken by surprise." 
 
 After they took Ben from the room Ellen rose.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 239 
 
 "I should like to appeal to General Pennett. Is there 
 any law that can force a man to enlist?" 
 
 "No, there is not," the general said, "and I hope 
 there never will be. But there is a law that deals 
 severely with people who interfere with recruiting. 
 I dislike most of the methods of getting men to 
 join the colors; they are not manly, and go against 
 the grain. But no matter what the methods be, every 
 man should consider solemnly his duty to his country." 
 
 "Thank you, General," Ellen said. Then turning 
 to the men at the back of the hall she said with 
 emphasis. "You heard General Pennett. Remem- 
 ber! He said there is no law can force a man to 
 enlist. Remember what my husband said, and take 
 my advice, 'Don't be bullied by parsons and para- 
 sites/" 
 
 She left the room. Every eye followed her to the 
 door. 
 
 " 'Er's a good 'un, and 'er big wi' child," a woman 
 muttered to her husband. 
 
 Harold was quickly on his feet again. 
 
 "When I was interrupted I was making an appeal 
 for recruits, and I said I had a list of men of mili- 
 tary age who ought to go. Now I wish it were 
 possible for me to give you an adequate idea of the 
 glory and honor of the soldier's life. We read our 
 history, and know the lives of our martial heroes. 
 But history fails to tell of the glories of the humble 
 soldier. I saw in an article in a review last month 
 that a famous writer said, 'Every battle is a thrilling 
 glory bringing undying honor and praise to every 
 man who does his dutv.' But that does not picture
 
 240 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 to my mind the fulness of glory. No one has ever 
 satisfied me not in literature, or painting, or music 
 with a picture of all it means " 
 
 "Really, General Pennett, are we to sit and listen 
 to this drivel?" Ed cried in a passion. He could 
 endure it no longer. In trying to keep himself in 
 check he tore his glove in strips. To see Ben ar- 
 rested was hard to bear. 
 
 Harold stdbd his ground. He was determined not 
 to give way again. 
 
 "General, please try to keep order/' he appealed. 
 
 The general shrugged his shoulders and said, "It 
 seems to me a domestic affair not a public meeting." 
 
 "If I may suggest?" Sir Alfred interceded, rising 
 with some humility. "It is late, and perhaps tjie reso- 
 lution might be put, and the meeting brought to a 
 close." 
 
 "Certainly, Sir Alfred/' the general agreed. 
 
 "But I won't take long," Harold cried. "I have 
 my duty to perform, and if everybody did their 
 duty" 
 
 "Duty duty duty/' Ed cried. "What do you 
 know about duty? I'm sick of your twaddle. You 
 want a picture of the glory of a battle-field. You 
 can't find it in literature, painting, or music. I'll 
 tell you what the picture is. It is bloody, shattered 
 men who never quarreled themselves staggering in 
 droves to death. It is men full of healthy life sent 
 into a hail of tearing metal. It is an officer crying, 
 'Follow me!' and the next instant his headless frame 
 marching on. It is his men blinded by the spattered 
 flesh and blood of that head. The glory of it is to 
 meet your bosom friend face to face in a hell of
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 241 
 
 shrapnel. To strike an opponent you never saw 
 before down at your friend's feet. It is glorious to 
 hear the cry of a great love come from the heart of 
 an outraged man. I met Herbert Von Hoist face 
 to face the day I lost my hand. I met my sister's 
 lover the man I had loved as a brother enemies- 
 fighting like animals. Harold, go and learn the glory 
 of hearing In the midst of battle a friend cry out for 
 your sister whom he loved. Go and see the lifeless 
 trunks and hear the hideous moans of limbless men. 
 Walk into the hail of machine-gun shot. Go, Harold, 
 you'll see the picture. Go, before you ask another 
 man to go where you've not been yourself." 
 
 He sank down trembling with passion, angry with 
 himself for giving way. He was humiliated in his 
 own eyes. A horrid feeling of shame covered him. 
 The general slowly rose to his feet and in a shaky 
 voice said: 
 
 "It is a pity this happened. I'm sorry, 'pon my 
 soul. But I can't blame Captain Horton-Birkett. I 
 have an idea of what he's been through. Perhaps 
 it would be better if clergymen didn't meddle with 
 soldiering. The cobbler should stick to his last. I 
 suppose there's nothing more to be said. Now, you 
 better go home and get some rest. Good night." 
 
 The general walked off to the anteroom, and the 
 audience rose. Clarice stood by her mother irreso- 
 lute. Her strong desire was to rush back to where 
 Ed was sitting, and beg his forgiveness. Sir Alfred 
 lingered on the platform chatting with Mr. Old- 
 castle. The room was emptying fast. Harold found 
 his wife and helped her on with her cloak. Ed sat 
 bowed, his head on his arms, and as the room be-
 
 242 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 tween him and Clarice cleared of the villagers she 
 saw him. 
 
 "Mother, I must go to him," she said. 
 
 "Can't for the life of me know why you ever left 
 him," Lady Clungford muttered. 
 
 Clarice went and sat beside him. She looked at his 
 bent figure, bowed sadly. 
 
 "Ed Ed look up," she whispered. "Forgive me, 
 old man, I'm so miserable, Ed." 
 
 He took her in his arms. 
 
 "Say you forgive me." 
 
 "There's nothing to forgive, old girl," he said. 
 
 "Why didn't you tdl me?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "About Herbert that awful day." 
 
 "I couldn't, Clarice. I ought not to have men- 
 tioned it now. But I tried to keep quiet. I tried 
 to hold myself in. Never mind. It's done now. 
 There will be a fearful row about it, but I don't 
 care. I'm done with the sickening business." 
 
 "What row will there be? Jawton! Do you 
 mean Jawton?" 
 
 "No, Jawton, no, old girl. Why? Jawton is 
 dead. He can't" 
 
 "Jawton dead." 
 
 "Yes died of wounds some time ago. Now we're 
 free to say no order came to us that day." 
 
 "Oh, God, Ed, you knew that and didn't tell me?" 
 She stared up into his face, her lips trembling like 
 cherries in a wind. Her hands clasped about his 
 neck, and her firm bosom pressed against his shoulder 
 as she twined round him to catch his eyes. 
 
 "Ed, why didn't you say so?"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 243 
 
 "Because because Jawton put the blame on me, 
 and there it had to rest. But now he is gone. Pome- 
 roy-Fanton told dad that no order came from Jaw- 
 ton. If there was any one to blame it was Jawton 
 himself. He should have used his discretion. But 
 being one of the old school he never dreamed of 
 taking the initiative. It was hard for him to see 
 his men cut up, and as he was a peppery person at 
 all times, and disliked me very much, it was only 
 natural his wrath should fall on me." 
 "And he let you live under that cloud " 
 "Never mind, old girl, it's all over now." 
 "Come home with me, Ed," she begged. 
 
 Clarice lay in bed next morning wondering what 
 it was that prompted her to sympathize with Ed. 
 She was so happy she wished to live the events of 
 the night over again. Not until she heard Ed's 
 booming voice giving the lie to Ruggles did she know 
 he was at the meeting. It was then a subtle some- 
 thing thrilled her, a wave of sympathy, coming from 
 she knew not where, enveloped her. She felt like 
 crying, and anxiously wondered where he was sitting. 
 His voice filled her with a strange feeling of want- 
 ing to touch him. The rest of the meeting had little 
 interest for her. But it was Ed's reference to Her- 
 bert and Cricket, his meeting Von Hoist face to face, 
 and the description of Herbert's cry, in the roar of 
 battle, for his love; it was that which subdued her, 
 made her wilt like tissue-paper before hot embers. 
 Somehow it was like Ed crying to some one for his 
 love for herself. 
 
 "Well, my lass," her mother said, when they met
 
 244 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 at breakfast, "you look better. That's right. There's 
 nothing like it in all the world. Love's the tonic, 
 isn't it? What time did Ed go?" 
 
 "It must have been one o'clock," Clarice replied. 
 "And I think Morris was glad to wait up and drive 
 him home. 
 
 "Now, get married at once, Clarice, and be sensible 
 about it," said Lady Clungford. "Don't bother about 
 the usual business. Everything's changed. Let it 
 be done quietly no fuss no advertisement. I'm 
 tired waiting for a man to come to this house, and 
 I'm not old enough to be pensioned off, though I'm 
 not young enough for high jinks. It'll do me good 
 to see you happily settled." 
 
 "All right, mother, you shall have it your way," 
 Clarice said. "I'll see Evelyn about Wilmslow 
 Lodge" 
 
 "No, don't bother about that. Come here after 
 you've had a fortnight in Scotland. Billy is away 
 and I shall be lonely no hunting, nothing going on. 
 Billy will never live here. I'll attend to that. Think 
 it over and be practical." 
 
 Ben was taken to Minsterley, there to appear be- 
 fore the magistrate for interfering with recruiting. 
 The sentence was a severe one: three months in 
 the second division. The magistrate was influenced 
 by the action the authorities had taken against Ben's 
 pamphlet, To Conscientious Objectors. A stay of 
 proceedings was asked for and refused. The option 
 of a fine was not granted. The witnesses for the 
 prosecution were men carefully chosen from the audi- 
 ence. Ben declined to call witnesses in his behalf
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 245 
 
 and pleaded guilty to the charge. Harold was sum- 
 moned to appear, but he sent a doctor's certificate 
 instead. 
 
 Ellen was stunned by the severity of the sentence 
 and was taken back to Crowington much shaken. 
 She had to think of a life not born. After a day 
 or two she resolutely faced the ordeal of doing all 
 she could to maintain her strength. Ben told her 
 she was not to think of him; she was to save herself 
 in every way; there were to be no journeys in to 
 see him; no anxiety, no tears. How brave she was 
 in those days only Ed and Harry Tonks really knew.
 
 THE news of the 'death of Count Herbert Von 
 Hoist came to England via Rotterdam. His 
 mother sent her letter to Evelyn by an attache to a 
 neutral embassy. The message was so precious the 
 young man undertook to deliver it in person, but on 
 reaching London he was told it was several hours' 
 journey down to Crowington and that it would be 
 better to send a line to Miss Evelyn and find out if 
 she would be there to receive him. He wrote to 
 her saying he had a letter from Count Herbert's 
 mother which he must deliver into her hands; a 
 letter so precious that he would not rest until it was 
 safe in her keeping. Evelyn showed the polite 
 effusive note to Ed, who guessed instantly what news 
 the letter contained. Evelyn saw it in Ed's face. 
 She took the thought from him, and turned cold, 
 ashen. He strove to soothe her by saying it might 
 not be serious wounded again; ill, perhaps! some- 
 thing of that kind! not ! Their nerves were all 
 raw, Ed said, and they jumped to conclusions 
 often the worst. But Evelyn sat in abject despair, 
 crying, "Herbert! Herbert! Herbert!" 
 
 Next evening she received the letter a long one. 
 The first page was enough to convince her that Her- 
 bert was no more. Ed took the letter from her 
 clenched hands. While her mother tried to comfort 
 her, he stole quietly away to read it. It said Herbert 
 was horribly torn by a shell. His legs and one thigh 
 
 246
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 247 
 
 were completely severed. There were wounds nearly 
 all over the rest of his body. So the doctor who 
 saw him a few hours before he died wrote to his 
 mother. They buried him in France near what had 
 been a village church, a few miles north of Loos. 
 His mother wrote saying her son's one long year of 
 agony was at an end. All through the war he carried 
 one awful thought that he might kill an English 
 friend, one with whom he had gone to school, one 
 perhaps he had loved in those bright days when his 
 friends on English soil were many. His mother 
 had kept all his letters for Cricket and she would 
 let her have them some day. 
 
 The letter was as painful a document as Ed had 
 ever read. The German woman of English birth and 
 blood wrote without a single reference to her own 
 grief. She said nothing of her own suffering, her 
 own loss. There was no complaint, no censure, no 
 word of remorse. Deep, terrible, unavailing despair 
 ran all through its contents. What was the use? 
 Why try to understand it all? God had left man- 
 kind to perish. The war was an affront to the Holy 
 Ghost. Mercy and pity had been banished forever 
 from the souls of rulers and statesmen. Hopeless- 
 ness was the only thing left whole in the slaughter 
 and destruction of men. Her husband had said 
 hell was a place of refuge and ease in comparison 
 with the world, and Satan hid his face in shame at 
 the evil of it all. 
 
 When Sir Alfred came down to Crowington to 
 see Evelyn he was anxious and out of temper. He 
 had put off meeting his family for several weeks 
 fearing a rupture. Ellen had written twice about
 
 248 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Herbert's death and had not spared him in saying 
 what she thought about the shell business. Fred 
 had gone to the front, spending only a night at Crow- 
 ington en route for a southern port. Sir Alfred 
 saw him off at Victoria. 
 
 Things were all wrong in London, the Govern- 
 ment toppling to a fall, the conscriptionists mak- 
 ing hay in every direction, the truth about the 
 Dardanelles fiasco leaking out, and the newspaper 
 war raging more furiously than ever. The Budget 
 had pleased no one. It was a frontal attack on 
 the laboring classes, and a reversal of the fiscal 
 system which had been maintained by the elec- 
 tors at three general elections. There was much in 
 town to vex Sir Alfred, there were dissension and 
 bitterness at Crowington. Many times he had wished 
 he could get away from it all for a while and take 
 soundings. That his wife had gone over to Roman 
 Catholicism was a bitter blow. A Roman, he mut- 
 tered, whenever she came into his mind. "I, live 
 with a Roman! Perhaps to see her at her mum- 
 meries and counting her beads." No doubt she 
 would be repeating to herself "Hail Marys" and 
 "Paternosters" while he was talking to her on do- 
 mestic affairs. Thank God, no one knew of her 
 conversion that was one blessing of the war, folks 
 were too busy with other things to listen to affairs 
 of that kind. She had written several times since 
 Herbert's death begging him to give up all his in- 
 terests in armaments and munitions. Evelyn had 
 said she would never speak to him again until he 
 was free of the horrible business. During the jour- 
 ney from town he wished for rest, for time to think
 
 ' A 7 STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 249 
 
 wished for new plans as he never wished before, 
 but he knew, he felt, he would find little rest at 
 Crowington. There seemed to be a vast accumu- 
 lation there of errors, things undone, domestic blun- 
 derings, for which he was held responsible. Had 
 the war found him out? Had his whole life been 
 based on an utterly false system? Somehow events 
 were shaking the edifice of his career, rocking it 
 in the cyclone of woe, straining it to breaking point, 
 in an upheaval which shook the very foundation of 
 his family relations. He saw no welcoming gleam 
 of light to lead him out of the chaos. Was he a 
 victim of the system? 
 
 Ellen came to dinner. It was the first time for 
 many months so many as five had gathered at the 
 table. While the servants were present they talked 
 of the things which did not matter. Evelyn sat like a 
 beautiful ghost. Bereavement enhanced her attrac- 
 tiveness. Her father's eyes strayed every now and 
 then in her direction, but he might have been in 
 London for all the notice she took of him. He was 
 deeply sorry for her; he wanted to say so, but she 
 gave him no chance at all. She sat like the personifi- 
 cation of all the pain munitions had brought to the 
 lovers of men slain in their strength. 
 
 "I thought Fred looked very well when I saw him 
 off," he said. "He's grown into a fine fellow. Did 
 you see him, Ellen?" 
 
 "Yes, he was here for a day and a night," she 
 replied. 
 
 "Alfred, I feel sure he didn't want to go," Lady 
 Horton-Birkett said. "I was not deceived by his 
 bearing. What do you think, Ed?"
 
 250 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "He was very brave about it, mater." 
 
 "Poor boy," Ellen sighed. 
 
 The dreary meal ended, they hastened away from 
 the servants and found seclusion in the billiard 
 room before the fire. For a long time they sat in 
 silence not knowing how to begin the discussion 
 of all the vital matters which had occupied their 
 thoughts. Now they had their father in their midst 
 they did not know what to say to him. It seemed 
 so easy to write him, but now far from easy to talk 
 to him. Ed thought of a dozen ways of making a 
 start, none however seemed kindly. At last he began, 
 "Thought any more of that matter?" 
 
 "What matter, Ed?" 
 
 "About giving up the business." 
 
 "Oh! That, eh? Y-e-s, a good deal." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Can't see how it can be done. Very difficult, my 
 boy. It's the system. And really ! I'm a victim of 
 the system " 
 
 "We're all that victims of the system " 
 
 "What is God doing the dissenter's God can't 
 He help you?" Ellen asked. "Surely He has not 
 deserted you, has He?" 
 
 "Ellen, I don't like such levity. It is not becom- 
 ing," her father said, brushing the cigar ash off his 
 trousers. 
 
 "Not becoming? What do you mean, dad? Have 
 you turned your countenance away from Him? I 
 thought you had the greatest confidence " 
 
 "I have. I have. But" 
 
 "Yes, dad, go on." 
 
 "It's no use," he muttered.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 251 
 
 He shook his head gravely and laid his cigar 
 aside. 
 
 "Alfred, I do wish you would give it up," his 
 wife said. "You must, really. Think of Evelyn- 
 Fred! Robert! It is so awful. I can't sleep think- 
 ing about it. It is so horrible, the idea that your 
 shells might " 
 
 "Might?" Ellen echoed. 
 
 There was a tense silence. Each buried in thought, 
 so lively indeed that their minds transmitted the hid- 
 den sentence to Sir Alfred in unmistakable terms. 
 He raised himself by taking hold of the arms of the 
 chair, he leaned forward, and looked earnestly at each 
 of their faces. 
 
 "You don't mean?" he blurted. 
 
 "We think, dear, one of your shells perhaps blew 
 Herbert to pieces," his wife said. 
 
 "Nonsense!" he cried, and stood over them shak- 
 ing with fierce indignation. The horrifying thought 
 angered him intensely. 
 
 "How can you think such a thing?" 
 
 "What do you make the shells for?" Ellen asked 
 quietly, laying stress on the for. 
 
 "Isn't it best or better to be quite certain about 
 it?" Ed muttered. "Besides your German firm " 
 
 "My German firm. I have nothing to do with any 
 German firm. That is no part of our business now. 
 The war has changed all that. It has severed all 
 connection " 
 
 "Your patents are used " 
 
 "Stolen" 
 
 "Dad, dad," Ed remonstrated testily. 
 
 "Well I I mean"
 
 252 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "We know what you mean," Ellen said. "For 
 the time being relations are broken off, but only for 
 the period of the war. When it is over the German 
 house will have to account to you for the whole busi- 
 ness done during the war. That's what you mean." 
 
 "Give it up, Alfred," his wife cried. "Oh, give 
 it up. Suppose Fred is killed. Have you no sense 
 of " She broke down and wept bitterly. 
 
 But no one heeded her. Tears in that house were 
 now part of the day's pain. 
 
 "You're all against me/' he said hoarsely. "All 
 against me. You don't none of you appreciate 
 all my difficulties all my terrible anxieties. Public 
 opinion ! you haven't the faintest conception of what 
 that means to a man in my position not the faintest. 
 The Government there again ! What about the Gov- 
 ernment? It never leaves me alone. I have to do 
 what I am told. Then the country I must be patri- 
 otic. I must do my duty. How can I leave the 
 country in the lurch in a time like this? It is all 
 very well for you" he swept his arm over them 
 "to sit down here far removed from the life I lead 
 in town and think of what I ought to do. Never 
 mind, it is not to be expected you should know my 
 'difficulties. But it does seem to me like ingratitude 
 after all I've done for you." 
 
 "It does, dad," Ed said quickly. "You're quite 
 right there. It does seem like ingratitude. I admit 
 it frankly. But we are grown up now and must 
 judge for ourselves. Some of us never had a serious 
 thought until a few months ago. I know I didn't. 
 I accepted everything without a word. That was 
 because I had never been trained to think."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 253 
 
 "You went to far better schools than I." 
 
 "I don't think so. I went to schools where thought 
 was for teachers, not for scholars. A rotten system, 
 I call it, that sends lads out without excuse the 
 word a fundamental. We have been reared at snob 
 schools to exist in a snob world. I can't think of a 
 blessed thing I learned at school that can hold me 
 up in face of a great crisis a difficulty in which the 
 soul must dominate. I'm preaching now, but I don't 
 mean to. It's because I can't express myself clearly. 
 I wasn't taught to. And soldiering is not the work 
 for that kind of thing." 
 
 "I didn't want you to be a soldier," his father 
 .snapped. 
 
 "I know. I know that. But what else was there 
 for me or for Robert ? Our education pushed us that 
 way to improve our social position. The army is 
 the only way for sons of rich plebs to get into the 
 swim. The army and the Church. Look at Harold. 
 Is he any better than I am? You know you're just 
 about as proud of him as I am of myself. Just para- 
 sites. That's what we are. Not one of us has an 
 honest man's trade. We produce nothing, indus- 
 trially or artistically. Art! The school system is 
 Enough to kill any desire for art." 
 
 "And, dad, what has been the good of coming 
 'down here, and setting up in squire business?" Ellen 
 asked. "You haven't got in with the county families. 
 They dislike you now as heartily as they did when 
 you bought the place. After all these years you are 
 still an outsider." 
 
 Stung to the quick he rose and clenched his hands 
 before him.
 
 254 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "I never wanted them. I loathe them all," he 
 cried. "They're nothing but a gang of sycophants 
 ready to use you for what they can get." 
 
 "Not all, Alfred," his wife interposed. "Not all." 
 
 "Most of them. It's your lot, too. It was your 
 idea. You were the one to cringe before them " 
 
 "Cringe! Never!" she said with spirit. "All I 
 wished was a chance in good society for my children." 
 
 "In good society," he sneered. "The betrayers of 
 the country. Look at them! With their houses and 
 parks, insanitary cottages and mortgaged palaces, 
 half-starved peasants and over-gorged pheasants, 
 their idleness, and the laborers' toil. Have they 
 changed in character? Are they not the same stock 
 that bled the country white a century ago?" 
 
 "That's a bit sweeping," Ed said. 
 
 "Read Byron, and Shelley, and what's his name? 
 Sweeping! You read them." 
 
 "The radical is not quite dead, after all," Ellen said. 
 
 "But why try to imitate them, dad?" Ed asked. 
 "Set them an example. The Small Holding Act is a 
 fizzle here as you know. Why not divide up the 
 whole estate into five, ten and twenty acre places, 
 build houses and let the people in at fair rents ? I've 
 figured out the whole thing." 
 
 "That would be a very serious step to take," his 
 father said emphatically. "It would cost an enor- 
 mous sum." 
 
 "Where would you get the men from, Ed ?" Evelyn 
 asked. 
 
 "Yes. There! You see how impractical you 
 are!" his father exclaimed. 
 
 "Men over fifty could be found. And, dad, it
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 255 
 
 wouldn't cost as much as you will make on this 
 war. Would it? Fifty houses for small holders." 
 
 "Dad, do think of it," Lady Horton-Birkett pleaded. 
 "Say you're ill. Stay down here altogether. Keep 
 away from London. But give up the business. Any 
 excuse will do. I am sure the money will be a curse 
 to us. In a way it has been already. We are all 
 disunited. Do give it up." 
 
 "Well, Evie, I've been thinking it over a good deal 
 since I was down here talking to Ed," her husband 
 said. "I shall never have a better chance of getting out." 
 
 They drew up their chairs and narrowed the circle. 
 
 "You see the market is high inflated, in fact. It 
 is just the time to realize. I might off load a big 
 parcel " 
 
 "Good!" Ed exclaimed. 
 
 "But wouldn't that make every buyer of shares an 
 extra person interested in the sale of shells?" Ellen 
 asked. 
 
 "Of course it would," her father cried, throwing 
 Ed a glance of scorn. 
 
 "Never mind. Never mind," his wife said. "Get 
 rid of them anyway." 
 
 "But would it be wise to let the small folk get 
 their fingers into that pie?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't want you to do it that way," Ed said. 
 "Put all the money into benefits for those who have 
 suffered. I've thought it out. You can't withdraw 
 your patents, but you can decline to take any more 
 profit. You must do what the Government demands 
 as long as you are the head of the business, but the 
 Government can't make you hold on if you really wish 
 to withdraw. Do you really wish to give it up?"
 
 256 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "I want a rest badly/' 
 
 "Come down here and we'll look after you, Al- 
 fred," his wife said. "Come down and try to under- 
 stand our point of view." 
 
 I will. I'll attend to it on Monday when I get 
 to town. There is a board meeting next week." 
 
 He took his wife's hands, raised her up and kissed 
 her. 
 
 "Cricket, darling," her mother called, "be kind. 
 Say something. Dad will give it up." 
 
 Evelyn went to him and touched his cheek. He 
 shrank from her lips as if he had been touched by ice. 
 
 "It was your shells, dad, that did for Herbert," 
 she sighed. "I can tell that from Adorable's letter. 
 She is bitter bitter. If you would only feel that 
 some German boy like Fred " 
 
 She stopped suddenly, choked by a great sob, and 
 rushed out of the room. 
 
 Ed took Ellen home. Harry was busy on the 
 plans of houses and outbuildings for small holders. 
 He and Ed had been at work for some weeks on 
 the plan of breaking up the estate, in the way he 
 had suggested to his father. 
 
 "Our scheme may come off," Ed said, looking 
 over Harry's shoulder. 
 
 "I hope I shall be able to see it through." 
 
 "Well, my father may do it." 
 
 "I don't mean that. I went into Minsterley to-day 
 to get some materials some special pens for this 
 kind of work, and a friend told me he had heard on 
 excellent authority that the authorities are preparing 
 to start conscripting unmarried men."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 257, 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "He says his information is correct." 
 
 "There'll be revolution," Ellen muttered. "Did 
 you ask about Ben?" 
 
 "He is quite well. Our friend says he will be 
 released in about ten days " 
 
 "Ten days," she cried. 
 
 "His sentence has been commuted considerably," 
 Harry explained. "Albert Henry Vaughan is dead." 
 
 "My little Tommy," Ed murmured, remembering 
 the journey from town when he came back wounded 
 to Crowington and was assisted by Albert Henry. 
 
 "Yes, died of wounds," Harry said. "Mrs. 
 Vaughan is very lonely. Minsterley is an awful 
 place these days. Women and old men. There 
 seems to be no youth in the town. It looks grayer 
 than ever. Just young women, numbers of them, 
 and grave-looking males past middle life. I met 
 the recruiting officer who had Ben arrested. He 
 asked kindly after you, Ellen. Poor fellow, he felt 
 that keenly." 
 
 Ed stayed for a long time discussing the plans 
 with Harry. Lizzie got sandwiches and hot milk 
 for them. Harry was a deep well of information 
 from which Ed drew copious drafts. He was really 
 the first well-informed man he had been in touch 
 with closely. Already he had introduced Ed to Para- 
 celsus, his first experience in Browning, to Hardy's 
 Jude, and Tess, to the Bible, for Ed knew next to 
 nothing about it, and then to the book which gripped 
 Ed as none other did, George's Progress and Poverty. 
 This work made Ed understand Tolstoy's Resurrec- 
 tion.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 IT was no easy task Ed set himself when he de- 
 cided to test Clarice by telling her he meant to 
 give up all claim to his father's estate. Since the 
 night of their reunion he found his love for her grow 
 deeper and stronger. Was she so wedded to an 
 existence of luxury and ease that a complete change 
 in living, such as Ed contemplated, would affect her 
 love for him? Would he lose her? These questions 
 harassed him daily. She had eighty thousand 
 pounds of her own, and her mother had taken over 
 Clungford, not a very large estate, when Billy had 
 to settle up for his expensive youthful pleasures. It 
 seemed so selfish to Ed for him to want her to 
 throw in her lot with his when he was fixed in his 
 determination to make his own living and keep his 
 expenses within his income. Yet there was some- 
 thing strong in Clarice which made him eager to 
 lay the new scheme before her, something virile 
 which tempted him to test her in a big way. 
 
 They were returning from the sale of some of 
 Herbert's horses, when Ed said: "How would you 
 like to run a little stock farm, beginning with 
 hunters?" 
 
 "Wouldn't it be ripping," she said. 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "Indeed I do. I've been wondering for weeks 
 what I could do to make a living " 
 
 "What? You?" 
 
 258
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 259 
 
 "Yes. Do you think Ellen is the only one wKo 
 dare think of earning her own living? Listen, Ed! 
 Ever since Ellen told me about her life I've been 
 mad to do something for myself." 
 
 "Splendid." 
 
 "Won't we all have to buckle to when the war's 
 over and give up the other life? Living well and 
 doing ill?" 
 
 "Old girl that's fine." 
 
 Then he unfolded his plan. And as he went into 
 the detail of starting a stud farm she saw how it 
 could be done on a larger scale. Her eighty thou- 
 sand pounds was enough to buy Wilmslow Lodge 
 and stock it. Herbert's champion hunter was young, 
 only six years old; they would have him valued and 
 buy him from Evelyn. As fine a sire to be found in 
 the country; fit for any stud farm. Ed did not like 
 the idea of using any of her money, but she was 
 firm and wore his objections down. 
 
 "Why can't husband and wife be partners, I should 
 like to know?" she said. "You have the knowledge, 
 Ed, and I have the money. We shall both have to 
 work. You will have to run the whole thing and 
 make it a success." 
 
 "But if it should fail and T lost your money?" 
 
 "Well if it did? That would be my affair, wouldn't 
 it? Anyway, I want Wilmslow Lodge if Cricket will 
 let us have it " 
 
 "I'm afraid she won't sell, but she'll let it to us." 
 
 "Herbert has left her all his English interests?" 
 
 "He settled everything here on her when they were 
 engaged. About five thousand pounds a year it comes 
 to, and Wilmslow. Now, old girl, I shall have
 
 260 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 nothing but about one thousand pounds a year to 
 fall back on. You know I'm not going to touch 
 dad's money." 
 
 "Ellen told me all about that. So you have de- 
 cided to take half of Haugmond from Cricket?" 
 
 "Not unless I fail. That is something to fall 
 back on." 
 
 When they told Lady Clungford of their plans she 
 was as keen, enthusiastic, as they were themselves. 
 
 "Lord, it is good to hear of some one wishing to 
 produce something of use. I don't know of a blessed 
 thing in my life worth recording, outside the mere 
 domestic habits of the wife and the mother. Things 
 every woman is supposed to do because she is a 
 woman. The sheep-like virtues of our sex. That's 
 right, Clarice, make up your mind to live. After 
 this war there'll be a big change in the affairs of 
 lots of us loafers. Look at this income tax assess- 
 ment I've just received. And the prime minister 
 says we may have half our incomes taken from us 
 before it's over. Well, good luck to you both. If 
 Ed can't make a success of a stud farm I don't 
 know who can." 
 
 They were married in Edinburgh and spent a fort- 
 night in the Western Highlands. Each day they 
 worked for several hours on the plans of the farm. 
 Their recreation was walking, long tramps in the 
 moldering paths of the autumn scented hills, look- 
 ing down on tranquil lochs mirroring the gray trunks 
 of beeches and the fluttering leaves falling from 
 boughs growing bare. The weather was soft and 
 calm under clear blue skies, and the smoke of forest 
 fires rose in straight spires in the stilly air. In these
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 261 
 
 journeyings Clarice sounded the depth of his under- 
 standing. What a change had been wrought in him ! 
 It was like as if she had never known him before 
 the night of the recruiting meeting. They talked 
 of men and their books, of life and conditions of 
 people, of striving and doing, of learning how to live 
 industriously. It was Ellen, it was Harry Tonks, 
 sometimes it was Ben, who set him to work to use 
 his mind. That mind which was never taught to 
 express itself, never to think for itself. The day 
 he told her of Harry Tonks, Clarice saw deep down 
 in Ed the real man that had been suppressed by class 
 education. There was something fine in his appre- 
 ciation of Harry. Educated at the village school, and 
 what a school! He worked by himself at home at 
 night and fitted himself for the larger scheme of a 
 technical course in Manchester. There he got a job 
 in an architect's office at fourteen shillings a week 
 while he studied the classics. For five years he 
 worked at Greek and Latin, German and French. 
 "My last year at Sandington cost more money 
 than was spent on the whole of Harry's education," 
 he said. "He knows the economists and the his- 
 torians, and I doubt whether all my tutors knew a 
 fraction of what Harry knows in economics and 
 history. Better class education is an imposition 
 which only an uneducated class would tolerate. Take 
 the Bible. For years I thought it was priggish to 
 talk about it. Where I got the idea from, heaven 
 only knows. Anyway, I knew nothing about it until 
 Harry Tonks brought it out to tell me where I 
 could find a true and full idea of what life should 
 be. There is to be found the great cry for justice,
 
 262 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 and it does not shirk a definition of justice. Harry 
 taught me that. Some day I will get him to give you 
 his conception of Jesus. Funny, isn't it, we should 
 talk about these things?" 
 
 "It sounds very strange, Ed," she murmured. 
 
 "Doesn't it? Like talking about another world. 
 I wonder why it is we have that feeling that the 
 Bible is taboo in good society. Seems to me we 
 daren't face it. A line of no compromise is against 
 the so-called genius of our people. All or nothing 
 sounds like rank anarchy, and a society which makes 
 laws and observes only its own order will not accept 
 any infringement of its comfort and privilege." 
 
 In the quiet evenings he* read to her. He had 
 taken with him his copies of Paracelsus, The Kingdom 
 of God is Within You, and Progress and Poverty. 
 It was a strange honeymoon, but one Clarice would 
 not have exchanged for the most romantic one she 
 ever heard about. His deep seriousness and great 
 strength of purpose inspired her. 
 
 "You make me feel I want to read all these books, 
 but I'm afraid I'm too much of a dunce to get out 
 of them what you have," she said. "You must be 
 a Harry Tonks to me, Ed." 
 
 "If I could only be a Harry Tonks!" He smiled 
 and shook his head. Such an aspiration was be- 
 yond his capacity he thought. "It's too late for me 
 to go through the mill. It's what you learn in the 
 struggle for a cultivated existence which does the 
 trick, old girl. It gives you so much thoughtfulness, 
 kindliness and breadth of view. These things are 
 essential if you wish to live with sense and under- 
 standing. You know, Qarice, I never realized that
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 263 
 
 laborers and cottagers were human beings until a 
 few months ago. Then I got to know what their 
 lives were and tried to put myself in the place of 
 a man with a family on sixteen shillings a week for 
 twelve hours' labor a day, in a cottage of three 
 rooms, with unsanitary conditions, and all herded 
 together in unhealthy places. Why, I couldn't do 
 it. It would kill me. And yet these are the people 
 whose labor keeps us in idleness." 
 
 They passed through Glasgow on their way back 
 home. There they found a grave state of affairs. 
 There were many strikes, the most serious being a 
 rent strike. Hundreds of women and children 
 marched in processions through the streets in protest 
 against the landlords who were raising rents in the 
 poorest districts. Some of the placards carried in 
 the processions bore humiliating texts: 
 
 WHILE MY FATHER IS A PRISONER IN 
 GERMANY THE LANDLORD! IS ATTACKING 
 OUR HOME. 
 
 Another read: 
 
 OUR HUSBANDS SONS AND BROTHERS 
 ARE FIGHTING THE PRUSSIANS IN GER- 
 MANY. WE ARE FIGHTING THE PRUSSIANS 
 OF PARTICK. 
 
 The sight of the denizens of the one-room-and- 
 kitchen dwellings of Glasgow shocked Clarice as no 
 amount of reading possibly could. She burned with 
 indignation as she watched the procession pass. 
 
 "I must see for myself where these people live. It 
 is shameful,"
 
 264 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Ed took her to the four- or five-story tenement 
 blocks, entered by a close, in a great congested dis- 
 trict where the mass of workers lived. An energetic 
 woman of some social service organization led them 
 through the labyrinths. The children! The utter 
 degradation of it all! Clarice could scarcely believe 
 what she saw. Her anger wore her out, and when 
 Ed got her back to the hotel she was extremely 
 tired and sad. 
 
 "Yes, old girl, there is the real problem," Ed said. 
 "And we can spend nearly two thousand millions on 
 trying to put Germany right on treaties, militarism 
 and godlessness! It's grotesque, perfectly grotesque, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "What is to be done ?" -she asked. 
 
 "I don't know quite. Tolstoy says, 'Seek ye first 
 the Kingdom of God and its justice.' Justice is the 
 first step to be taken." 
 
 "Ed, we must do something. We must never go 
 back to the old life. If you ever find me slipping, 
 falling back, you know, forgetting, you will make me 
 keep straight, won't you?" 
 
 "And you, Clarice, you'll watch me, too. Keep 
 me up to the mark?" 
 
 The weekly reviews read on the journey back to 
 Clungford told them Britain had fallen on evil days. 
 The conditions at home were most discouraging. 
 One set of papers bitterly opposed the agitation for 
 conscription, in another paper one set of politicians 
 warred openly against another set; the Government 
 was fiercely assailed for its conduct of the war; the 
 Dardanelles was a hopeless, fruitless task and the 
 Government was urged to give it up before worse
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 265 
 
 disaster followed rash cruel blunders. ' Generals at 
 the front were made the targets of departmental 
 incompetence; and the people were torn with dissen- 
 sion. The Munitions Act was severely criticized in 
 many quarters, its administration condemned; and 
 the Defense of the Realm Act was used to oppress 
 the poor while it permitted the rich to defy its pro- 
 visions. The outlook was black. And the cry of 
 "more blood, more blood," was the only call which 
 seemed to have the ring of unanimity in it. 
 
 An article in one of the reviews staggered Clarice's 
 sense of fairness. She read it to Ed: 
 
 "It is high time some organization should take in 
 hand the defense of persons charged under the De- 
 fense of the Realm Act. Last Saturday, at Black- 
 pool, a commercial traveler was fined one hundred 
 pounds or three months' imprisonment, for having 
 said something in casual conversation in a railway 
 carriage alleged to be 'likely to cause disaffection* 
 and 'likely to prejudice recruiting/ As the trial was 
 in camera, we do not know what were the terrible 
 words that were uttered or how they came to be re- 
 ported. But it opens up a vista! We have all heard 
 things said in railway carriages and also in club 
 smoking-rooms, 'likely to cause disaffection,' and 
 these may now, it seems, be reported, without being 
 taken down in shorthand, to 'the competent military 
 authority'; with the result, if the culprit is poor and 
 friendless, of a summary conviction by any two 
 Justices of the Peace and a vindictive sentence. The 
 public is not at all aware of the number of prose- 
 cutions and convictions of this sort that are taking 
 place. Some repressive action of the kind may well 
 be necessary, but it is significant that it is only 
 'little' people against whom proceedings are taken." 
 
 "Ed, that is monstrous."
 
 266 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "It is war. Ministers must not be criticized by 
 the little people who find the money and feed the 
 cannon. Western civilization must be maintained, 
 and liberty secured though the Continent be engulfed 
 in blood." 
 
 While they waited in Liverpool for the artificial 
 part of Ed's right hand to be fitted, they saw a ship- 
 load of men leave the landing-stage. Ed did not 
 know where they were going, but he knew what 
 they would see. From the dock wall they watched 
 the companies of young, rather immature-looking 
 lads, march down the gangways. Their faces gave 
 the lie to their expressions of gaiety shouted to 
 friends in the crowds who lined the roads. Some 
 whispered they were off to the Dardanelles, some said 
 .Greece was their destination. 
 
 A rough, seamy-looking fellow on the curb caught 
 sight of an acquaintance and called out; '"Ey, 
 'Orace, where to, me 'earty?" 
 
 "Somewhere in 'ell, I s'pecs," was the reply from 
 the soldier who immediately started to sing Land of 
 Hope and Glory. 
 
 "Let us go back, Ed," Qarice said sadly. 
 
 They reached Clungford the next evening. There 
 Ed found a note from his mother asking him to 
 run over to Crowington to see her. He knew she 
 had bad news. His mother seldom wrote to him, 
 but when she did the letter was usually long and 
 chatty. This note was brief and contained no expres- 
 sion on his home-coming or reference to the honey- 
 moon. After dinner he and Clarice drove over to 
 see her. The news was only a day old. That morn-
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 267 
 
 ing Sir Alfred had written saying he had been in- 
 formed by the War Office that Fred was in the list 
 of missing. 
 
 Ben was released and back again in the village. 
 He seemed physically none the worse for his im- 
 prisonment. Mentally, however, he came back more 
 strongly determined to oppose compulsory recruiting 
 and the cruelties of vindictive magistrates exercising 
 the powers of the Defense of the Realm Act. Harry 
 had been persistently persecuted since Ed had been 
 away. Letters now came to him daily from men 
 who acted blindly, asking him to consider his duty. 
 The crass impertinence of any "competent military 
 authority" or "civil or clerical recruiting agent" ask- 
 ing Harry Tonks of all people to consider his duty 
 struck Ed as one of the sublime features of a country 
 going raving mad. Ed's interest in his friend was 
 so deep he found no excuse for the writers of letters 
 who had no time to consider the sensibilities of indi- 
 viduals. 
 
 "What does it matter, Ed?" he said, "as long as 
 I'm not afraid of myself but I shall not give way. 
 After all, if thy hand offend thee cut it off. I don't 
 believe in self-mutilation, but anything is preferable 
 to wilful mutilation of others." 
 
 "There'll be more of that," Ben said, "if they start 
 to put their cowardly threats into action. Read that 
 letter you received from James Packard and let Ed 
 know to what depths they can descend." 
 
 Harry took a letter from his desk. It was from 
 a well-known non-conformist minister in a northern
 
 268 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 town, a man who had been publicly recognized for 
 some years as a leading pacifist. He was married 
 and had a family. 
 
 "Packard writes/' Harry began, turning over the 
 pages of the letter: '"It is conceivably possible that 
 some of us who have tried to keep loyal to our con- 
 sciences and the cause of peace may before long 
 find ourselves hounded from our pulpits and our 
 families. Incidentally, it appears that some ministers 
 of religion are not to be^ counted, because of their 
 profession, exempt from military service. One hun- 
 dred years ago they emptied the prisons to find sol- 
 diers, now Anyway I myself have received letters 
 from a recruiting peer asking me to consider my 
 duty, and I shall presumably be canvassed with the 
 rest and invited to enlist. But, as you may guess, 
 my attitude is fatally and irrevocably fixed. I simply 
 will not be compelled in any way to do what I have 
 not seen it for myself to be my duty to do, and so 
 far as I am concerned, the compulsionists may do 
 their worst.'" 
 
 "Nice, isn't it?" Ben mumbled. 
 
 "There may be a lot of shooting done at home 
 before long," Harry remarked. 
 
 Ed could find nothing to say; he was humbled, 
 shocked beyond expression. 
 
 "The Government is finding it difficult enough to 
 cope with the problem of self-mutilation," Ben ob- 
 served. "Four men were tried for it the other day 
 at Mancaster. We haven't any idea of the extent it 
 is done. They keep all that out of the papers. But 
 we get some information through one or two non- 
 resistance societies."
 
 v A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 269 
 
 * 
 
 It was in the ensuing weeks Harry found him- 
 self the target of almost insupportable persecution. 
 Every day anonymous letters containing white 
 feathers and scurrilous epithets reached him. He 
 was assiduously canvassed and openly insulted. One 
 day he was overtaken on the road and badgered by 
 a neighboring squire who, in lieu of argument, spat 
 at him from his motor and then drove off at a 
 rapid pace. Harry told Ed about the incident when 
 he reached Clungford. 
 
 That was the day before Harry disappeared. 
 Lizzie said he ate his breakfast, read his letters, 
 looked at the morning paper and went out for a 
 walk. That was all she knew about him. Several 
 days passed by and no word came to Crowington. 
 But letters for him came regularly, and twice re- 
 cruiting officers called. Ben thought he had gone 
 back again to work at the hospitals in Manchester. 
 A fortnight passed and Harry did not return, and 
 no word came from him. Ed was sorely troubled, 
 and Ellen was afraid something very serious had 
 happened to him.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 BEN was back in London working on his paper 
 when he was called up by telephone to speak 
 to Sir Alfred. He wished to have a chat with him 
 and asked if Ben would dine that night at the club 
 in Pall Mall. Ben thought it was a strange place 
 to ask him, a prison bird, to visit. He, however, 
 accepted the invitation and promised to meet Sir 
 Alfred there at eight o'clock. Later in the after- 
 noon there came a telegram changing the place of 
 meeting to a restaurant in Soho. Ben smiled, know- 
 ing Sir Alfred had reconsidered the matter for expe- 
 dient reasons, and replied confirming the new place 
 of meeting. 
 
 "Been back in London long?" Sir Alfred asked, 
 when they were seated. 
 
 "About a week." 
 
 "How is Ellen?" 
 
 "Very well quite happy." 
 
 "Good very good. No news of your brother?" 
 
 "None whatever." 
 
 "Strange isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They ate in silence for some time. The restaurant 
 was not crowded, and the people were strangely sub- 
 dued. The lights were low and the orchestra gone. 
 The life of the cheerful place was missing. 
 
 "I've had a letter from Ellen which has upset me," 
 Sir Alfred said, bending, over his sweetbread. 
 
 "What is it about?" 
 
 270
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 271 
 
 "Well a good many things. You see she doesn't 
 appreciate the position in Parliament. She thinks 
 I can if I wish get up any time and slate the Gov- 
 ernment. Absurd, isn't it?" 
 
 "What is it she objects to?" 
 
 "Oh, the Defense of the Realm Act, the Muni- 
 tions Act and goodness knows what" 
 
 "Well, something should be done. I'm busy on an 
 article now dealing with over twenty cases of poor 
 men who have been most vindictively treated for 
 making some remarks which are passed unchallenged 
 in most of the day's newspapers." 
 
 "Yes yes, I know, Ben. It's enougK to make 
 one's blood boil. I've had a case in my own con- 
 stituency. A very fine young man a pacifist. 
 Working in a Government factory. Three months 
 for saying the German working people felt no hatred 
 for the British working people. But what can I 
 do? Parliament as it was doesn't exist any more." 
 
 "Yes martial law in the House well, martial law 
 is no law. And so the House is impotent to deal 
 now with the grievances of individuals. I know 
 Ellen feels the position keenly. I think the House 
 might as well shut up. It would be more dignified." 
 
 "It would it would, I agree," Sir Alfred nodded. 
 
 "It is the first time in our history the Commons 
 have been reduced to complete impotency. The 
 blackest crime, mind you, of all the discreditable 
 business and one the people will never forget. Why, 
 even the Times feels obliged to warn the Govern- 
 ment that dissatisfaction with the working of the 
 Munitions Act may bring new and f grave labor 
 troubles. The power given to employers to refuse
 
 272 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 a man his charge, while on the other hand, an em- 
 ployer may dismiss any man at any moment is an intol- 
 erable curtailment of personal liberty. It is an out- 
 rage, and those of us who know the working class 
 are utterly amazed at their enduring such detestable 
 tyranny without revolt." 
 
 "They're marvelous " 
 
 "Yes, but we out-Prussia Prussia in every par- 
 ticular. For myself I must say that no Prussian 
 government could possibly exceed what ours has 
 done in tyrannous laws. The working classes have 
 been traduced freely by ministers to take public 
 attention from their own blatant blundering. You 
 know that. They have been called drunken slackers 
 and loafers. One minister is asked to apologize for 
 many statements which are now proved to be lies. 
 No one out of his own class seems to have a good 
 word to say for the millions who have squandered their 
 kin and their labor and their earnings on a war in 
 which they have not the interest of a tinker's brass 
 button. My only hope is they will remember this 
 time/' 
 
 "You're very severe, Ben. Of course you see it 
 all from a different angle. And then you have been 
 very badly treated " 
 
 "No that doesn't affect my opinion. Ellen holds 
 the same views and she has not been imprisoned " 
 
 "But Ellen! She has always been an extreme an- 
 archistor something. She is against all govern- 
 ments. Even in Germany she helped the Socialists 
 on the quiet. But I do wish you would tell her what 
 the real position is. Her letters worry me fear- 
 fully. You know how bitter she can be. In this
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 273 
 
 one I got this morning she says I am a traitor to 
 God and man." 
 
 He looked pathetically at Ben for some time, 
 waiting for a word of sympathy. 
 
 "Now isn't that going too far? Isn't it, Ben?" 
 
 Ben looked up and stared steadily at his father- 
 in-law. He seemed so pitifully childish, so temper- 
 amentally flabby and irresolute, that Ben could scarcely 
 repress an inclination to sneer. 
 
 "No I don't think so," Ben replied, keeping his 
 eyes fixed on Sir Alfred. 
 
 "You don't think so?" he gasped. "A traitor to 
 God!" he exclaimed hoarsely. 
 
 "I once heard you preach a sermon or was it a 
 speech on the Fatherhood of God and the Brother- 
 hood of Man " 
 
 "Yes, yes," Sir Alfred put in, "at the Albert 
 Hall." 
 
 "I think it was. Anyway, at one of your great 
 conferences. The week before you made that speech 
 your shell factory declared a dividend of fifteen per 
 cent, and you only a few days before spoke in the 
 House in favor of a greater naval program. Now, 
 I consider a man who makes shells and urges the 
 Government to take extra millions from the poorest 
 of the poor for war purposes is, when he tells folks 
 he believes in the Fatherhood of God and the Broth- 
 erhood of Man a traitor to God and man. But you 
 don't seem to appreciate that. You can not see our 
 view-point. You see nothing inconsistent in what you 
 say and do. We see contradiction and inconsistency 
 in nearly all you say and do. You have asked my 
 opinion. There it is."
 
 274 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "You're candid really?" 
 
 "Did you expect me to be sympathetic?" 
 
 "I thought you would see how difficult it is for a 
 man in my position to be well, consistent." 
 
 "I see no difficulty. Either be one thing or the 
 other. Don't try to be religious in business. Can 
 you serve God and Mammon?" 
 
 "God and Mammon?" 
 
 "Yes! Can you?" 
 
 "Do you mean a man pursuing a legitimate busi- 
 ness can not serve God?" 
 
 "I mean what I say. Can you serve God and 
 Mammon ?" 
 
 "Really, Ben" 
 
 "See. Are you engaged in a productive business ?" 
 
 Sir Alfred smiled his blandest and spread his 
 hands out like two fans waving flies off the spa- 
 ghetti, growing cold between them. He shrugged 
 his shoulders slightly and made no reply. 
 
 "You know it isn't. You know every pound for 
 your shells is wrung out of the taxpayers. You 
 know your business thrives on destruction. Even in 
 times of peace you prosper on programs which are 
 fostered by international hate and envy. Can you 
 serve God and Mammon?" 
 
 "I serve my country." 
 
 "Then why don't you say so? Ellen says you're 
 a private-pocket patriot. Six years ago she wrote 
 to me saying you were that. You serve your coun- 
 try! Well, in what way? You have made an enor- 
 mous fortune out of the taxpayer. What have you 
 given in return? Look at the casualty lists." 
 
 "Surely you don't hold me to blame for "
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 275 
 
 "Ellen says you and other armament makers are 
 very largely to blame for all the trouble, and I think 
 she is right. Your international connections have 
 been at the bottom of most of the Jingo orgies of the 
 last ten years." 
 
 "I have never lent myself to " 
 "You never entered a protest did you?" 
 "I couldn't see my country left defenseless " 
 "Defenseless! And dividends at ten and fifteen 
 per cent. And what is your country? A land that 
 belongs at most to one million and a half people 
 seventy-five per cent, of it owned by a quarter of a 
 million out of forty-six millions? Which is your 
 country? That of the comparatively few land- 
 owners, or that of the forty-four millions of landless 
 creatures which pay over fifty per cent, of the taxes 
 and seventy-five per cent, of the rates?" 
 
 He was silent. He tightened his lips and twiddled 
 a spoon on the smooth cloth. 
 
 "Mind, this is not my seeking," Ben explained, 
 going on quite calmly. "I didn't want to say these 
 things to you. It's only because I want you, now 
 you've opened the subject, to understand Ellen. I 
 know you think the world of her and that it galls 
 you to know she hates your business and can not 
 sympathize with your political position. You are 
 unhappy because she will not take a cent from you. 
 But don't make any mistake about her attitude. She 
 would starve gladly rather than touch a penny of 
 what she calls 'blood money/" 
 He winced and hung his head. 
 "That's what she has called it for years long 
 before the war began. You make me think some-
 
 276 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 times you are under the impression she will change 
 when the war is over. She won't. Make no mistake. 
 You know she will have a baby very soon now. Do 
 you know she means to make that child promise from 
 the day it can speak never to take a penny piece 
 from you?" 
 
 His, head went down into his napkin, and he 
 pushed the plates away. Ben saw his great shoulders 
 heave convulsively. The sight of the burly man in 
 grief fascinated Ben. For some time he watched 
 him striving to control himself, and as he saw him 
 search for his handkerchief a great pity surged up 
 in Ben's soul for the man who had gained the world 
 but lost the love of the child he worshiped. He 
 stretched his hand across the table and laid it on his 
 father-in-law's arm: "Come, come, you can make it 
 all right, if you choose." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Give the whole thing up and snap your fingers 
 at public opinion." 
 
 "I can't I can't I'm in too too deeply. You 
 don't know what you ask. None of you under- 
 stand. It's easy enough for Ed and Ellen and 
 Cricket to talk, but but only the other day at a 
 board meeting I said I thought of retiring, and 
 and, well, you should have heard them." 
 
 "Well, if you will be the slave of your board I 
 suppose you must be its slave. Can you expect a 
 nature like Ellen's to have a particle of respect for 
 a slave?" 
 
 "No, Ben, no. And I hate myself loathe myself 
 for not having the courage to to give it up. Think 
 of my life now. Up here living at a club. Really
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 277 
 
 I sometimes feel like an outcast My wife my 
 children well, I haven't the pluck to see them at 
 Crowington. And now Fred missing. The news 
 about Fred has quite upset me. I can't sleep. He 
 told me when I said good-by to him we should never 
 meet again." 
 
 For a while they were deep in thought Each for- 
 got the other. Ben's mind was fixed on an article 
 he had begun on the change brought about by the 
 dearth of officers. The casualty lists had been ex- 
 tremely heavy. For ten days over one hundred officers 
 a day had been killed and wounded. Ben thought it 
 was time to democratize the army. Sir Alfred thought 
 of his wife, and the day Fred was born. He remem- 
 bered Evie saying she would not be able to nurse him. 
 
 "What do you think about democratizing the army 
 now?" Ben asked, breaking the long silence. 
 
 Sir Alfred started and looked up. 
 
 "You mean the shortage of officers?" 
 
 "Yes! Something must be done. Don't you think 
 so?" 
 
 "But will it be necessary for Parliament to act?" 
 Sir Alfred asked. "You see, men are going up from 
 the ranks every day. The whole character of the 
 officer class is changed for the time being. When 
 it's over the aristocracy will regain its hold over the 
 army again. It's their preserve. But haven't they 
 done magnificently?" 
 
 "Yes, very well," Ben said. "So they should. 
 That's the least to be expected of 'em." 
 
 "Oh, come, Ben, be fair. Don't let your prejudice 
 cloud your judgment. The working class. Yes, of 
 course. I admit they have rallied splendidly. But
 
 278 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 after all, where should we be now if the aristocracy 
 hadn't plunged into it to a man?" 
 
 Ben looked at him for a moment with an expression 
 of pained curiosity and then burst out into a strange 
 laugh. 
 
 "You don't mean it, do you?" he inquired. "You 
 don't think there is any comparison to be made, do 
 you ? Then you do surprise me. You must have been 
 reading the articles in the Morning Mail on *What 
 England Owes the Aristocracy/ " 
 
 "I have, I admit it," Sir Alfred nodded. 
 
 "The most one-sided view I ever read," Ben re- 
 marked. "See, Sir Alfred. In the first place a man 
 in a case like this must stand on his own feet whether 
 he is of the aristocracy or the working class. Each 
 has a life to lose, each has a soul to save. Who will 
 say the aristocrat makes a better soldier than the 
 artisan? Long lineage will not serve a man in the 
 trenches any better than unknown parentage. More- 
 over and don't forget this there are not enough 
 aristocrats to make a couple of full battalions of fight- 
 ing age. You don't call nineteenth century creations 
 aristocrats, do you? Captains of industry, men risen 
 from the industrial ranks, do not lose their origin 
 when they are made peers. Give due to each, be fair 
 to peer and peasant. Peers have- much to fight for : 
 land and the privileges which go with its ownership. 
 They rule; peasants serve. Don't think I'm prej- 
 udiced. Not a bit. But rank has its obligations at 
 least it had a couple or so centuries ago. The deuce 
 of it is, however, battles now can't be fought by aris- 
 tocrats, so those who serve must shoulder the gun to 
 save the ruling few. Isn't it so?"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 279 
 
 "Quite so. You're right, Ben. Go on. It seems 
 like old times hearing you talk this way." 
 
 'Well, just compare the two: there goes the aris- 
 tocrat, born to great wealth. If he live one hundred 
 years it may not be necessary for him to produce one 
 useful thing. He is provided for. Land, labor and 
 capital are his in abundance. That is the rule." 
 
 "Usually, it is so. Yes." 
 
 "Socially, he is accepted. Art lies at his hand if 
 he desires its wonders. Now ! There goes the peas- 
 ant, born to a long life qf daily toil. He has no land. 
 His labor is for hire. He lives often enough in a 
 tied-cottage. A weekly tenant, whose religious and 
 political principles frequently dare not be expressed 
 openly." 
 
 Sir Alfred broke in: "Right! By heaven, Ben, 
 you're right." 
 
 "Then capital can not be amassed out of the sav- 
 ings of a weekly wage of fifteen or twenty shillings. 
 I put it high. Socially, the peasant is an outcast Art ! 
 That is not for him. Leisure is essential if art is to be 
 enjoyed. Now, I ask you: are their chances equal? 
 Do the risks balance?" 
 
 Then lowering his voice: "Are the stakes com- 
 parable? No! A thousand times no! Patriotically, 
 the peasant is handicapped out of the race from the 
 time of entry. Isn't it so? Then, there it is. Tell 
 me. When both march out to fight, which is the 
 greater patriot?" 
 
 "The peasant, Ben, the peasant." 
 
 "Patriotism should begin with equal rights. Let 
 that be so, and I don't care a tinker's cuss whether 
 class distinction exist or not. I say, to the ranks
 
 280 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 every one who wants to fight. Let peer and peasant 
 serve equally, if there be no other way. But both 
 must begin as Tommies. Tommies all I say if there 
 be need for an army. Thank heaven, the old twaddle 
 cackled about the necessity of having an aristocrat 
 for an officer has been silenced forever in this affair. 
 And let me say this : our British Tommy is the bone, 
 sinew, soul of the army. Don't make any mistake 
 about it. His spirit, his doggedness, his sense of pal- 
 ship, his cheerfulness, and, above all, his sublime 
 sense of humor, are the finest traits to be found in 
 common man anywhere on earth. Why? Because 
 each one has a latent sense of liberty. The mass are 
 not conscious of it yet. But down deep somewhere 
 in his make-up, the British lad has a feeling for liberty. 
 In that respect the peasant is of longer lineage than 
 the peer." * 
 
 "Ben, you make me feel I am a traitor to my class 
 my origin," Sir Alfred said, shaking his head sorrow- 
 fully. "Ben," he laid his hand upon the arm of his 
 companion, and looked earnestly into his face, "Ben, 
 if my old father can know of the change in my 
 principles, if his soul is conscious of what I am 
 doing, he will never have a happy hour all through 
 eternity. It troubles me night and day. And of late 
 I've thought of my old father so much. Yes, I am 
 no more worthy to be called thy son. I know that. 
 Oh, God, I know that I am conscious of disloyalty, 
 and craven enough to remain so. Here it is: man is 
 the weaver of the web that is to trap him. I'm trapped, 
 Ben trapped !" 
 
 The old strain struggled up in him for supremacy. 
 It was that solemn moment when a beaten man can no.
 
 r A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 281 
 
 longer crush down the best in his soul. It Had been 
 pressed down, thrust away into a dark recess, then 
 ignored, then reviled; tortured, smirched, scorned, 
 and derided, but never destroyed. The best clung 
 to him like an undying love, enduring everything but 
 death. 
 
 "Yes, Ben, my old father would have gone to the 
 stake singing hymns of joy rather than desert his 
 people, or sacrifice one jot the principles of liberty," 
 he whispered in fierce gusts of passion. "We have 
 forgotten the great ones of the past. The poor needy 
 heroes who won for us those liberties that fields of 
 military valor never gained. Your grandfather, Ben. 
 He is of the true British stock. It cut me to the 
 very heart, that night, to have him him! tell me 
 what I am. I thought I heard my own father's voice 
 admonishing me. Him, to censure me. I'd rather 
 ten thousand priests flay me naked in public for my 
 sins than sit under your grandfather's scornful eyes 
 again." 
 
 Ben left him at the club. He was worn out and 
 very shaky. What a lonely man he seemed mount- 
 ing slowly the dark steps in the gray misty night. 
 So it was utter loneliness which made him ask Ben 
 to dine with him that evening. How strange, Ben 
 thought, and how like a personification of the na- 
 tion's family. He turned toward the Strand to 
 spend an hour or two at his office before going to 
 that room in Bloomsbury where Ellen let him know 
 she was his. 
 
 Suddenly many shafts of light shot up into the 
 cloudy sky. Then a terrific explosion, followed by 
 deafening volleys from air-craft guns. Far up Ben
 
 282 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 saw part of the Zeppelin pass behind a cloud, travel- 
 ing in the direction of Hampstead. 
 
 It was a cheerless, gray, drizzling morning and the 
 leaves fell heavily with a sodden thump upon the 
 ground when Harry Tonks left the village. He had 
 read in the day's paper that all unmarried men would 
 be called up after the end of the month owing to the 
 failure of the voluntary system to provide the weekly 
 quota of recruits. The news wounded him deeply, for 
 he thought of the many friends who would be affected 
 by the step, men who would rather die than submit 
 to compulsion. The only thing worth living for that had 
 not been taken away by the Government was the volun- 
 tary system, though in practise it still existed only in 
 name. Economic pressure had served the purpose of 
 conscriptionists almost as well as compulsion by act 
 of Parliament. 
 
 The shock he suffered when he was spat upon on 
 the previous day completely unnerved him. In a mo- 
 ment every fine instinct vanished and his blood boiled 
 in frightful torrid gusts, filling him with a raging 
 heat. For a second or two he thought he saw blood. 
 He felt capable of springing on his torturer and tear- 
 ing him limb from limb. It was perhaps the sudden 
 transformation in Harry's appearance that sent the 
 squire of Westlongdale away in his car at full speed. 
 Harry was tall, strong, muscular, when aroused; the 
 bent, moody, student-like looseness, which was his 
 usual manner, was suddenly effaced when he held him- 
 by the thoughtless; but when he was inspired by a 
 self erect. His aloofness and gentleness might have 
 been taken for the demeanor of the physical coward
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 283 
 
 new idea or on hearing some Happy news,, electrically 
 he changed and was full of spiritual fire and strength. 
 
 That he was capable of feeling the murderous in- 
 stinct even under gross insult shocked him immeasur- 
 ably. Was he so frail? Could he not trust himself 
 under great provocation? Suppose they came to him 
 and compelled him to enlist, would he submit rather 
 than endure the consequences, and perhaps the mili- 
 tary conclusion, death? All night he lay awake pon- 
 'dering the great question. Am I my own self's ? or the 
 State's? Is it my body or my soul? Which? What 
 will be the good of an invincible territorial empire 
 to me if I kill a fellow man? These questions could 
 have but one reply. I am responsible for my actions 
 the State is nothing to me. 
 
 And when he passed from the village and plunged 
 into the woods which rose up the hills over Growing- 
 ton his thoughts were shattered by the news that un- 
 married men would be called to the ranks after the 
 end of the month. Long months of suffering had 
 shaken his disposition. The work in the hospitals dur- 
 ing the winter took much of his strength, and the 
 incessant badgering to enlist while he remained in Man- 
 chester left him somewhat weak. His life in the vil- 
 lage had been one long struggle to save himself from 
 spiritual prostration. 
 
 He rambled on and up, avoiding the paths, Hardly 
 conscious that he was forcing his way through thick 
 briers and tough undergrowth. He did not notice his 
 torn clothes and saturated feet. The drizzle fell in 
 wavy sheets in the openings, and where the trees 
 were dense great drops spattered down upon his head 
 and shoulders. The cry of a startled pheasant^ the
 
 284 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 scurry pf rabbits^ the whir of partridges and the 
 fright of darting squirrels, passed unheeded. Harry 
 neither saw nor heard the things which had always 
 drawn him into the woods. His soul sank lower and 
 lower into himself, and his body grew so heavy he 
 stumbled and staggered under its weight 
 
 Near the top of Clungford Rise, which looks flown 
 upon the heathery heath pf black moss, Harry came to 
 a clearing where some foresters had been at work. 
 .The day was too wet for them, but about rude blocks, 
 tree stumps not rooted up, lay fagots and many cords 
 pf firewood. By the side of one of the blocks lay a 
 big, heavy trimming knife. Harry sank down on the 
 block, and took up the knife. It was a cumbersome 
 weapon. For a long time he sat and handled it, 
 trying to cut bits of thick twig with his left hand. 
 
 "If thy hand offend thee/' he muttered. 
 
 Minutes passed, long intervals in which he sat mo- 
 tionless, plunged in deep gloom, oblivious of the rain. 
 Once a robin lit upon his boot and whistled his short 
 shrill autumnal song; then flew in swift darts away 
 to the branch of an oak. A spasm shook Harry and 
 he stumbled up from the block. In his left hand he 
 gripped the handle of the knife. He knelt down beside 
 the stump and bared his arm. Then he laid it with the 
 palm of his right hand spread over the block. Twice 
 he aimed at his wrist And then with all his remain- 
 Ing strength he drove the knife down. The blood shot 
 up into his eyes and he swooned away. The blow had 
 struck aslant his knuckles and gashed the back of his 
 hand. 
 
 When he recovered consciousness it was raining 
 heavily. The pain was enough to keep his mind active.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 285 
 
 He rose an'd stumbled on through the brush; sprawl- 
 ing and rising, he went head down like a drunken 
 wretch impelled from the back, until he fell over the 
 rocks. His head struck a boulder lying on the mossy 
 bed of the small ravine in the hill, and he knew no 
 more pain. 
 
 The rain washed the blood away from the stump 
 and cleaned the knife. And when the clear sunny 
 morning came the old forester returned to his work 
 of chopping and trimming the boughs into piles of 
 logs for winter fires.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 EVELYN yielded to Ed and let him have Wilms- 
 low on a lease for twenty-one years at a moder- 
 ate rental. She would not sell it for she wished her 
 son to have the place his father loved so well. The 
 arrangement simplified the beginning of Ed's enter- 
 prise; the place being well suited for a stud farm. 
 There was already the nucleus there of the kind of 
 establishment Ed had in mind: the acreage was suffi- 
 cient, the soil excellent, there was plenty of good 
 water to be had from the hills, and there were nu- 
 merous outbuildings and boxes. Labor was scarce 
 but after a while Ed found some men of over fifty 
 willing to enter his employ when he promised to 
 house them on an acre on the estate. There were 
 some boys of fifteen and sixteen in the neighboring 
 villages eager to take jobs under the captain. It was 
 slow work making a start, and Ed missed Harry 
 Tonks who knew all about plans, materials and build- 
 ing. 
 
 When they were comfortably settled at Wilmslow, 
 Evelyn asked them to make room for her and the 
 boy and the three maids. 
 
 "A business arrangement, Ed, if Clarice agrees," 
 she said. "No charity mind. I can afford to pay 
 well." 
 
 Clarice was glad to have Cricket take up quarters 
 at Wilmslow, and as there was plenty of room in the 
 house, a suite for Evelyn was laid out. Soon Evelyn 
 
 286
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 287 
 
 was infected with the desire to do something prac- 
 tical. She saw Clarice take up dairying with great 
 zeal. From Clungford she had brought one of her 
 mother's best dairy maids, and already she had found 
 a really good cowman to select a small herd of rich' 
 milkers. They found talent about the countryside go- 
 ing begging at sixteen and twenty shillings a week, 
 talent in the employ of farmers incapable of using it 
 properly. 
 
 "I think I'll try my hand at poultry," Evelyn said. 
 "Don't laugh. I've been reading a good bit about it 
 lately. What d* you say, Ed? There is Jenny Cuth- 
 bertson over at Crowington a wonderful woman at 
 that kind of thing. She'd come here if I asked her." 
 
 "Go ahead, Cricket," Ed said. "Give it a good trial. 
 Eggs are fetching threepence halfpenny a piece." 
 
 Jenny moved over to Wilmslow and was put in 
 charge of the poultry. All worked with a will, and 
 though they had to meet some chaff and ill-natured 
 remarks from acquaintances they made considerable 
 progress. The farmers protested against the high 
 wages paid by Ed, and the "unnecessary" up-to-date 
 cottages he began to build for his laborers. Squires 
 drove past Wilmslow and frowned on the "extrava- 
 gance" of the "up-start" who only "chucked his fath- 
 er's money about" because it was made so easily. 
 When the rumor that the Crowington estate was to 
 be cut up for small holders got about, the squire of 
 Westlongdale observed that "rich nobodies were the 
 ntin of the county and they (the squires) didn't want 
 any damned independent small holders there to upset 
 the laborers by making them dissatisfied with their 
 proper station."
 
 288 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Harold's life was made so miserable by his wife's 
 relations and friends girding at him since Ed went to 
 Wilmslow that he thought seriously of trying to find 
 another parish. He wrote to his father and asked him 
 to use his influence with the prime minister. 
 
 Lady Horton-Birkett was now quite alone in the 
 big house. Ellen was unable to go far from the vil- 
 lage, and her mother without companionship in the 
 house found time drag wearily along there, though 
 she visited Wilmslow and Ellen every day. 
 
 It was toward the end of November when Sir Al- 
 fred went down to Crowington to spend a long week- 
 end. His wife had written him begging him to come 
 down. She was alone. They were all gone. Even 
 Ellen could not get down to see her. 
 
 "Alfred, I can't stay here," his wife said, when they 
 were alone. "It is such shocking waste at a time like 
 this. You come only once a month now. And though 
 I've reduced the staff it takes eight people to keep the 
 house in order. Then there's two men in the gardens, 
 two in the stables, a chauffeur and three boys." 
 
 "What'll you do?" he asked. 
 
 "Shut the place up and go. Nobody wants it now." 
 
 "Where'll you go?" 
 
 She paused and looked away. 
 
 "To North Wales, I think." 
 
 "To be near your Romans, eh?" 
 
 His face was drawn, and a bitter sneer hovered 
 round his mouth. 
 
 "What else is there for me to do ? There is a large 
 convalescent hospital there full of wounded soldiers, 
 and not far away a place where some of the demented 
 are to be cared for."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 289 
 
 "Roman establishments, eh?" 
 
 "Well, they must care for their own." 
 
 "Very well. Do 's you like," he said. 
 
 "And what will you do ?" 
 
 "Stay at the club. Can't get away from town for 
 long." 
 
 "Have you thought any more of giving up " 
 
 "Giving up giving up. You make me sick with 
 your giving up. How can I give up?" 
 
 She had seldom seen him out of temper. He had 
 never snarled at her before. A look of deep pain 
 came in her face and he saw it. In a quieter, softer 
 tone he said: "Sorry, Evie, I'm a bit out o' sorts. 
 The thing's got on my nerves. I'm not myself nowa- 
 days." 
 
 "Well, I wanted you to come here and let me look 
 after you," she said, with a sad shake of her head. 
 
 "Yes, I know I know, Evie. You're very good, 
 but I'm a miserable coward. I haven't the courage to 
 do what you and Ed asked. I'm in it, and in it I must 
 stay. It's my own fault entirely. I thought I would 
 always be what you call it? master of my own 
 fate. I made a mistake. I'm just a tin can rattling at 
 the tail of the Government's dog. I've about as much 
 right to myself as any wretched Tommy in the 
 trenches. It's awful. Fighting for liberty! Liberty! 
 There's not a particle left in the land worth a two- 
 penny cuss beg pardon. And now the Government 
 really is going to tax war-profits. Don't you think I 
 would get out if I could? Isn't there every reason to 
 get out? I don't want any more of it I'm tired to 
 death of it all. Besides, the very men I have always 
 despised for their politics are now running the Gov-
 
 290 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 ernment. WKat is there left worth sticking to ? Noth- 
 ing absolutely nothing !" 
 
 "I'm glad you see that" 
 
 "Besides, no one is satisfied. Everything's mixed 
 Up, gone wrong, and in the melting pot. Now it's got 
 to the pot calling the kettle black. They're all quar- 
 reling among themselves too busy to give you a 
 'thank you' for anything you've done. That oratorical 
 whipper-snapper at the War Office gave me a snub 
 the other day because he was riding with Lady Envi- 
 toon in her car. Ton my soul, I wonder the people 
 idon't rise and hang a dozen of the folks who've got 
 us into this mess. Snub me, eh?" 
 
 She watched him pace round and round the billiard 
 table while he spoke. She knew speech at such a time 
 was as good as blood-letting for his condition. He 
 stopped near her and took her hands: "It's Fred 
 that's what it is, Evie, Fred! It's hard." 
 
 "And you never came to me." 
 
 "I couldn't face you." 
 
 "This is the first time since you wrote " 
 
 "Yes I know. Forgive me. I've felt it awfully." 
 
 He retired early after a hot bath and a dose of aco- 
 nite. It was late when he woke, feeling better ; the first 
 restful night he had known for several weeks. The 
 morning was clear, and a fine wind blew from the 
 northeast. The meadows were still green, and some 
 late chrysanthemums nodded in the garden. The 
 place looked clean and orderly, and the cattle moved 
 slowly with the wind. Away to the south he could see 
 the square tower of Harold's church, backed by tall 
 beeches and banked as it seemed from his window by 
 oaks and the red roofs of the village shops. He had
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 291 
 
 toften looked upon the scene and gloried m the thought 
 that he was master of the place. But now he felt no 
 thrill of pride. There was something lost, some inter- 
 est wrenched away that would never prompt him to 
 revel in the sense of ownership again. 
 
 "Dead sea fruit/' he muttered, and snickered at the 
 notion. A place nobody wants ! Then his mind went 
 back nearly thirty years and he remembered having 
 a speech to make in a neighboring constituency at a 
 bye-election when the land question raised by Joseph 
 Arch was dominant. He had looked up the particu- 
 lars of ownership of land in the county and found 
 according to the Derby return of the 'seventies that 
 about thirty persons held over seventy-five per cent. 
 of the one million acres in the shire, and that the 
 population of it had been almost stationary then for 
 a generation. That was in the days when he did not 
 hesitate to parody certain lines from well-known 
 verses: "God bless our landlord's land," and "The 
 land is the landlord's and the fullness thereof," etc., 
 etc. How he had changed ! Well, who hadn't changed ? 
 he asked himself. He thought of the political friends 
 of his youth. He could not remember one who had 
 not changed. 
 
 "So you want to get away from here, eh?" 
 
 "Yes. I'll pay them all a month's wages and shut 
 the place up." 
 
 "And what'll they do?" 
 
 "The servants?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes. They'll be all thrown out of work." 
 
 She was embarrassed and unable to reply. 
 
 "What'll the county say?" 
 
 "I didn't think of that, Alfred."
 
 292 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Better let them stay where they are eating their 
 heads off than have it said we threw them out of 
 work when we were coining money out of the tax- 
 payers." 
 
 "But isn't it sinful waste T she asked. "With no 
 one here?" 
 
 "That's it, Evie, you see. Once you start this game 
 it's got you. Only bankruptcy or death can let you 
 out. You want to give it up and live your own life, 
 but it won't do. You can't. The system says, 'You be 
 hanged. If you wish to go to North Wales, go, but 
 don't run away with the idea that you can escape me.' 
 So the palace we took for ourselves becomes the 
 house of a lot of flunkys and maid-servants. Nice, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Well, I can't stay here," she said firmly. 
 
 "Don't, my dear. But you can't dismiss your serv- 
 ants. Not now, anyway." 
 
 "Very well, then, I suppose they must stay." 
 
 "Of course they must. If the damn place were in 
 town we might get the Government to use it for a hos- 
 pital. Like Horton House." 
 
 "Have you been there since you turned it over 
 to ?" 
 
 "No, never been near it. I forget it belongs to me." 
 
 He ordered the car with the intention of going into 
 Minsterley to see a solicitor about an estate that had 
 fallen into his hands. A small estate of two thousand 
 acres in the county on which he held a mortgage of 
 ten thousand pounds. The widow of the owner of 
 the place had fallen on evil days and something had 
 to be done for her. She had lost two sons in the war, 
 and she had gone into lodgings in Minsterley. As the
 
 ! STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 293 
 
 car entered Crowington village he told the chauffeur 
 to call at the vicarage. Harold was in the garden 
 talking to an old woman, who was crying bitterly. He 
 dismissed her when he saw his father drive up to the 
 porch. 
 
 "Hullo, dad, did you get my letter?" Harold asked. 
 
 "Yes. What's up?" 
 
 "I hate this place, and I must get out Get away 
 from right away from Crowington." 
 
 Then he told at great length all the troubles Ed had 
 brought to him by taking Wilmslow. Harold's old 
 friends were making things uncomfortable for him. 
 Ed was setting such a bad example. The farmers 
 were protesting everywhere. Then Ellen, down at 
 Tonks', behaving in the most undignified manner, hav- 
 ing a child there ! 
 
 "Now, there are two good vacancies, both in the 
 hands of the prime minister. You must get me out of 
 this place." 
 
 "And who am I to put here?" 
 
 "Oh, that's simple. The archdeacon has a neph- 
 ew " 
 
 "Has he? Well, he can keep him. There'll be no 
 kin of the archdeacon here." 
 
 "But I've " Harold turned pale and stuck fast 
 
 for a moment. 
 
 "You've what?" 
 
 "I've nearly fixed it up." 
 
 "Then you'll unfix it at once." 
 
 "But, dad." 
 
 "I mean it." His father raised his voice angrily. 
 
 "Heavens, you'll not put me in such a hole." 
 
 "I'll have none of your friends here. If you go, I'll
 
 294 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 find some hard-working man out of my constituency 
 who really needs a soft job to come here " 
 
 "But this is a plum " 
 
 "I know it is. The kind of job a hard-working man 
 In your church seldom gets. Now listen to me. With 
 your emolument, and what I give you, you ought to be 
 content. Evidently you're not. No, your parsnips have 
 been well buttered for you." 
 
 "Parsnips " 
 
 "Hold your tongue. Now, take my advice and give 
 about ten years to some poor parish in town and show 
 you can give some service " 
 
 "Oh, I know they've turned you against me," Har- 
 old cried. "I knew they would. Tittle-tattling lot. Just 
 because I went for that cowardly hound, Harry 
 Tonks. It'sEd Ed's done this!" 
 
 He marched up and down the library waving his 
 hands like a madman. 
 
 "Ed never mentioned your name to me. I haven't 
 seen or heard from Ed since his marriage. And Ellen 
 ignores your existence. Anyway, think what you 
 please about it. You're going out of this, and I shall 
 put a man of my own choosing in. It's time for you 
 to look yourself for a job that will suit you." 
 
 His father left him. As the car drove away from 
 the vicarage Sir Alfred gave vent to his anger in 
 many mutterings and growlings. "The archdeacon's 
 nephew ! Never was such cheek ! Confound the arch- 
 deacon ! That miserable jack-in-the-box ! Not likely !" 
 Harold had done quite the wrong thing in suggesting 
 such a change. The archdeacon who had publicly 
 at an election called his father "a raving ranter 
 turned respectable by marrying an Anglican lady." It
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 295 
 
 was a long time ago the first year Sir Alfred came 
 to Crowington. But he had a long memory for that 
 kind of insult. He did not recover his good humor 
 before he reached Minsterley. 
 
 The solicitor was proud to meet Sir Alfred. It was 
 good of him to spare the time during such a crisis. 
 
 "What is the position?" 
 
 "Briefly this, Sir Alfred," the solicitor began. "Mrs. 
 Eckersley is impoverished and obliged to go into lodg- 
 ings. She had three sons, one a ne'er-do-well, some- 
 where in South America, the others lost in the war. 
 - Now she has no near relations to help her. She man- 
 aged to get along in a thirty pound villa before the 
 war but her sons gone, and she is left without sup- 
 port. I have out of my own pocket " 
 
 "I see. I see. What is the income from her old 
 place?" 
 
 "Very small. About six hundred pounds I think it 
 yields you, Sir Alfred." 
 
 "Six hundred pounds!" 
 
 "You were put to great expense fixing it up." 
 
 "Never mind. Pay her four hundred pounds." 
 
 "Four hundred pounds!" 
 
 "Yes let her have four hundred pounds." 
 
 "But, Sir Alfred half! Four hundred pounds! 
 That is munificent." 
 
 "She's a lady, isn't she?" 
 
 "Such a lady, Sir Alfred ! Was a Miss Laurence of 
 Chanbury 1" 
 
 "Very well, attend to it and say nothing outside. 
 Good morning." 
 
 The solicitor bowed him down to the car and stood 
 bare-headed a tiling of which his wife would have
 
 296 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 utterly disapproved had she known on the pavement 
 until the car passed out of sight. 
 
 He could not resist the desire to go the long way 
 home and pass Wilmslow. He wanted to call and see 
 Ed and the others, but he did not feel strong enough 
 for the arguments which he knew he should have to 
 meet. As the car branched off to the west across the 
 heath he could see the roof of the Lodge glistening in 
 the sunlight. Suddenly the chauffeur eased the car 
 and turned toward the window. 
 
 "There's something up over there, Sir Alfred," he 
 said. 
 
 "Where?" his employer gasped, popping his head 
 out of the window. The car stopped. 
 
 "See. On the hill above Clungford." 
 
 "Oh ! I thought you meant Wilmslow," Sir Alfred 
 said in a relieved tone, as he stepped from the car. 
 
 There were two men making signs. They were a 
 long way off, but on the sky-line standing on the bare 
 rock they could be seen distinctly. Then a man could 
 be seen running down the fields toward Wilmslow, a 
 mile nearer to the rocks than Clungford Hall. Sir Al- 
 fred sprang back into the car and told the chauffeur 
 to push ahead. At the crossroads they hailed the man 
 and asked what was the matter. 
 
 "A man dead on top o' up there," he gasped 
 breathlessly. He pointed back at Clungford Hill. 
 "They think he's Mr. 'Any beg pardon, Sir Al- 
 fred didn't know it war you, sir." 
 
 "Mr. Harry Tonks?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Tm as been missing these two weeks." 
 
 "Terrible."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 297. 
 
 "They sent me down for ropes." 
 
 "Ropes?" 
 
 "Aye, 'e's lying at bottom of 'ole like, in rocks." 
 
 Wilmslow was the only place to get ropes, near 
 there. Sir Alfred sent the chauffeur back to the Lodge, 
 telling him not to let the ladies know, but to get hold 
 of the captain and bring some strong ropes, then take 
 them to the nearest point up the road skirting the hill. 
 Sir Alfred started off across the fields feeling sick at 
 the sudden change in the day's events. 
 
 "There's the car, Sir Alfred," his companion cried, 
 as he saw it turn up the hill from the crossroads. It 
 stopped at the edge of the woods, and Ed and two 
 men jumped out. They scrambled through the hedge 
 and ran with the ropes toward Sir Alfred now near 
 the foot of the hill. They climbed up the steep in 
 silence, the tail of rope trailing behind them. When 
 they reached the top and stood upon the rock an old 
 man pointed down. 
 
 " 'E's dead." 
 
 It was a narrow place where the body lay, and it 
 was a difficult matter to raise it to the top. Ed shud- 
 dered when it was brought to the surface, and he 
 spread his coat over the dead man's face. 
 
 "Take 'im to the village ?" the old forester asked. 
 
 "No, no," Ed cried. "To Wilmslow. And don't say 
 a word that can reach Mrs. Ben." 
 
 "Aw ! That's rite ! Fergot about Mrs. Ben, Capt'n." 
 
 They sent for a cart, and Ed went back to the Lodge 
 tc tell his wife and Evelyn. He telephoned to the cor- 
 oner Asking him to keep it as quiet as possible be- 
 cause of the condition of his sister.
 
 298 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 It was a long way to take a cart, from Wilmslow, 
 through Crowington, and up the long lane into the 
 rutty path winding up through the woods to the clear- 
 ing where Harry tried to sever the hand that might 
 offend. The police and coroner were on the spot long 
 before the cart arrived. 
 
 And when the body came to Wilmslow the sun was 
 set over Clungford Hill, and a fine star shone in the 
 deepening blue already dark enough to let the old 
 moon's silvery crescent light the peace of the night.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE inquest held at Wilmslow passed without ex- 
 citement. The verdict "accidental death" was 
 accepted by all, but three, as satisfactory and accord- 
 ing to the evidence. At lunch with Ed and Ben after 
 the inquest Sir Alfred could not refrain from speak- 
 ing of the disfigured hand. On top of Clungford Rock 
 when the body had been raised the right hand lay 
 stretched out, palm down, on a flat slab of purple 
 slate. It was so white. The rain-washed wound 
 caught his eye, and the gash across the knuckles 
 seemed like a pallid mouth opening to speak. The 
 limp white hand told a tale to Sir Alfred which he 
 dare not believe. No one else apparently paid any 
 attention to it. Ed had covered the face of the corpse, 
 and straightway was busy giving directions to men 
 about fetching a cart from Wilmslow. 
 
 Ed and Ben noticed the hand when the doctor ex- 
 amined the body, but he attributed all marks and 
 scratches to the fall over the jagged rocks. There was 
 no suggestion of murder or suicide. There was no 
 motive for either. 
 
 "That hand," Sir Alfred remarked, "the right one. 
 Did you notice it? It looked a funny to me. Like 
 as if it had been struck by a sharp no, not sharp a 
 blunt knife/' 
 
 "I thought he had smashed it against a sharp piece 
 of rock in falling perhaps the hand was wounded 
 that way," Ben said. "Why, what do you think? 
 What's in your mind?" 
 
 299
 
 300 
 
 They stared at Sir Alfred who, not expecting to be 
 questioned, looked embarrassed. He had hoped they 
 would make suggestions as to the cause of the 
 wounds. 
 
 "What is it, dad?" Ed asked. 
 
 His father coughed uncomfortably, and tried to 
 feign indifference: "Nothing I just thought 
 
 Suddenly Ed started and sat straight up. 
 
 "What?" Ben exclaimed. 
 
 "'If thy hand offend thee '" Ed said in firm 
 
 low tones. 
 
 "Good God, you don't think ?" Ben cried. 
 
 They were silent while the idea took possession of 
 their minds. They shrunk into themselves dejectedly. 
 After a long pause Sir Alfred said: "It struck me 
 yesterday when they raised his body up." 
 
 "He tried to do it," Ed observed. "He said or 
 rather hinted there was that way out. 'If thy hand 
 offend thee/ he said. Ben! It's horrible. Harry's 
 hand!" 
 
 Ben looked distressed. "Yes," he muttered. His 
 voice quavered. 
 
 "Architect, wasn't he?" Sir Alfred asked. 
 
 He was sorry he had started the subject for now 
 there came to mind the night when he went into 
 Tonks' house to deliver the registration forms. He 
 thought of his altercation with Harry. Were they 
 thinking of that night? 
 
 "Well, I must get away," he said, rising briskly. 
 
 Ed saw him to the car. After he was snugly seated, 
 he put his head out of the window : "Ed, order a very 
 fine stone don't say anything, you know. Send the 
 bill to me."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 301 
 
 They laid the body of Harry Tonks in Cltmgford 
 Wesleyan churchyard. Oarice had hoped he would 
 be buried in the grounds of the old church by the 
 river, but Harry was not an Anglican. Still the earth 
 was just as warm where he lay, and Ed said it did 
 not matter much now where he rested. 
 
 They kept the news from Ellen. Ben would not let 
 them even wear black. His little wife was having a 
 hard time and Doctor Raymond said it would be a 
 difficult labor. Ben was far too anxious about her to 
 think of going back to town. The days dragged on 
 until the noon of a fine cold day when Ellen knew the 
 time had come for her to give to the world a child. 
 The hours of agony lengthened into the night, and the 
 doctor became grave. Ben shut himself up in the next 
 room and thought he would go mad. He knew what 
 frightful pain she must be suffering to give expres- 
 sion to those cries of anguish. The woman in agony 
 to give birth. The nations in agony to give death. 
 Strange ideas came rushing into his mind as he paced 
 up and down the room, up and down, hour after 
 hour, waiting, listening, hoping for the cry of relief. 
 
 It was after midnight when he stood at her bedside 
 and looked on her little prostrate form. "Lizzie at the 
 fireside held the child. Ben leaned over his wife and 
 laid his hand on her head. She was too weak to 
 speak, only her eyes told him of her pain and her 
 joy. A month passed before she began to regain her 
 strength, and then Ben took her away to the seaside 
 to get thoroughly well. 
 
 The house at Crowington was in the hands of the 
 servants, and Lady Horton-Birkett was living in 
 Wales. Wilmslow was a busy farm, and Ed was
 
 302 "A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 free of the army. His father had arranged at the 
 War Office, as he was no more use to the service, 
 for him to leave altogether. Just as he had used his 
 influence to get them to let the Victoria Cross matter 
 drop, so now he urged them to give Ed his discharge. 
 Ed did not want the pay. 
 
 Christmas was a solemn time at the Lodge. Early 
 in the morning Sir Alfred arrived without notice. He 
 came from town on the night train from Minsterley, 
 and then drove out in a taxi. Ed was awake when he 
 heard the cab pull up. He slipped on his dressing 
 gown and went down to the dining-room where his 
 father sat huddled up in his fur coat in a big chair. 
 
 "Dad, what brings you-' " he began, 
 
 "Can't stand it, Ed." 
 
 "Been to bed yet?" 
 
 "Traveled all night." 
 
 "In the slow? from town?" 
 
 "Yes. Better than the club." 
 
 "Lord! We better fix up a bed for you. Wait" 
 
 Ed told them to get a room ready, light a fire and 
 see that everything was comfortable. When he re- 
 turned his father was dozing. Ed looked Closely at 
 him. Great, deep, dark rings encircled his eyes, the 
 heavy cheeks hung in chunks about his jaws, and his 
 brow and mouth bore furrows which seemed en- 
 grained with black dust. He woke up suddenly and 
 Stammered Incoherently. 
 
 "All right, dad?" 
 
 "Eh? Ed, that you?" 
 
 "You're not ill, are you?" 
 
 "No, ill, no. Oh, no. Tired, a bit that's all." 
 
 "Nothing wrong?"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 303 
 
 "No no." 
 
 "Your room'll be ready in a few minutes." 
 
 "Good. Ill be all right after a snooze." 
 
 Ed saw him up to bed and left him lying on the flat 
 of his back, his eyes closed tight. At breakfast he told 
 Clarice and Evelyn his father had arrived and was 
 asleep. But the sudden appearance of Sir Alfred and 
 his strange reticence perplexed Ed, who was not a 
 man to deal with mysteries. There was something 
 strange in his father's manner. Late in the morning 
 Ed stole up-stairs and peeped into the room. Still on 
 the flat of his back his father lay, the mouth shut 
 tight, the hands clenched on the counterpane, and the 
 face drawn. His cheeks were wet, tear stains had 
 coursed the furrows and disturbed the dust. Ed went 
 softly to the bedside and stood watching the rise and 
 fall of the clothes on his father's breast. Sir Alfred 
 opened his eyes and looked straight at his son. 
 
 "Robert !" he muttered in a thick soppy tone. 
 
 "Bob? Well?" 
 
 "Gone." 
 
 Ed sat down on the bedside and fell Into a deep 
 moody silence. The fire in the grate was low, but the 
 sun shone brightly, and sent shafts of yellow light 
 through the sides of the blind into the room. He 
 could hear Clarice outside talking to the groom, then 
 the pawing of her horse and its capering. His wife 
 was going for a drive over to Clungford to see her 
 mother. Evelyn's baby jabbered at the restive animal. 
 There was silence again when Clarice drove away. 
 
 "When did you hear?" Ed asked. 
 
 "Yesterday morning." 
 
 His father turned over and hid his face.
 
 304 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Can you do with me for a day or two, Ed?" 
 
 "As long as you like. Stay where you are. You 
 better have some food. I'll see to your bath, dad." 
 
 At lunch Ed told them his father was not well and 
 would remain in his room for the rest of the day. It 
 was nothing serious. No, he did not think Clarice 
 should send for Doctor Raymond. His father was 
 tired out. That was all. Lady Clungford came over 
 for early dinner. There was a Christmas tree for Eve- 
 lyn's child, and the table had the look of being spread 
 for a merry feast. The servants were to have the full 
 evening, from half past seven, to themselves. Ed kept 
 the news of Robert's death to himself. 
 
 "Should I run up and sit with dad for a while?" 
 Evelyn asked. 
 
 "I'd leave him alone to-day, Cricket. Don't disturb 
 him." 
 
 His presence in the house seemed to cast a shadow 
 over all, and in the afternoon their voices fell almost 
 to whispers. The servants forgot to sing. And the 
 evening feast was somewhat funereal and sad. Even 
 Lady Clungford's jolly temper failed to rouse them. 
 
 "You're not a merry lot," she said. "Well, it isn't 
 to be expected after all, is it? Not even for a day. 
 Clarice, I'm thinking I was an altruist to let Ed take 
 you away. That place over there's too big for me 
 without you. Think of it ! Just me in all that house, 
 and a big collection of men and women to look after 
 it. Will there be any families left after this? Have 
 you heard from your mother, Cricket?" 
 
 "She's in Wales. Gone over to Colwyn to stay near 
 Ellen and the baby." 
 
 "How are the dear things?"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 305 
 
 "Little 'tin's getting on well, and the baby's ripping. 
 Ellen can't believe she's alive after it. Ten pounds, 
 he was." 
 
 "She's nursing it?'* 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 The crackers had to be pulled and the pudding set 
 aflame. Presents were distributed and opened, and all 
 the make-believe of festivity gone through, but it was 
 without pleasure, without laughter. 
 
 "What are we going to do with our big places now, 
 Ed?" Lady Clungford asked. 
 
 "Blest, if I know. Break 'em up perhaps." 
 
 "They're no good to us. Little folks in big places 
 with smaller incomes and crushing taxes. No men 
 but cripples. Some boys at schools. And women 
 three a penny. All in a few months. Well, I never 
 posed as a religious woman, but if I haven't thought 
 a good bit lately of some of the old prophets. Retri- 
 bution and all that. Things haven't been right, have 
 they, Ed?" 
 
 "Mother! You moralizing!" Qarice exclaimed. 
 
 "Well, my lass, this is the first time for nearly forty 
 years I've had to think alone seriously," Lady Clung- 
 ford explained. "And I can't say I like the thoughts 
 that come creeping into my mind these gloomy days. 
 They stick, and make me feel very uncomfortable." 
 
 "What thoughts?" 
 
 "Oh, thoughts about hunting comfort all selfish 
 notions " 
 
 "You selfish," Ed cried. 
 
 "You old silly," Clarice laughed, running to her 
 mother and giving her a big hug. "Why, you never 
 had a selfish thought in your life!"
 
 I 
 
 306 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Haven't I? That's all you know. Never mind 
 about that though. Anyway, when I think of the men, 
 all the fine young chaps of Europe Well! it makes 
 me feel horrible. We're all mad stark, staring, rav- 
 ing mad." 
 
 "That's so," Ed agreed. "But the worst of it is we 
 don't know we're mad. It's a world turned upside 
 down. I passed the county lunatic asylum the other 
 day and I thought it was quite possible all outside 
 were crazy and the inmates sane. The trouble is we 
 let those who don't produce run the show the Gov- 
 ernment, I mean. Lawyers and landowners have all 
 the best of the game, and they produce nothing as 
 lawyers and landowners." 
 
 "What about parsons?" Evelyn asked. "The bench 
 of bishops?" 
 
 "Yes add them. They produce nothing." 
 
 "And soldiers ?" Lady Clungf ord said, witH a merry 
 twinkle. 
 
 "Right soldiers, too," Ed replied. "Now I be- 
 lieve every one should be a unit in the army of pro- 
 duction. Productive employment is what is wanted." 
 
 "Ed, I'm an old Tory or was," Lady Clungford 
 cried, "but I'm afraid if I stay and listen to you I'll 
 lose my character or my principles. What a Radical 
 you are ! Me, listening to such seditious stuff. Well, 
 I must go. God bless you. And if you're going to 
 change things do make sure you don't make Britain 
 any worse than it is." 
 
 "Could any one do that?" Clarice asked. 
 
 Christmas passed away leaving the houses where 
 the slain were mourned far sadder and emptier. Sir 
 Alfred was able to leave his room after lying abed
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 307 
 
 lor two days. Again the restless mania took hold of 
 him and he wished to be off to town at once. Ed 
 tried to persuade him to stay at the Lodge and enjoy 
 the country, see the farm, all the improvements and 
 preparations for a busy spring. No, he ought to be on 
 the spot in town he might be required any moment. 
 Besides, the news did not come through the papers. 
 He must go up to hear what was being said in the 
 inner circles. 
 
 "I'll come down later on," he said. "Not this week 
 well, I might on Saturday, say." 
 
 "What are you going to do with Crowington?" Ed 
 asked. 
 
 "I don't know! Hang the^place! If I could sell it." 
 
 "Better let me cut it up for small holdings." 
 
 "Now, the Government might take half one's in- 
 come!" he cried in amazement. 
 
 "Well, what about that? You can live on half you 
 make. There are only mother and Fred if he is " 
 
 "Alive? A prisoner?" 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment and then 
 dropped their eyes. 
 
 "You must give up that money, dad. You'll not 
 know a day's happiness till you do. I'm sure of that. 
 You say you can't rest, can't eat, can't sleep. Life at 
 the club is unendurable. Shall I tell you why? It is 
 because you have lost us all now. Robert, Fred 
 well, they're gone. Mother ! I'll not go into that But 
 Ellen and Cricket they are dead against you, dad. 
 Now, isn't it worth while thinking of us? Don't we 
 deserve some consideration ? You talk about your pa- 
 triotism and your duty to the Government, but what 
 about your patriotism and your duty to us? You
 
 308 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 must recognize we have our lives to live. We are 
 young we have to choose our own way of expressing 
 ourselves. We don't agree with you. And we don't 
 think you're doing right in giving yourself body and 
 soul to this old man's war. Besides, it's rotten for us 
 to think you haven't the strength of mind to flaunt 
 public opinion and do what you know is just." 
 
 He sat and listened to Ed as quietly as a child who 
 knows it is in disgrace. It was pitiable. 
 
 "You're right quite right/' he mumbled. "I agree, 
 Ed. But " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "I can't get out You must all think what you 
 choose. I'm sorry, but well, there it is." 
 
 As Ed saw him drive away in the car, he thought 
 his father personified the Government. He knew what 
 was right, but he could not do it. The system was 
 false, rotten, through and through, but it must be car- 
 ried on. He knew war was horrible, but shells must 
 be made and thousands of the best of Britain's men 
 must be hustled away to the shambles. But he had 
 not this time referred to Christianity and western civ- 
 ilization. That was all to the good. Cant was forgot- 
 ten in his extremity. His religious associations were 
 broken off, or rather they broke off. A year's desue- 
 tude attacked them at the core and found them rotten. 
 
 Ellen saw her mother every day. Ben came down 
 for long week-ends to Colwyn. It was strange to see 
 Lady Horton-Birkett in deep mourning, spending her 
 days in visiting hospitals and asylums. She came 
 twice a day to see Ellen, but she stayed only for a few 
 minutes.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 309 
 
 "I'm spending all the money I can on these places," 
 she said, after telling Ellen of the work of the estab- 
 lishments. 
 
 "I didn't think you had the nerve for that kind of 
 work/' Ellen remarked. 
 
 "I didn't, but since Fred and now Robert is dead* 
 I feel I must be there at the hospitals all the time. 
 I've done so little of real service in my life, and now 
 I've begun so late to try what I can do I feel I 
 must crowd as much into a day as possible. You see 
 you all are grown up, and you don't need me now 
 and dad is up in town. He seems to get on without 
 us." 
 
 "Funny, how we've broken up, isn't it?" Ellen ob- 
 served. "Like Deacon Jones' One Horse Shay. But 
 without it's perfect construction. I wonder what will 
 happen when the men come back again. Ben says 
 revolution. Well, revolution is going on now. The 
 whole thing is ready to go to pieces. Ben says the 
 baby has the future we're done for. Too old for 
 the great change that will come and not young enough 
 to take part in the fight. It will take a generation at 
 least to clear away the debris of the old systems. Dad 
 is the type better, in many ways, than the type. Im- 
 pervious to Radical change. Liberal in name and Tory 
 in spirit. A good-natured sham one that not only 
 deceives you, but one that deceives itself. It learns 
 nothing. 'All's well with me don't unsettle things/ 
 That's it Religion is its hobby, and trade is its relig- 
 ion ; politics the road to social advancement, and party 
 the god of honors. A system without soul, devoid of 
 art. Mere dross !"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE Munitions Act was the cause of all the trou- 
 ble. Sir Alfred had been warned by his managers 
 of the growing discontent of his employees. At the 
 board meeting held to consider the threatened strike 
 of all the men at the big works in Strathclyde, he 
 tried to shift his responsibility by saying the workers 
 were for all intents and purposes in the employ of the 
 Government, that since the Act came into force they, 
 as a firm, held no direct control over the men. "We 
 are victims of the system," he said. 
 
 Sir Redvers Foote interjected: "The profits are 
 ours!" 
 
 "True what is left after taxation/' Sir Alfred 
 said. 
 
 Old Sir Redvers was a stickler for accuracy, even 
 when his pocket was touched, and though he suffered 
 no qualms about how wars were fought, he did not 
 like to be associated with a firm that took extreme 
 advantage of employees under one-sided agreements. 
 He said: 
 
 "The fact of the matter is and to put it bluntly, 
 my lords and gentlemen, I think it's a damn shame 
 we're not carrying out our promises to the men. I 
 knew this Munitions Act would get us into trouble, I 
 told you so. Confound it, I hate tyranny. And I'll see 
 the Government far enough before they'll make me 
 responsible for their persistent blundering. These men 
 must be released at once and the Act amended fairly 
 or I'll resign." 
 
 310
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 311 
 
 Three of the men had been imprisoned for refusing 
 to work, and in protest all their Strathclyde em- 
 ployees threatened to "down tools" if they were not 
 set at liberty within three days. The position was crit- 
 ical. So much so indeed that the board had asked 
 their Strathclyde manager to come to town with the 
 men's delegates and lay their case before the direct- 
 ors. Both Ben and Ellen had written to Sir Alfred 
 urging him to act in the interests of the men before! 
 there was a great strike. It was at Ben's instigation 
 the special board meeting was called. He was closely 
 in touch with the unions and knew just how the mat- 
 ter stood. 
 
 "I should like to know where we stand," Lord Cin- 
 toul said. "I am informed the Government are run- 
 ning up acres of gigantic State factories all over the 
 place. The site for one of 'em, I am told, covers 
 thirty-two square miles, and has upon it, circling 
 round all the sheds, no less than forty miles of rail- 
 way track. -Now, that is a very serious matter for us 
 to consider. And I should like to know if we are to 
 be left high and dry when these State factories are 
 ready to turn out shells and a things." 
 
 It was a serious business, and the directors looked 
 anxiously at Sir Alfred for a reply. 
 
 "The demand is unlimited, and I am assured no ac- 
 tion of Government in this respect need cause us the 
 slightest concern," he said. "Now should we have 
 these men in and hear what they have to say for them- 
 selves ?" 
 
 It was agreed. And the delegates were ushered into 
 the room. It was arranged that one delegate should 
 State the grievances of the men; another, the defects
 
 312 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 in the Munitions of War Act ; and a third, the amend- 
 ments which would satisfy the workers. 
 
 Mr. Ferguson said the working of the Act ha'd put 
 the men's backs up, without a doubt. They were sore 
 very. In all about one million were affected, and a 
 big proportion of the men embittered and angry. 
 
 "The situation is really bad. For the papers don't 
 report these cases. It's like a totally new criminal 
 law they have to face. A law that's administered 
 harshly and solely in the interests of the capitalists 
 employers, I mean." 
 
 "That is their view, Mr* Ferguson/' Sir Alfred re- 
 marked. 
 
 "It's their view I'm stating, Sir Alfred. And I think 
 their view is about right. For every day in the week, 
 on an average between sixty and seventy cases are 
 heard in the new Munitions Courts. You must under- 
 stand the chairman of the court has all the power of 
 a tribunal. He gives its decision and pronounces sen- 
 tence, against which there is no appeal." 
 
 "Think of that," Sir Redvers exclaimed. 
 
 Mr. Ferguson finding he had a sympathizer turned 
 at once to Sir Redvers: "Aye, think o' it. And the 
 two lay 'assessors' one supposed to protect the work- 
 man and the other to protect the employer being un- 
 able to take any effective shares in the proceedings." 
 
 "Monstrously unfair " 
 
 Sir Alfred cut Sir Redvers short by tapping the 
 table: "Will you address me, Mr. Ferguson?" 
 
 "Your pardon, Sir Alfred. Well, as I was going to 
 say, it's strange how seldom an employer is fined and 
 how often a workman has to pay up. That's what 
 makes the men believe the Act is drawn wholly in the
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 313 
 
 interests of the masters. The men have had to pay 
 thousands of pounds in fines." 
 
 "Thousands, Mr. Ferguson?" Sir Alfred cried in- 
 credulously. 
 
 "Aye, thousands, Sir Alfred. That's why you have 
 wide-spread discontent. The three men who are now 
 in prison in default of fines mean to stay there in pro- 
 test against the Act. I'll not go into the matter of 
 offense. But the Government did promise to hold an 
 official inquiry. They didn't do it. Another promise 
 broken, the men say. Now the men, nearly one hun- 
 dred thousand, through their delegates have sent an 
 ultimatum to the Government to release the imprisoned 
 men within three days or there'll be a general stop- 
 page of work in the district. That's all I have got to 
 say, Sir Alfred." 
 
 Mr. Ferguson backed away from the table and 
 made room for his colleague, Mr. Rogers. 
 
 "You speak on the defects of the Act, Mr. Rog- 
 ers?" Sir Alfred asked. 
 
 "Yes, that is what I am here for, Sir Alfred. In 
 the first place let me say there was no need for the 
 Act. The old law which gave an employer the power 
 to summon in the County Court a workman for ab- 
 senting himself from work, unpunctuality, being 
 'drunk on duty, and so on, was quite sufficient. The 
 men understand that. Their complaint is the Muni- 
 tions Act is solely a weapon forged by the Government 
 to kill trade unions. The Act takes from the work- 
 man his right to leave a situation where he feels that 
 he is not properly treated. It is a penal offense for 
 the worker to leave his employer's service without the 
 employer's consent even at the expiration of his
 
 314 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 contract and with due notice. Then it is a penal of- 
 fense for the men in any workshop to refuse to un- 
 dertake a new job, however low may be the wage or 
 piece-work price that the foreman offers. The men 
 say these restrictions are a reversion to the Statute of 
 Laborers of the Middle Ages." 
 
 "Keep to the question, Mr. Rogers. We can dis- 
 pense with history," Sir Alfred rapped out 
 
 "That's true, Sir Alfred. When I was interrupted 
 I was going to add the Munitions Court usually re- 
 fuses to listen to the workman's plea that the rate of 
 wages that he was offered was not the proper rate, or 
 was not according to either the contract or the under- 
 taking of the Munitions Department. The court 
 won't discuss wages or hours of labor or conditions 
 of employment. The jurisdiction of the court extends 
 only to enforcing the employer's will. The court has 
 held it to be an offense for any workman, after he has 
 worked the full contract day, to refuse to work over- 
 time, including night work and Sundays, whether or 
 not anything extra is paid for such overtime." 
 
 "Impossible," Sir Alfred cried. 
 
 "Mr. Rogers, please," Lord Cintoul exclaimed. 
 
 "Can't believe that," Sir Redvers gasped. 
 
 "It's perfectly true perfectly," Mr. Rogers said, 
 with an emphatic tap on the table. "Besides, a work- 
 man may not, even after due notice, change his em- 
 ployment not even from one munition factory to an- 
 other in order to get higher wages however low 
 may be the wages he is getting." 
 
 The board looked in amazement at the delegate 
 and then shifted uncomfortably about on their chairs. 
 They were the employers, but Sir Alfred was the only
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 315 
 
 member of the board who had put his nose into a 
 factory since the war began. 
 
 Mr. Rogers paused while his eyes slowly looked the 
 directors over: "Under the Act the employers can 
 make rules and change them without the workmen's 
 consent. And he can enforce any arbitrary rule by 
 fine. The other week one of your men was fined 
 twenty pounds, the loss of four weeks, yet he was 
 not allowed to leave the employment. It has been held 
 in many cases that although a workman may not, with- 
 out his employer's consent, go off to another situa- 
 tion, the employer is not bound to give him work or 
 wages. The men call it the Ball and Chain Act Num- 
 bers of cases occur in which workmen are told to 
 'stand by' because materials are not ready, or because 
 there are, for the moment, no more jobs. Hours are 
 lost, sometimes whole days, weeks indeed, earning 
 nothing when the men know other firms want their 
 services and would pay high wages. But the em- 
 ployer will not give the men their discharge certificate 
 without which no other employer dare engage them." 
 
 Mr. Hume told the board how the Act should be 
 amended. Then the delegates left the room. 
 
 Left to themselves the directors passed away an 
 hour in heated discussion. Sir Alfred was blamed for 
 the whole trouble. Though he strove to make the board 
 understand he was not the Government, that he told 
 them he disliked the Act from the first, they were not 
 appeased and reminded him that they relied wholly on 
 his judgment and business experience to keep the firm 
 free of criticism. 
 
 The board rose without reaching a Hecision. But 
 two days later they heard that the imprisoned men
 
 316 
 
 had been released, their fines paid by some person or 
 persons unknown to the men. 
 
 Sir Alfred went out after nightfall very seldom 
 now. He dined at the club, and loafed about the 
 smoke room smoking, and the reading-room dozing. 
 News from the front interested him so little now he 
 scarcely ever stopped in the spacious hall to read the 
 telegrams. Sometimes he chatted with old acquaint- 
 ances, but not for long ; even conversation was a bore. 
 
 One night, however, he met his old friend Lord 
 Parkgate who was in town to meet a wounded nephew 
 expected home from Servia. 
 
 "Oh, it's you, Birkett, eh?" 
 
 "Yes. Sorry to hear of your losses," Sir Alfred said. 
 
 "Awful, isn't it? You, too, eh? You've caught it. 
 Very sorry very. Well, when's it going to end or 
 is it the end of the world? What d'l tell you, eh?" 
 
 Sir Alfred thought of the day he spoke to Parkgate 
 on the terrace of the House. It seemed ages ago 
 so long ago it seemed he had to look down a long nar- 
 rowing vista of months which lengthened like years 
 to fix his mind on that day before the war when his 
 old friend told him his fears. 
 
 "And all we toiled for gone, Birkett Like wastrels 
 we think of the day we came into our inheritance. 
 But we've got to go through with it. You, who got 
 us into it* must get us out of it." 
 
 Sir Alfred was too weary to protest against the sug- 
 gestion that he got any one into it. He lay back in his 
 chair and surrendered himself up to the scolding of 
 the old peer. Parkgate was one of the small school of 
 Radical aristocrats that fostered the movements of
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 317 
 
 peace, cooperation and financial reform in Glad- 
 stone's palmy time. But he had not changed. He 
 stood firmly all through the war for the ideas of his 
 early days. 
 
 "Plenty of shells, now?" Parkgate asked, without a 
 sneer. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Men working sticking at it?" 
 
 "Y-e-s most of them." 
 
 "They'll have it in for us when this is over. You 
 look out for squalls. Glad I'm not in the shell busi- 
 ness, Birkett. Wish you were out of it 'pon my soul 
 I do." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Men will give you all a lot to think about some 
 day you see!" 
 
 "Perhaps you're right," Sir Alfred muttered, rais- 
 ing himself up and looking at Parkgate. 
 
 "Oh, you feel it, too do you ?" 
 
 "We're having an awful time. It's that abominable 
 Munitions Act." 
 
 "Abominable ! My dear Birkett, it is not nice not 
 nice. Talk about Russia! Dear, dear, dear. And to 
 think old Radicals like you and me letting that go on. 
 We'll catch it some day. Maybe I'll be dead and 
 buried before they start on me. But you're younger 
 and besides you've been benefited by it." 
 
 Again the wish to get out and be free of all the 
 trouble rose in his mind. If he could only do what 
 Ed wished him to do. Besides, there were the masses, 
 and they had a way of surging over after a war and 
 punishing at the polls the party that conducted the 
 war. He thought of the Boer War and Sir Henry
 
 318 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Campbell-Bannerman. He was traduced and reviled 
 called a pro-Boer, but the masses within three short 
 years made him prime minister. 
 
 "Did -you see what the Times said about it?" his 
 lordship asked. 
 
 "Yes, I read it" 
 
 "Made me feel deuced shaky, Birkett It did really. 
 The land of the free, eh? Well, damn Prussia, if she 
 hasn't fixed her devilish methods on our lot. And to 
 think of our lads giving their lives up for this this !" 
 
 "Can't be helped. But then it's only for the dura- 
 tion of the war." 
 
 "That's what they tell us. But I'm afraid there'll 
 be more need for it after the war. Between ourselves." 
 
 Sir Fergus Paulton came into the room and stood 
 by the door looking to see if he knew any one there. 
 Suddenly he saw Sir Alfred and went over to him. 
 
 "My dear Alfred how are you?" Paulton cried. 
 "Oh, Lord Parkgate! I am glad to see you. Better 
 news to-night. Italy's sending men to Greece, and 
 Russia's going to teach the Bulgarians a lesson. It 
 will be all over in the spring. You got my letter, 
 Alfred?" 
 
 "Thanks, Fergus, yes. It was kind of you. A sad 
 loss." 
 
 "Very. Evie, quite well?" 
 
 "Yes she's away in North Wales." 
 
 "North Wales," Paulton cried in surprise. "I re- 
 member. My niece said she saw her. Is it near Holy- 
 well she is staying?" 
 
 "Yes somewhere near. My daughter Ellen is 
 down there." 
 
 Sir Alfred felt uncomfortable. Somehow he
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 319 
 
 dreaded every coming word of Paulton's. Could He 
 turn the subject? What would he say next? 
 
 "Is she? Really! Well, you'll laugh, but we've 
 had a funny argument about your wife." 
 
 It was no use. Paulton was off on a story and, as 
 Sir Alfred knew, there was no polite way of stop- 
 ping him once he began. Paulton swung his glasses 
 round and round his finger which he held stretched 
 out, cocked his head up, closed his eyes and chuckled 
 to himself. He was vastly amused about something. 
 
 "My niece Mrs. Woods you know. She has 
 been staying in Wales for a month. Nerves had to 
 keep quiet. Well, one day she saw a lady go into a 
 Catholic church a lady she thought she knew. Then 
 another day she saw the same lady come out of the 
 same Catholic church. She had a good look at her 
 and said to herself that is Lady Horton-Birkett She 
 told my nephew when he got down for the week-end. 
 He 'didn't believe it pooh-poohed the notion said it 
 was preposterous and chaffed his wife, said she 
 must have been mistaken." 
 
 He slapped Sir Alfred on the knee and laughed. 
 
 "Alfred, my dear fellow, think of it! Your wife 
 going to a Catholic church. Well, one Sunday when 
 my nephew was down there the same lady came in 
 a motor. My niece and nephew began to chaff each 
 Other again. So Woods ran out and asked the 
 chauffeur whose motor he was driving. And what 
 do you think he said?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 "Lady Horton-Birkett's. Fancy! Well, when they 
 told me I roared. Alfred's wife going to a Catholic 
 Church!"
 
 320 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 Paulton stopped laughing suddenly and looked at the 
 faces of his friends. There was a long awkward pause. 
 
 "Well," Parkgate exclaimed. "What is there fun- 
 ny about that?" 
 
 "Don't you think it's funny, Alfred?" Paulton in- 
 quired in a subdued tone. 
 
 "No, I don't, Fergus," he said, rising and looking 
 at his watch. "My wife is a Catholic. Now I think I'll 
 trot off to bed. I'm not feeling very well. Good night." 
 
 His lordship and Paulton watched him leave the 
 room. 
 
 "Good gracious," Sir Fergus gasped. "A Catholic ?" 
 
 "Wasn't she a Willis?" Parkgate asked. 
 
 "Yes y-e-s all Church all!" 
 
 "Urn! thought so. Strange!" 
 
 "What a blow!" 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 "I should say so." 
 
 "Well, I'd rather be in her shoes than his. Good 
 night, Paulton." 
 
 "Eh? Oh! Yes! Goodnight." 
 
 "So it is known," he thought, when he reached his 
 room. Paulton was a chatterbox, and Parkgate was 
 no oyster. But could such secrets be kept? It was 
 sure to leak out some day. And the world would 
 take it at first in just the same way as Paulton did. 
 Preposterous, it would seem. Then when it had to 
 believe it, the world would be just as shocked. 
 But why should the world be shocked ? What world ? 
 The same one that was shocked at German Kultur? 
 His thought ran on in a haze of contradiction. Clear 
 thinking was not his specialty. Yet he felt somehow 
 that the dreaded thing called "world" opposition was
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 321 
 
 a flimsy bogy that downright good sense could put 
 to flight if only one had the will to do it. Was every- 
 body half right and half wrong? Was there good 
 in everything and every one but the "world" was too 
 obtuse to find it? What was he worrying himself 
 about? His wife was a Catholic. The religion of 
 One of the Allies. Well, he was a non-conformist, 
 and she was an Anglican when he married her. 
 Suppose the war were to drive him to atheism or 
 to agnosticism. Ideas change. War was changing 
 Britain fast Who ever dreamed a Liberal minister 
 would practically reenact and reaffirm the Statute 
 of Laborers. What a muddle and a mess ! 
 
 He lay for hours tossing about, then changing his 
 pillow, shaking up the bolster, lying on this side, then 
 on that, sometimes counting a hundred, counting 
 again, shutting his mind to all thoughts and won- 
 dering if he were really not thinking of anything. 
 It was gray dawn when he fell asleep, after angrily 
 damning the twittering sparrows on his window-sill. 
 He dreamed that he was the Government and his 
 family the nation. They were gathered around him 
 moody, sullen, divided. He had addressed them in 
 flowing periods, telling them how he had spent his 
 life building up a great empire business. He 
 showed how his firm carried its interests nearly all 
 Over the world. His trade was colossal. Theje was 
 nothing like it on the earth. Then his family through 
 the spokesman said : "That is all very true. But we 
 .don't want it. You have spent your energy and your 
 money in vain. The price you ask us to pay for it 
 all is far, far more than it is worth to us/'
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 DAYTIME fires do not light up the heavens, but the 
 wind blew from east northeast and great volumes 
 of smoke were wafted over Clungford Hill. Evelyn 
 was at the nursery window playing with the child 
 when she noticed the black cloud of swirling smoke 
 in the east. Lady Clungford was in her grounds 
 talking to her gardener when he drew her attention 
 to the heavy cloud above the hill. 
 
 "Some ricks afire, my lady," he said. 
 
 "Isn't hay dear enough?" she muttered. 
 
 Crowington village was out and in a state of turb- 
 ulent alarm. The Manor was in a blaze before the 
 fire brigade could be got together. It was a primitive 
 institution and the members were scattered, most of 
 them away from home, for it was Minsterley market 
 day. Ebenezer Tonks was not there to give orders 
 and Mrs. James, the custodian of the key of the 
 shed where the pump engine was housed, was not 
 at home. Babbicombe took the law into his own 
 hands and broke open the door of her cottage. A 
 dozen willing hands ransacked her room for the 
 key without finding it. Then Babbicombe resorted 
 to strong measures and forced open the door of the 
 shed. When the engine started for the manor the 
 great house of the Horton-Birketts was a roaring 
 furnace. No one thought of sending to Wilmslow, 
 all were engrossed in the fire. 
 
 "How'd it start?" Babbicombe shouted to a serv- 
 ant ringing her hands in the drive. 
 
 322
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 323 
 
 "Fat I Cook upset a pan o' fat on the kitchen fire," 
 she cried. "What'll 'er ladyship say. Oh, dear me I" 
 
 The primitive implements of the Crowington fire 
 brigade were almost useless. They pumped in vain. 
 Their efforts made little or no impression on the fire. 
 The old timbers and plaster burned like tinder, and 
 the roof soon crashed in with a terrible roar. Sparks 
 flew far away, glistening on the wind for a while 
 then leaving the air full of charred sticks and smuts. 
 
 "An' only the servants at 'ome to look after it," 
 old Billy Egerton mumbled, as he peered through 
 his half-closed lids at the crumbling house. "It do 
 be a shame truly it do. Only ould men at 'ome, 
 too, as can do nothin' the young gone when they'd 
 bin most use." 
 
 The fire had been burning an hour when Ed 
 learned the news. One of his men ran in and told 
 him the postman in passing had shouted out, "Crow- 
 ington Manor's afire." 
 
 Ed drove the chestnut all the way up the hill road 
 at a gallop, but when he turned down the long brow 
 which led to the village he eased the horse. He 
 could see haste was unnecessary. A long trail of folk 
 was winding up the lower road going back to Crow- 
 ington village. The house was a roofless ruin. When 
 he drove up to the front Babbicombe told him the 
 story. Save for the odd pieces of furniture, a few 
 pictures and marbles and rugs, strewn about the 
 lawn, the contents of the house were destroyed. 
 
 He told the servants to find lodgings in the vil- 
 lage, then he drove to the post-office and telegraphed 
 to his father.
 
 324 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Manor burned down noon to-day little saved, 
 what instructions? Ed." 
 
 Going back to Wilmslow he met his wife and 
 Evelyn. He told them there was nothing to be done. 
 The butler would have the few pictures, marbles and 
 rugs removed to a place of safety and store the odds 
 and ends of furniture in the outbuildings. Clarice 
 and Evelyn were curious and wished to see the ruin, 
 so they drove on. 
 
 Harold was there when they reached the lawn, and 
 many county people had driven over. Clarice nodded 
 to this one and that one. Evelyn saw nothing but 
 the shell of the house. Babbicombe had decided to 
 let it burn out. 
 
 Ed did not hear from his father until next morn- 
 ing. The telegram was brief: 
 
 "Have notified insurance company. Dad." 
 
 Sir Alfred had read of the fire in the last edition 
 of the St. Stephen's Gazette at the House before 
 he saw Ed's telegram which had been sent to the 
 club. The paragraph said the Manor was destroyed 
 and then followed a short history of the building. 
 
 "So that's gone, too," Sir Alfred muttered. 
 
 Ed's letter told him the details: how the fire 
 Started, how long the house took to burn and what 
 was left. His father wrote back saying the servants 
 would be paid a month's wages and the cost of their 
 belongings lost in the fire, but they must try to find 
 employment elsewhere. 
 
 A few days later Sir Alfred left town for Wilms- 
 low. When the train left Euston it was crowded and 
 in his compartment there were two wounded officers;
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 325 
 
 one from a hospital in France going to his home near 
 Preston. He was Major Colne. The lower part of 
 his face was hidden by a bandage, and his right leg 
 from the knee down was missing. The other man 
 was Lieutenant Commander Stearns, the son of a nat- 
 uralized Austrian, Ludwig Strauss, the banker who 
 changed his name at the outbreak of the war. Sir 
 Alfred knew his father. The soldiers recognized 
 their traveling companion by the name on his des- 
 patch box on the rack. Stearns had lost an arm, and 
 his right knee was badly smashed. He had lain at 
 Cairo for two months while the doctors battled to 
 save his leg from amputation. Now he was on his 
 way to Cumberland to his father's house near Pen- 
 rith. There were over forty wounded men on the 
 train. Some were attended; most of them were able 
 to look after themselves. But all hobbled more or less 
 with difficulty. The railway servants from inspectors 
 to porters acted more like well-drilled hospital attend- 
 ants than ticket and luggage men. And there were 
 physically whole soldiers going back to their regi- 
 ments soon to be sent to the front, and they assisted 
 their wounded comrades in every way. It was a 
 strange scene. The pity of it ! The misery, the kind- 
 liness, the bravery and the peculiar cheeriness of all 
 the soldiers struck Sir Alfred as incongruous and un- 
 natural. He watched them get into the carriages 
 while a sinking feeling in the stomach sent cold chills 
 creeping over him. 
 
 Stearns introduced himselt after the train started. 
 The young British naval officer of Austrian blood 
 was singularly patriotic. As a rule soldiers say very 
 little when traveling with civilians. Sir Alfred had
 
 326 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 noticed that in his journeys back and forth to town. 
 Stearns was voluble and particularly vindictive. He 
 was bitter and revengeful, though he had never been 
 in Germany or Austria. He was born in Britain, 
 educated at a well-known school, and served three 
 years in an engineering yard on the Clyde. Sir Al- 
 fred thought it was nauseating to hear him say: 
 "These German and Austrian devils must be wiped 
 off the face of the earth !" Sir Alfred had never heard 
 a full-blooded English soldier say that much, and he 
 wondered if he were a naturalized Austrian if he 
 could in similar circumstances speak that way of the 
 French and British. 
 
 "How old are you?" he asked Stearns. 
 
 "Nearly twenty-four." 
 
 Colne had paid little attention to the conversation. 
 He was reading a little book. Sir Alfred noticed him 
 every now and then and wondered what his face 
 must look like without the bandage. The monocle 
 affected by Colne seemed peculiar; it gave him a 
 grotesque appearance. There was besides a great 
 raw-looking scar on his wrist which attracted Sir 
 Alfred's attention every time Colne turned a page of 
 his book. 
 
 "You've been at the Dardanelles, Lieutenant-Com- 
 mander ?" 
 
 "Sulva Bay, Sir Alfred. Perfectly devilish." 
 
 "And the Turks, how do you feel about them?" 
 
 "Oh, they're they're not bad chaps. Awfully mis- 
 guided. Good soldiers great fighters. It's those 
 damn Germans. All their fault." 
 
 "Sulva Bay was a shocking affair?" 
 
 "Mad. Just mad."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 327 
 
 Stearns tried to fire a pipe. 
 
 "Let me help you," Sir Alfred said. 
 
 "No, thanks. Must learn to do it myself now. I'll 
 have lots of time. I've done my bit or I should 
 say I've given my bits. They say I'll never be able 
 to bend this knee. No riding, no golf, no shooting. 
 Eh, oh! They do knock you about these days. 
 Twenty-four and nothing to do. Why they didn't 
 finish me altogether I don't know. Their guns and 
 shells, God knows, are things to finish any one with. 
 Ever seen any of their shells, Sir Alfred? I've got 
 some specimens in that bag." 
 
 He rose and hauled a biggish bag down from the 
 rack. He opened it rather proud of the feat for a 
 one-armed man and took out some specimens. He 
 gave them to Sir Alfred. 
 
 "What's the matter?" Stearns asked. "Don't like 
 the look of 'em, eh ? Ugly things, aren't they ?" 
 
 He did not know that Sir Alfred was a director 
 of the German firm that made one of the shells. He 
 did not know that Sir Alfred started not because 
 he did not like the look of "the ugly things," but 
 because he noticed the trade-mark of his firm on the 
 metal. 
 
 Colne watched the scene; the monocle gave him a 
 grotesque appearance. Stearns took the specimens 
 from Sir Alfred and replaced them in his bag. 
 
 "I wonder you keep those things," Sir Alfred said, 
 wiping his hands together. "Don't you, too ?" he asked 
 Colne, turning to him'with a look of disgust. For a 
 few moments their eyes rested on Colne, who stared 
 at them while something like a smile crept over the 
 visible half of his face. From his pocket he took a
 
 328 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 pad and pencil,, and wrote in a large flourishing 
 hand : 
 
 "Can't speak. Tongue injured. Same kind of 
 shells shattering us in France." 
 
 He passed the pad to his companions. They could 
 not hide their shocked expressions. 
 
 "Very sorry," Sir Alfred muttered. 
 
 "Beastly hard luck," Stearns said. 
 
 Colne took the pad and wrote: 
 
 "Lost leg. Only out three days this time when it 
 happened. Been in hospital three months. Shall get 
 tin jaw when wound thoroughly healed. Is your 
 son at Crowington?" 
 
 Sir Alfred read the writing. 
 
 "Ed is at Wilmslow," he replied. "He is married." 
 
 "Miss Clungford?" Colne wrote. 
 
 "Yes. You know them then?" 
 
 "Yes. Want to meet them some 3ay. Shall be 
 staying near Minsterley. Wonder if they would see 
 me?" 
 
 "Certainly certainly a " wanting the name. 
 
 "Major Colne," he wrote. 
 
 The name conveyed nothing to Sir Alfred. 
 
 "Bore you writing?" he put down. 
 
 "No no, indeed." 
 
 "Thanks. Tell your son you saw me. Say I want 
 to speak funny! to him, please. Will be at Bridge- 
 ton House with the Padgetts." 
 
 "I shall let him know at once." 
 
 Stearns went on to the north, but Sir Alfred and 
 Colne had to change at Stafford. At Minsterley they 
 parted. The Padgetts were there to meet the major; 
 Sir Alfred went on to Crowington in the local. In
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 329 
 
 that short journey the train passed through a fertile 
 country of tens of thousands of acres. In the twi- 
 light lamps in the cottage and farm windows shone. 
 How many times had he counted the dwellings on 
 both sides of the railway line in all the thirty years 
 since he took Crowington? And how often had he 
 looked for a new building? Four in that distance 
 were all he could find. Four new dwellings. He 
 used to count the men and women in the fields , 
 just to pass the time while the train puffed along. 
 How many were gone? The empty beautiful coun- 
 try. And now there was one house less, and that a 
 big one, his own. 
 
 The car was at the station. 
 
 "To Wilmslow, Sir Alfred?" Barnes asked. 
 
 After a moment's reflection he replied, "Go down 
 to Crowington first. I want to have a look at the 
 place." 
 
 The lodge-keeper was startled when he heard the 
 familiar tooting for the gate to be opened. He ha- 
 stened out in his shirt-sleeves and tipped his bare- 
 head as the car passed up the drive. Sir Alfred got 
 Out and walked up and down the front surveying the 
 ruin. 
 
 "Should I turn the car and put the light on it?" 
 the chauffeur asked. 
 
 "No, no, Barnes, don't," he said sharply. 
 
 Great charred beams obstructed the entrance, and 
 in the fading light the interior seemed like a crazy 
 trellis formidable to any intruder. 
 
 "Awful, Barnes, awful," he said, turning to the car. 
 
 "Yes, Sir Alfred. Defective flue, they say." 
 
 How warm and cheery Wilmslow looked when Ed
 
 330 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 helped him off with his coat. There was a fragrance he 
 had never known at .Crowington. Evelyn's child was 
 jabbering boisterously in a distant part of the house, 
 and the Inverness terriers were gamboling and bark- 
 ing on the staircase. The dining-room door was 
 open; a log fire threw bright flashes across the 
 dimly lighted table spread for dinner. 
 
 "Ellen's here/' Ed said. "Came this morning from 
 Wales." 
 
 "How is she?" 
 
 "Getting fit She says mother is all right" 
 
 "That's a blessing. How are you doing here ?" 
 
 "Fairly well. Things are straightening out now." 
 
 They went to Ed's den. On the desk some books 
 lay open. Sir Alfred glanced at them and looked 
 amused. 
 
 "Bookkeeping, eh?" 
 
 "Yes very interesting work. I like it, but it's one- 
 sided just now. All pay." 
 
 Sir Alfred told how he kept a set of books from 
 his sixteenth year until the business became so big 
 he had to hand it over to the bookkeeper of the 
 firm. That was his private account 
 
 "You've mastered writing with your left hand?" 
 
 "Yes, but I'm a bit slow at it yet," Ed replied. 
 
 "By the bye, I came down with a Major Colne 
 knows you. He wants to see you and Clarice." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "He's staying with the Padgetts outside Minsterley. 
 He's in a terrible mess." 
 
 "Mess?" 
 
 "Lost a leg, and half his jaw gone." 
 
 "Poor fellow."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 331 
 
 "Can't speak. He has to write on a pad. His 
 tongue is injured. Sad sight." 
 
 Ed thought of the day Clarice drove him over to 
 Crowington. He kept his thought to himself. 
 
 "I'll take you over to see the ruin in the morning," 
 Ed said, by way of changing the subject. 
 
 "I've seen it. Called there as I came up." 
 
 "What will you do rebuild it?" 
 
 "Rebuild? Never! Oh, no. Clear it all away! 
 I'm not sorry it's gone, Ed." 
 
 "Didn't know you felt that way about it" 
 
 "Well, I do. I made up my mind when your 
 mother left it I would never stay there again," Sir 
 Alfred replied. 
 
 "And the land?" 
 
 "I don't know. Land is certainly the only safe 
 thing to hold now. It's no use spending any money 
 on it. The taxes will be fearfully heavy on all im- 
 provements after this. We must stick to something. 
 Funny, isn't it? There'll be little incentive to im- 
 prove anything when the war's over. You see what 
 the local taxes will cost you when you've done build- 
 ing here. Let the land lie as it is it will be cheaper 
 in the end." 
 
 "That is because you don't need the income from 
 it," Ed said. "It's a rotten system, dad, to permit 
 wealthy men like you to hold thousands and thousands 
 of acres just for a hobby. And at a time like this 
 well, I think the Government's mad to let you do it. 
 They thump the taxes down on your income know- 
 ing you'll sooner or later shift them in the rise of 
 prices. What do you care for a fifty per cent, tax on
 
 332 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 your income ? How many times bigger is your income 
 than it was two years ago?" 
 
 "I shall be one of the richest men in England after 
 this," Sir Alfred said in a low tone. "I'll retire the 
 (day it's over." 
 
 Ed sighed wearily and led the way to the dining- 
 room. Clarice greeted him warmly, but Ellen and 
 Evelyn merely said: "Well, dad?" They addressed 
 no remarks to him during the meal; Clarice and Ed 
 engaged him in conversation. Later in the evening 
 when he and Ed were alone, he said: "They mean 
 to keep it up?" 
 
 "Keep what up, dad?" 
 
 "Their bad manners taking no notice of me," he 
 said in a surly tone. 
 
 "They won't take much notice of you," Ed sad 
 firmly and slowly. 
 
 "I am their father they might " 
 
 "Don't let's start that again. That you're their 
 father doesn't matter a brass farthing. You know 
 what they want you to do." 
 
 "You'll drive me away altogether." 
 
 "I shan't. I mean to stick to you until you see 
 daylight through this business. They say I'm wast- 
 ing time bothering with you. I don't somehow. 
 I have a feeling you will do the right thing yet." 
 
 "Give up the money?" his father exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "All earned in a legitimate business?" 
 
 "All earned out of the taxpayers." 
 
 "I'd like to see you folks take that attitude if you 
 weren't otherwise provided for," Sir Alfred mut- 
 tered in a low growl.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 333 
 
 "I know you've been thinking that," Ed said. 
 "You're quite wrong. We're sorry we have anything 
 to fall back on, for we might convince you if we 
 had nothing at all. Anyway, I shall never spend 
 more than I earn. It will be only a hard working 
 farmer's living at best. I don't want any more." 
 
 "D'you mean to say you won't touch any of the 
 money when I'm gone?" 
 
 "I mean I shall never at any time take a penny 
 from you, dad." 
 
 "Then it will go to Harold." 
 
 "And Fred" 
 
 "If he's alive." 
 
 "Then Harold will have it?" 
 
 "I'll pour it down a sewer first," Sir Alfred cried, 
 and brought his hand down on the table with a thump. 
 "Harold!" he exclaimed with a sneer. "A thousand 
 a year, that's all he'll get. And out of the parish of 
 Crowington he goes. A vicar! Harold, a vicar?" 
 
 "Why, what's he done, dad?" 
 
 "All that high church nonsense he practised. That 
 was what set your mother off. He was responsible 
 for starting her on the road to Rome." 
 
 "I don't know anything about that." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Well, don't get angry. Mother's very happy and 
 busy now. She's doing a lot of good, Ellen says." 
 
 "Thank heaven one of us is happy." 
 
 It was late when Sir Alfred woke. The lovely 
 balmy morning lay like an iridescent filmy veil over 
 the tranquil meads. A spring day out of place. He 
 raised his bedroom window and looked across the 
 heath to the woods on Clungford Hill. The sun was
 
 334 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 warm. As he stood at the window he caught the 
 sound of Ellen's voice. She was playing with her 
 baby. He listened, trying to catch what she was 
 saying. A surge of love for her rose in his heart, 
 and he for a moment could scarcely resist the tempta- 
 tion to find her. He was sure she was at the window 
 of the next room. Then the words came distinctly 
 to him: 
 
 "Baby, boy. Remember what mother says, you 
 must never take any of granddad's money."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 GOLNE wrote to Ed asking him to call and see 
 him at the Padgetts'. He was not to make a 
 special journey into Minsterley, but to run over to 
 Bridgeton House if he were in the town on some 
 .Other errand. Clarice was embarrassed when she 
 read the letter. She turned it over and over again 
 while her mind flooded with the memories of Colne's 
 visit to Clungford. Her eyes were anxious when 
 she looked at her husband. 
 
 "Will you, Ed?" she asked. 
 
 He thought her voice trembled a little. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "It makes me feel miserable to think to think of 
 him of that time," she faltered. 
 
 "You needn't. The poor chap's badly knocked 
 about, Clarice. Dad told me he traveled from 
 Euston with him." 
 
 "Well, if you wish." 
 
 "I must go into Minsterley in a day or two. Sup- 
 pose we go in together?" 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "You don't mind, old girl?" 
 
 "If you don't no." 
 
 The quiet confidence of her husband gave her 
 Courage. He was so sure of himself; sure of doing 
 the right thing, of rejecting all ill-feeling. Colne 
 wanted to see him. That was enough. 
 
 The room into which they were shown at Bridge- 
 
 335
 
 336 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 ton House was large and dark in oak and dull red 
 hangings. The five windows looking toward Wales 
 had their blinds half drawn. It was a gray day of 
 heavy rolling banks of pearl and slate cloud coloring. 
 A nurse wheeled Colne into the room in an invalid's 
 chair. The low lights fell on him as he moved near 
 Clarice, his long hand outstretched to greet her. She 
 was hurt painfully shocked to see him. The black 
 Covering to the bandage gave him a gruesome look. 
 It passed over one eye, down the side of his nose and 
 Qver half his mouth. The visible half of his thin 
 face was sallow; the skin was drawn tight over his 
 high cheek-bone. His monocle glinted strangely, and 
 in the dull Tialf light, obscured his eye. The right 
 half of his mouth curled into something like a smile, 
 and little restless wrinkles spread up his nostrils to 
 his brow. 
 
 There was an awkward pause after he shook hands 
 with his visitors. The nurse placed the chair at the 
 table and laid a pad and pencil before Colne. 
 
 "Only fifteen minutes, please," the nurse said, as 
 she withdrew from the room. 
 
 Colne wrote : "It's good of you to come. Thanks." 
 He passed the pad to them. It was most uncom- 
 fortable watching the eye behind the monocle search- 
 ing for understanding and sympathy in their faces. 
 Clarice was deeply agitated and blurted out: 
 "And Billy. Have you seen Billy lately?" 
 Colne started, dropped the monocle it jingled on 
 his coat buttons then he opened his mouth slowly. 
 His eye traveled sharply from Clarice to Ed. There 
 was a strange light in it as he replaced the monocle
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 337 
 
 and took up the pencil. They sat in perplexing silence 
 while he wrote: 
 
 "Wanted to see you about Jawton. Have heard 
 the true story of what happened that day. First 
 order was countermanded and the second order was 
 not given to the reserve. Mist upset the original 
 plan. Jawton did not know the first order was off, 
 So he could not have known anything about the 
 second. It has beeri discovered he was at breakfast 
 and was not informed. Whole story came out just 
 after Jawton died." 
 
 He gave them the pad, and while they read he 
 twisted the pencil nervously in and out of his fingers. 
 
 "Poor Jawton," Ed sighed. 
 
 Then Colne wrote: 
 
 "That is the kind of tiling that is doing for us. No 
 One to blame. The fellows are getting a bit sick of 
 all the blundering. Everybody is now dreadfully 
 Sorry about you." 
 
 Ed read it and said: "I don't think any more 
 about it." 
 
 "I admire you," Colne wrote. "You have acted 
 splendidly all through it. When I got out shortly 
 after I saw you I was sent up at once and smashed 
 the third day. Never thought I would pull through 
 it. Wouldn't mind if I had my leg. But very awk- 
 ward losing my speech. I want to tell you how 
 badly I feel about you. No more gossip for me. 
 Glad you are married. That makes it easier." 
 
 He passed the pad to them and watched their 
 faces while they read his words. 
 
 "Don't think any more about it," Ed said. "The
 
 338 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 nurse who attended Jawton before he died wrote and 
 told me all about it" 
 
 "Jawton told her the story?" Colne wrote. 
 
 "Yes. And she sent it to me," Ed replied. 
 
 "Good! I knew old 'Brimstone' would turn up 
 trumps after all. He wasn't a bad sort when you 
 really knew him well. Glad to know he did the right 
 thing." 
 
 The nurse came into the room and gave them the 
 signal the interview was at an end. Colne pressed 
 Clarice's hand in his own bony, yellow-looking claws. 
 
 "Let me know if I can do anything anything," Ed 
 said, giving his left hand. 
 
 They were going to the front door when the nurse 
 Came to Ed and drew him back into the room. Colne 
 was writing. Ed stood by waiting for him to look 
 Up. The nurse held the door. When Colne passed 
 the pad to Ed, he had written: 
 
 "Thought you knew. Billy dead. Killed just be- 
 fore I left France. Didn't want to tell you while 
 your wife was here." 
 
 Within a few days Ed heard from the War Office 
 that Lord Clungford was dead. His relatives had 
 been notified at the address left by the deceased, one 
 where Billy stayed when he was in London four 
 years ago. Lady Clungford and Clarice took the 
 news bravely. 
 
 "Better dead, mother, than to live like Major 
 Colne," Clarice said. 
 
 "What will be done with all the terrible cripples?" 
 her mother asked. " 'Pon my word if I don't think 
 the slain have the best of the future after all."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 339 
 
 "Something will have to be done to occupy their 
 minds," Ed said. "I can't shake off the awful feel- 
 ing I had when I saw Colne that he will spend the 
 rest of his days in a bath chair. Then there's Pome- 
 roy Fanton. I had a letter from his mother a week 
 or so ago, and she says he will never be able to sit 
 up. There was some chance for most men given 
 decent medical and surgical facilities in the old 
 wars, but now with big guns and high explosives if 
 you're hit you might be blown to little pieces. There's 
 not much soldiering in this warfare. The tools have 
 outgrown the men. The laboratory has superseded 
 strategy, and the aeroplane and the telephone have 
 conquered old tactics and methods of assault. Ma-* 
 chinery defies Mars. I can't see what there is in it to 
 interest the real soldier. I was reading the other day 
 of Spion Cop and Colenso, and really it was hard to 
 believe those battles were fought about only fifteen 
 years ago. The astounding advance in chemical and 
 mechanical science may mean that no nation will 
 dare think of going to war in a few years to come. 
 One chap already predicts an invention so terrible 
 that war will be impossible." 
 
 "I hope he will not sell the patent to dad," Evelyn 
 said, "for he'd be pretty sure to buy it." 
 
 "That seems to be the only hope for humanity 
 that some inventor will come along with a weapon 
 so terrible nations will have to disarm altogether," 
 Ellen remarked. "Otherwise we shall have to go on 
 inflicting woe and suffering until we breed a ne\v 
 race of men. I wonder though if women can't do 
 something to put an end to all this slaughter. While 
 I was in Wales I went with mother to see the hos-
 
 340 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 pitals where she -is helping. Bed after bed, ward 
 after ward, young men, so terribly wounded few will 
 ever do a day's productive labor. Then the place 
 where the demented are housed! It made me think 
 everything is against the chance of radical change 
 In the male mind as things are. Society has a vocab- 
 ularly set against it. The words patriotism, national- 
 ism, pro-this and anti-that, traitor, coward, shirker, 
 loafer and so on, are so' many effective missiles 
 which make the present generation of males cringe. 
 Now, if women could be taught by women to loathe 
 and abominate all war it might be possible to make 
 mothers teach their boys from the first that the 
 command 'Thou shalt not kill/ must be obeyed. I 
 think it rests with women in breeding a new race of 
 men to teach that new race a culture which the men 
 of this generation have neither the courage nor the 
 .wit to do." 
 
 "Ellen, my dear, you're an idealist," Lady Gung- 
 ford said. "Before you get women to do what you 
 want, you'll have to get them out of the habit of being 
 sheep. Conjugal slaves are not fit for your job. Do 
 you expect a lot of creatures who can only cackle 
 about 'what my husband says/ 'what my husband 
 thinks/ and 'what my husband does/ to raise your 
 new race? Lord! I don't. Just think of the excep- 
 tions! Mighty few, eh? In a hunting county, of 
 course, I must say, it's different, for a woman has 
 to ride her own country and jump hfcr own fences. 
 She's a bit different. Mind, Ellen, I think you're on 
 the right tack, but you must work a big change in 
 your women first. What do you think, Ed?" 
 
 "We've all got to be changed," he said. "All of
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 341 
 
 us. The whole system of things is wrong. Educa- 
 tion is rotten. We're not taught to think properly. I 
 know I wasn't. It seems to me men must be taught 
 to think of production, of conquering nature, of mak- 
 ing life for the millions easier. The more I think of 
 the activities and wonders of peaceful pursuit, the 
 more paltry the conquest and glory of warfare be- 
 come. Train all men's minds away from war, greed, 
 .envy and hatred. Give folks equal opportunities, a 
 fair start, and don't let one section of society batten 
 on another. Let there be no State plunder, fio plun- 
 dering taxes and duties and there'll be no parasites. 
 For parasites make wars. Men in the million want 
 to be let alone. Mutual cooperation will do a lot to 
 improve us if we can only get the basis of existence 
 for all fixed justly. What we want now is some one 
 to think of what our future is to be ! Nobody seems 
 to think of reconstruction in the old land. Will the 
 future be merely a resumption of the past?" 
 
 "God forbid," Ellen interjected. 
 
 "You'll never see the past again," Lady Clungford 
 exclaimed. "That's gone, Ed. The old past of mere 
 pleasure for the few, and terrible toil for the mass is 
 as dead as Queen Anne. The future will be for the 
 workers and soldiers. I feel it in my bones. They've 
 earned it, too, I've come to learn that much. But 
 what on earth they will make of it I don't know." 
 
 Another week-end and Sir Alfred came again to 
 Wilmslow; three visits in succession now. He had 
 looked eagerly for Friday when he could escape from 
 the dreary club and journey down to the country. 
 The work in London had become so monotonous that
 
 342 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 whole days passed away without an incident of inter- 
 est. His business seemed to proceed without his aid. 
 And he did hot now mind the attitude of his daugh- 
 ters and the long arguments with Ed after dinner. 
 Like political discussions with his Tory friends in 
 the days gone by he took his son's arguments as a 
 matter of course and forget them in his sleep. Noth- 
 ing could change him for long, nothing impressed^ 
 him deeply. He was impervious to serious change. 
 His habit of thought was engrooved, and his ideas 
 had rolled backward and forward along the same 
 patch so long they had driven into a deep rut, there to 
 stay. It had hurt him to overhear Ellen tell her 
 child, not to take his money, but he forgot it before 
 he rose from breakfast. Nothing seemed to stick 
 but munitions. He had even forgot his wife was 
 a Roman, though she wrote regularly every week 
 and told him what she was doing and what she was 
 spending. Politically he was made much of by the 
 Tories and conscriptionists, and he leaned now more 
 and more toward that half of the Coalition Govern- 
 ment. 
 
 He and Ed dined alone. The others had gone 
 over to spend the evening with Lady Qungford. No 
 discourtesy was meant for they had not expected 
 him. 
 
 "Been down to see mother?" Ed asked. 
 
 "No, too busy, and she seems to get along all right." 
 
 "How are things going in town?" 
 
 "Fairly well. But it's winter and nothing much 
 is looked for on the front." 
 
 "What about this peace talk" 
 
 "All bosh! Peace! Absurd!"
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 343 
 
 Ed got very little out of him at dinner, and when 
 they went to the smoke room he dozed off in a big 
 chair. He was asleep when Ed left to bring the 
 ladies home. When they returned he had gone to bed. 
 
 "Make any impression on dad to-night?" Evelyn 
 asked. 
 
 "No, he went to sleep after 'dinner. Seemed tired." 
 
 "Dear old Ed, you've undertaken a big task," Ellen 
 observed, shaking her head gravely. "I think dad 
 can go to sleep with his eyes open when we talk to 
 him. He keeps his eyes open to make you think he's 
 listening, but his mind is shut tight all the time. He'll 
 never change. When he was here last Sunday I went 
 down to your den to get a book. He was in a big 
 chair before the fire fast asleep his eyes shut. He 
 Startled me I didn't know he was in the room. There 
 he sat, hunched up, breathing heavily, his face all of 
 a frown sinister, ruthless, cruel. He looked as if he 
 suffered from a bad dream. I was fearfully fasci- 
 nated by him as he sat there breathing heavily. Sud- 
 denly it flashed into my mind that he was Mammon, 
 the Phoenician god of ill-gotten gains. No sooner the 
 thought came into my mind than he woke with a 
 hoarse growl." 
 
 They were silent for a while. 
 
 "Come off to bed, all of you/' Ed said. "Fine 
 day to-morrow and plenty of work to do." 
 
 When Ed was alone with his wife he took her in 
 his arms and asked: 
 
 "Do you mind dad coming here, old girl ?" 
 
 "Not a bit." She kissed his head. 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "Really, old boy, you stick to him."
 
 344 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "You haven't given him up?" 
 
 "No, if you haven't." 
 
 "I wonder if he is impossible after all." 
 
 Ed knew he had failed to make the slightest im- 
 pression, and now he wondered if coming to Wilms- 
 low would become a habit with his father and nothing 
 good could result from it. He lay awake for an hour 
 thinking of his father's life. He traced it all since 
 he was a lad at Hampstead, the earliest he could 
 remember, to the days before the war when the 
 institute at Crowington village was opened. There 
 was scarcely an event of any consequence worth 
 remembering. It was just mere business, sheer sec- 
 tarianism and steady prosperity. 
 
 Sir Alfred did not rise early enough" to breakfast 
 with the household at Wilmslow. And the fine day 
 Ed predicted came mounting over Clungford Hill as 
 the postman rattled up the gate of the Lodge. The 
 room was full of the glow of the fresh sun when the 
 maid brought the letters in. They were distributed 
 round the table to Ellen, Evelyn and Clarice. Among 
 the lot for Ed was a package from the front ; it was 
 addressed to him at Crowington Manor. He cut the 
 strings and opened it. A letter lay on a piece of 
 cloth. In a moment Ed felt it was something too 
 gruesome for the others to see. He tried to hide it, 
 but Clarice was up in a moment. 
 
 "What is it, Ed?" she asked. 
 
 "Never mind, old girl." 
 
 "About Billy." 
 
 He had not thought of him. 
 
 "Let me see, please." 
 
 "Well, there's a letter. Let me read it first."
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 345 
 
 "Aloud, Ed," Evelyn exclaimed. 
 
 He took it up and smoothed it out. A glance told 
 him it was not about Billy. 
 
 "It's about Robert," he said. 
 
 "Read it, do," Ellen pleaded. 
 
 Ed ran his eyes over it and then read to them the 
 following : 
 
 "Dear Birkett, 
 
 "I have not seen you since school. Perhaps you 
 have forgot me. I was only a few yards away 
 from Robert when he was blown to nothing. A 
 shell burst at his feet. I was wounded not seri- 
 ously by some of the splinters. The cuff I enclose 
 lay beside me when I got on my feet. It is the only 
 piece of his uniform I could find. I have kept it for 
 some time thinking you would like to have it. For- 
 give me if I have done wrong. Robert was a good 
 friend to me and I mourn his loss more than I care 
 to say. 
 
 "My deep condolences and sincere regards. 
 "Yours very truly, 
 
 "Charles Deys Halpin, 
 "Captain Lancers." 
 
 "Horrible!" Evelyn gasped, as she glanced at the 
 ragged piece of sleeve lying on the white table-cloth. 
 "It reminds me of oh, Ed!" 
 
 She sank down and wept bitterly. 
 
 "Who is Halpin?" Clarice asked, vexed at the 
 effect of the letter on Evelyn. 
 
 "A man I knew at school." 
 
 "Rather thoughtless, wasn't it, to send that!" 
 
 "Yes in a way," Ed said. "I suppose he didn't 
 think." He turned to Evelyn and tried to comfort 
 her. "I'm so sorry, Cricket, don't cry."
 
 346 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "Poor Bob," she sobbed. "Just like Herbert." 
 
 "It's awful, Ed," Ellen said, in a tone of exaspera- 
 tion. "It makes me positively wicked when I think 
 of dad. You must show him that letter and the cuff. 
 Perhaps it will bring his 'business' home to him. You 
 must show him what it means, and do tell him to 
 have the decency to keep away from us." 
 
 "I don't want to see him again," Evelyn cried. 
 
 Clarice was heartily sorry for her husband. He 
 stood at the window looking disconsolate and gloomy. 
 
 "Ed, what can you do?" she inquired, putting her 
 arm through his. 
 
 I don't know, old girl. It is difficult. I can't 
 understand dad at all. Sometimes I think he doesn't 
 care a fig for our feelings." 
 
 "I'm sure he doesn't," Ellen said. "Dad thinks we 
 should have no feelings. According to his standard 
 we are disloyal in not liking his business. He looks 
 upon me as a traitor to home and sire. We are his 
 children and we must harbor no views which run 
 counter to his affairs. Our objections, our scruples, 
 Our conception of life, are not worth the considera- 
 tion he gives to a request from one of his constitu- 
 ents. But I shall not submit to taking his notions of 
 things because he happens to be my father. Anyway, 
 the tyranny of parents must end. Parents who will 
 live in the hoary discredited past must stand aside." 
 
 It was late when Sir Alfred came down to break- 
 fast. Ed was out attending to some draining near 
 the river; his sisters were in the nursery with the 
 babies, and Clarice was with her dairyman. The 
 idming-room was quiet and pleasant, the sunny room 
 soothed Sir Alfred. The London papers had come
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 347 
 
 and lay on the table. When the maid brought his 
 breakfast he was deep in an article on the financial 
 situation. The writer of it suggested a forced loan. 
 Between the kipper and the ham he tried to work out 
 the total of the first peace budget if the war should 
 end before the summer. He put down columns of 
 figures without satisfactory result and then drew 
 wriggly lines through the columns to obliterate them. 
 His mood became fitful, and the quiet fretted him. 
 He lit a cigar and tried walking around the table, 
 wondering what was going on in town, how the Muni- 
 tions Act was working, whether the Government 
 would amend it. He went out into the hall and 
 looked into the other rooms. The place seemed de- 
 serted. Where in the world were Ellen and Evelyn? 
 He felt like shouting out for some one to come and 
 talk to him. 
 
 When Ed returned he found his father in the study 
 looking through the picture papers. 
 
 "That you, Ed?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes. Seen the girls?" 
 
 "No no one. It's very quiet here. What you been 
 doing?" 
 
 "Draining the marsh down by the river." 
 
 "You're always at it now," his father observed, 
 Casting a glance at Ed's big boots. "Feet wet?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Ed charged his pipe and took a chair. He looked 
 at his father and wondered how he should begin. 
 
 "Very comfortable this place, Ed." 
 
 "Yes, it's all right," he muttered. 
 
 "Any news ?" 
 
 Ed rose and gave him a sharp glance. He went
 
 348 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 over to his desk and took Halpin's letter and the cuff 
 from it. 
 
 "Read that," he said, as he placed the parcel on his 
 father's knees. 
 
 Ed pulled hard at his pipe while his father un- 
 hooked his glasses and adjusted them. He turned the 
 letter over, then looked at the cuff. 
 
 "What's this?" 
 
 "Read the letter." 
 
 When he had finished reading it, he glanced at the 
 guff again and handed the parcel back to Ed. 
 
 "Awful, isn't it?" he muttered. Then with a sigh, 
 "Poor Bob!" 
 
 Some weeks were gone since he first heard of 
 Robert's death. The news was stale. 
 
 "You read that didn't you? Where Halpin says 
 it was the only piece of Bob's uniform he could 
 find?" 
 
 "Yes, I read it" 
 
 "That parcel came this morning when we were 
 at breakfast," Ed explained. "I opened it never 
 dreaming what was in it Well the girls saw it." 
 
 "Did they?" 
 
 "Yes. It upset them Evelyn especially. I sup- 
 pose it made her think of Herbert " 
 
 "Herbert? Oh yes, Herbert." 
 
 Ed felt sure his father's mind was far away. 
 
 "Dad, does it make you think? this piece of stuff," 
 and Ed placed the cuff in his father's hand. 
 
 "Think?" 
 
 "Yes, it's a cuff from Bob's uniform," Ed said, 
 leaning nearer his father and looking at him sharply 
 to fix his attention. "He was blown to pieces." Then
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 349 
 
 he added in a firm solemn tone: "Do you under- 
 stand? Blown to pieces, dad by a shell!" 
 
 His father straightened up slowly and looked nerv- 
 ously at Ed. There was something in his son's tone 
 he had not heard before. 
 
 "I hope hope you don't think I'm I'm indiffer- 
 ent to Robert's death," he stammered. 
 
 "No no," Ed cried, and stamped his foot. "But 
 are you indifferent to the way he met his death? 
 Don't you feel it's horrible to make things which blow, 
 men your own son to pieces?" 
 
 "But, Ed surely you don't think I made the 
 Shell that" 
 
 His son swept his hand swiftly in a gesture of 
 disgust. 
 
 "Oh!" he gasped. 
 
 "I felt his death at the time as much as any of you 
 'did." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I believe you, dad. But that is not the 
 point. You felt his death, but you go on making 
 shells and coining money at it. It is detestable 
 loathsome ! Now, if you can't give up your trade you 
 must give up coming here reminding us by your 
 presence of all the things which have caused us so 
 much suffering. The girls won't put up with you any 
 longer. I'm very sorry really. If it weren't for 
 them I might stand it." 
 
 His father shrank into the chair, and his head 
 dropped slowly down on his chest. Ed knew he 
 suffered much more than his father did. 
 
 "You mean the girls don't want to see me?" he 
 mumbled. 
 
 "I do. You ought to think of their feelings and
 
 350 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 keep away. You know Clarice lost her brother a 
 little while ago. Then Evelyn well, her loss has 
 never been appreciated by you never. Herbert might 
 have been a criminal for all you cared. Ellen ! Well, 
 as for Ellen, you seem to think she is a sentimental 
 fool married to a crank. Now, your attitude is not 
 fair. It denies our right to think for ourselves. Any- 
 way, we're young think what you like of our ideas 
 and we have our lives to live. You're old, dad. 
 Very, very old as old as war and beyond change. 
 It is your war, your old man's war, that has made 
 Us what we are, and we mean to try other methods 
 methods you dare not attempt." 
 
 "You are quite right, Ed," his father murmured. 
 "Quite right. I don't blame you. Still it is a pity 
 you can't see we have to live in a very practical 
 world and that a man in my position " 
 
 "Yes, yes but don't let's go into that again." 
 
 Sir Alfred looked at his watch. 
 
 "There's a train at twelve forty-seven. I think I 
 ought to go up to town just to see what they're doing. 
 You might drive me over to Crowington if you have 
 time." 
 
 "All right."
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE motor struck the trap just behind the left 
 wheel and the chestnut swerved, then stumbled on 
 the cobble-stones in the gutter. It was done in a few 
 seconds. Ed tried to save his father and at the same 
 time hold the chestnut up when she swerved. For a 
 moment he felt keenly the loss of his right hand. 
 
 Sir Alfred shot out of the trap, clear of the wheel 
 and fell on his shoulder, so Babbicombe said. He 
 saw it all, for he was dressing his shop window when 
 he noticed Ed drive round the corner. 
 
 The yard of the Bear Inn was in an awkward place 
 for traffic. Four roads met at that point ; and though 
 danger signals and warnings enough were shown, the 
 gate of the inn yard was not easily seen. Harold 
 swore he tooted his horn before he started out of the 
 yard with the car. Whether he did so or not, there 
 was no excuse for leaving the yard at such a pace; 
 he was into the trap and smashed its wheel "in half 
 a jiffy," Babbicombe said. 
 
 They raised Sir Alfred and carried him into the 
 Bear. He was very badly shaken and scratched. 
 Doctor Raymond put him to bed. 
 
 "How is he, Ed?" Harold asked. 
 
 "A bit knocked, but no bones broken," his brother 
 replied. "Mighty narrow shave." 
 
 "Should I go up-stairs and see him?" 
 
 "I wouldn't. Leave him alone for a bit." 
 
 Sir Alfred saw Harold driving the car before it 
 
 351
 
 352 . A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 struck the trap. "Harold, you fool," he shouted, and 
 the next moment he shot out on to the street. Ed 
 tried to excuse his brother's fault, but his father, who 
 never lost consciousness, would not listen. 
 
 "Mad, Ed," he mumbled. "He's cracked.. Never 
 
 could steer a car. No business to to try. Oh, 
 my head! Where is Raymond? I know I'm done 
 for, you see." 
 
 They had given him brandy, and Ed had washed 
 his face and hands. He was in great pain. ' 
 
 "Don't let him up," he moaned. "Harold a 
 parson." 
 
 "Dad, would you like me to send for mother ?" 
 
 "Eh? Mother, Ed?" 
 
 "Yes, would you?" 
 
 "No, don't. Not yet. She's got her hands full. No 
 need to alarm her. Wait till Raymond comes." 
 
 The doctor said there was no cause for anxiety. 
 Sir Alfred was bruised and in pain, but rest and 
 quiet would set him right in a few days. 
 
 He lay at the Bear for three weeks, then the doc- 
 tor, who visited him every day, became so anxious 
 that he sent to London for Sir Mortimer Grantley. 
 The great specialist ordered Sir Alfred to be removed 
 to Wilmslow. 
 
 "He's despondent worrying about something," Sir 
 Mortimer said to Ed. "He is out of pain, and there's 
 not much physically the matter with him. Get him 
 out of this place and make him cheerful." 
 
 At Wilmslow he was brighter. The girls put all 
 their prejudices aside and tried to make him happy. 
 Lady Horton-Birkett was sent for when Doctor Ray- 
 mond decided to call Sir Mortimer from town. Ed
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 353 
 
 had been placed in a difficult position, not Knowing 
 what differences lay between his mother and father. 
 Ellen was all for letting her mother know at once, but 
 Ed decided to wait until his father asked to see her. 
 
 "I've wired for mother," Ellen said to Ed, the 
 evening after Raymond told them he would call the 
 specialist. 
 
 "I s'pose it's right, little 'un." 
 
 "Mother has to be considered, Roman or no 
 Roman." 
 
 "But you know what he is." 
 
 "Yes, I know, Ed. Blame me." 
 
 They were surprised to find their mother and 
 father friendlier than they had ever known them to be. 
 She tended him, slept near him, read to him, indeed, 
 she scarcely ever left him. Some miracle had taken 
 place. 
 
 The day Leverton came to Wilmslow, Ellen thought 
 her mother looked happier than ever before. There 
 was much curiosity in their minds. Why the great 
 solicitor should come down when their father was out 
 of danger and speedily getting better and brighter 
 they could not guess. Something about his will, Ed 
 thought. At lunch their mother dropped no hint. 
 Xeverton and Sir Alfred lunched up-stairs. 
 
 Toward evening when Leverton had gone^ Lady 
 Horton-Birkett called them together, and said: 
 
 "Dad has given it up." 
 
 "Given what up ?" Evelyn asked. 
 
 "The shell business." 
 
 "Good!" Ed cried. 
 
 "Yes, ray boy, he has told Leverton to get rid of 
 all his interests in munitions," she said. "He will
 
 354 ft! STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 pnly keep the old business, Meek Brothers at Wap- 
 ping." 
 
 "Mother, you are a wonder," Ellen exclaimed, and 
 threw her arms around her neck. 
 
 "But how did you manage it?" Evelyn asked. 
 
 "Well, I think he had made up his mind to do it 
 before I came back. He told me he had thought it 
 over while he was lying at the Bear. He deserves all 
 the credit really. I didn't have to coax him at all." 
 
 The interview Ed had with his father later that 
 evening was peculiar, inasmuch as Ed found no great 
 satisfaction in what his father had done, and Sir 
 Alfred seemed to be laboring under the delusion he 
 had carried out his son's wishes. 
 
 "I'm out of it, rid of the whole business," Sir 
 Alfred said, washing his hands with imaginary soap. 
 "What a relief!" 
 
 "You're going to sell?" 
 
 "Everything. Leverton says it can be fixed up 
 easily." 
 
 "And the money," Ed interjected. "What will you 
 do with the money?" 
 
 "Lots of things. Give it away mostly to my 
 denomination. Good mind to build a really fine non- 
 conformist chapel on the estate. Your mother and I 
 will probably take a small place in North Wales. 
 Confound these county folk here. It would serve 
 them right if I did put a dissenting chapel chapel ? a 
 cathedral right under their noses. By George, I'll 
 do it, Ed." 
 
 "So it will all go to chapels, eh?" 
 
 "Not all. A memorial hospital. I've been thinking 
 about that. You put it into my head. Something on
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 355 
 
 a big scale properly endowed. I've made a lot of 
 suggestions to Leverton oh, lots. After a bit I'll go 
 Up to town for a few days and begin something. 
 Anyway, whatever I do with the money, I've got rid 
 of the business. No more of that. And apart from 
 sentiment, Ed, I think the time's ripe to get out. 
 There'll be a crash one of these days. The conscrip- 
 tjonists are going a bit too far." 
 
 All were at the table the following Sunday but 
 Fred and Harold. The latter had left Crowington 
 for good. His father kept his word, and pensioned 
 Harold off with one thousand pounds a year. Their 
 last interview was a painful one; it was the only 
 circumstance which marred the effect of Sir Alfred's 
 withdrawal from business. Harold certainly was to 
 blame for the heat and temper at that meeting. His 
 father was inclined to be mild and generous, but the 
 vicar was extremely bitter and said many unkind 
 things. Their religious differences were wide and 
 deep, so much so, that Harold woke in his sire all 
 the burning zeal of his youth for disendowment and 
 disestablishment. 
 
 Ben was down for the week-end, glad to get 
 away from London for a few hours. The conver- 
 sation at dinner was brighter than they had known 
 it for a long time. They talked of the future, re- 
 construction, the Britain of the days to come. 
 
 "I have faith, Ben, in our people," Lady Horton- 
 Birkett said. "The spiritual gain will help enor- 
 mously. I see it everywhere. In the hospitals it is 
 the most noticeable thing in the wounded. They have 
 been changed."
 
 356 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "So I've heard," Ben observed. "Yet I see little 
 spiritual change in the vast majority of the people. 
 But there is a change I admit, too deep perhaps for 
 expression just now. I don't refer to people who 
 have always thought as we do." He looked at his 
 wife, and gave her a significant nod. "The change 
 in the majority of the people will be revealed when 
 the war comes to an end. There must be time for 
 reflection." 
 
 "Those who are shouting loudest just now to all 
 the dogs of war may be the first to cry, 'No more 
 war/ when the end comes," Ellen remarked. 
 
 "Oh, probably," Sir Alfred put in, with a pecu- 
 liar shrug, as if the concession were made reluc- 
 tantly. 
 
 "The return of the men from the front will act 
 like leaven on the mass," Ben explained. 
 
 "That's it," Ed agreed. "You're right, Ben." 
 
 "Then the women," Evelyn exclaimed. "I look to 
 the women to do a lot of good." 
 
 "Ben, are the women determined?" Ellen asked. 
 
 "Rather," he replied. "Don't worry about the 
 women. They will be there, you see!" 
 
 "Good. I am glad to hear that," Lady Horton- 
 Birkett muttered. 
 
 "But the soldiers most of them young will tell 
 the true story of war when they know they are not 
 merely home on furlough that they are home for 
 a season of peace. Then those who have not seen 
 war will learn something about it from those who 
 have really been in it." 
 
 "So you think the future is not so black as some, 
 of the papers paint it?" Sir Alfred inquired.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 357 
 
 "The near future is pretty black," Ben mused. 
 "The transition stage will be dark. But we shall 
 come out of it all right." 
 
 "It will take a long time to get back to the posi- 
 tion you were in in the spring of 1914," Ellen said. 
 "You must restore freedom of speech and free the 
 press. All the other old liberties of pre-war days 
 must be reestablished. The mass will demand free- 
 dom of trade, and trade unionists will want their 
 rules restored to them." 
 
 "Yet, though all these tilings be done," said Ben, "I 
 don't see how any spiritual change in the majority of 
 individuals is going to usher in the millennium. We're 
 party politicians ; our divisions are deep, fundamental. 
 The war has made them deeper any one with half an 
 eye can see that." 
 
 "Right, Ben, right," Sir Alfred nodded. "There 
 is no Liberal party now. Besides, you can't under 
 this electoral system get a Liberal majority in the 
 House unless the Whig, Liberal, Radical, Labor, 
 Fabian, Socialist and Nationalist parties pull pretty 
 well together." 
 
 "Most of them are now fighting among them- 
 selves," Ellen said. "When they're not fighting one 
 another. Then they have no policy." 
 
 "No, the Tories have the policy," Ben asserted. 
 "A very definite one. They know what they want 
 and they stand together to get it. Protection and 
 conscription. They're out for a full-blooded Prus- 
 sian system. Still the women may upset their little 
 game. Their demands may claim first attention after 
 the war. The sex problem is here now to stay. My 
 only fear is the women may be satisfied with little."
 
 358 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 "They won't be such precious fools," Evelyn ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 "Well, there's something else, too," Ed said. 
 "You've forgotten the sacrifice when you're thinking 
 of spiritual gain, don't forget the sacrifice that 
 can't be ignored by any political party. An enlist- 
 ment of six millions and a half. Six millions and a 
 half volunteers. Volunteers, mind you. That was 
 done before the Conscription Bill was passed. Think 
 of the millions of men gone to fight other people's 
 battles. There never was in the history of the world 
 a sacrifice so disinterested so magnificently rendered. 
 The British people humbugged, misled, hoodwinked 
 and maligned, have shown to the world that they, 
 with all their faults, all the quarreling among 
 themselves, have the biggest notion of what fighting 
 for liberty means. Their sacrifice has been made, 
 remember, without an enemy soldier setting foot on 
 their soil. Their sacrifice in blood, tradition and gold 
 must be recognized by their rulers they daren't 
 ignore it" 
 
 It was April when Sir Alfred went off to London 
 with his wife. They lived quietly in a hotel in West 
 Kensington. He went to the House for an hour or 
 two every afternoon. Another political crisis was rag- 
 ing. But the old interest in party struggles was gone. 
 Everything was changed: men, issues and parties. 
 The plans of getting rid of his money occupied his 
 attention, and he spent many hours with Leverton 
 each day. 
 
 "Evie, dear, it's like another honeymoon, isn't it?" 
 he said to his wife one night at dinner.
 
 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 359 
 
 "You're happy now, Alfred?" 
 
 "Very." 
 
 "Have you settled anything with Leverton yet?" 
 
 "Nothing really settled, my love. In a day or two 
 I'll get him to draw up another will, and then we'll 
 go down to Colwyn." 
 
 The next day he stayed with Leverton at his office 
 late. There had been a meeting of the heads of his 
 denomination to discuss ways and means of dispos- 
 ing of that part of his money which the organization 
 should enjoy. It was nearly ten when he reached 
 the street. He had telephoned to his wife saying he 
 would not be back for dinner. 
 
 He hailed a taxi, and stood on the curb humming 
 an old Methodist hymn tune. Some lines of John 
 Addington Symonds came into his mind. "These 
 things shall be," etc. He gave an address in Wapping 
 to the chauffeur, and was whirled away to the east. 
 How strange, he thought, he should wish to go down 
 and see the old place where he began his commercial 
 career. He had not been there for many years. 
 Meek Brothers, Chandlers? Since that firm was 
 founded what changes had taken place. From wood- 
 en ships to iron, from iron to steel, from steel to 
 steam, from steam to oil. Air-ships, wireless teleg- 
 raphy, submarines and machine guns! Then the 
 typewriter and the dictaphone! So some inventions 
 of the century came to his mind. 
 
 The old office where he worked as a youth still 
 Stood in the yard, but another building erected nearly 
 thirty years ago hid it from the road. How silent 
 the place was. There seemed to be no one about. The 
 night was so fine he could see the masts of ships
 
 360 A STRONG MAN'S HOUSE 
 
 some distance off. He thought he would knock for 
 the watchman and ask him to let him look over the 
 place. A queer feeling of affection for the old place 
 crept into his heart. He dismissed the taxi and rang 
 the bell. He waited for some time and rang again. 
 "He must be on his rounds," he muttered. 
 
 Waiting at the door of the new building he did not 
 notice bright flashes of light searching the heavens. 
 'He heard an explosion which made his flesh creep. 
 It seemed a long way off. He looked up, and 
 through the narrow slit of a street he saw the search- 
 lights sweeping backward and forward above the 
 roofs. He had never seen a Zeppelin. Instantly he 
 was all curious, and rushed into the middle of the 
 road to catch a glimpse of it. 
 
 The bomb that killed him dropped close at his 
 feet. It made a huge hole in the street, and tore up 
 the granite sets and paving stones as if they were 
 pebbles. Sir Alfred was wiped out, and the wreck- 
 age of his building and the high wall on the other 
 side of the street was strewn all about over a space 
 of fifty yards or more. 
 
 Of him there was no remnant left. 
 
 THE END
 
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