Erb admitted, at an elocution lesson in Camberwell, that the settlement of the Willow Walk affair had given him a good jerk forward. There was always now a quarter of an hour between the close of his time and the appearance of the next pupil—a quarter of an hour generally occupied by a soliloquy from Erb, prefaced by the cue from Rosalind. “Well now, tell me what you’ve been doing this week.” She had some of the important security that comes to an engaged young woman, and Erb, who looked forward to this weekly exchange of confidences, forced himself to ask politely after Mr. Lawrence Railton, of the “Sin’s Reward” Company, and when Rosalind answered (as she usually did) with a sigh that Mr. Railton had not written for some time, Erb made excuses for him on various grounds, such as that he was probably over-occupied with the work of his profession, that a man in Mr. Railton’s place had to be here, there and everywhere, that it being sometimes the gentleman’s affectionate habit to scribble a hurried postcard to his fiancÉe on the Sunday journeys, likely enough there would be a letter next Monday. On this Rosalind would brighten very much, and sing cheerful words of praise of Mr. Railton, who occupied, it seemed, a unique and delicate position, in that he was much too good for the provinces and not quite good enough for town; nevertheless, “Sin’s Reward” had booked a week for the Surrey, and the young woman’s bright eyes danced at the thought of seeing him again. Mr. Railton’s real name was Botts, which was held to be unattractive as a name on the bills; his father was a silver chaser in Clerkenwell, and it was generally understood that Mr. Railton had had to cut off his parents with a shilling on the grounds that they insisted on calling him Sammy.

Walking home after this fifteen minutes of happiness, Erb found himself continuing the talk, and affecting that Rosalind was tripping along at his side: it was in these silent talks that he dared to call her “dear,” thereupon colouring so much that passers-by glanced at him curiously; plain-faced ladies went on gay with the thought that their features had the power to confuse a stranger. When, in these circumstances, he encountered men of the society they were sometimes greatly diverted, and cried, “’Ullo, Erb. Going over a speech, eh, Erb?”

No doubt at this period of Erb’s popularity. His unselfish reticence in the Willow Walk affair, the commonsense he exhibited in one or two minor troubles, the increased polish of the spoken word: all these things increased the men’s respect. Also they knew that he worked for them day and night: he had not developed the swollen head of importance that in secretaries of other societies was nearly always a prominent feature. He organised a system of benefits on three scales, by which, if you paid in twopence a week, you received fifteen shillings a week in the case of unjust dismissal; twelve shillings a week for unjust suspension; and ten shillings a week for strike pay. He arranged with a pushful solicitor in Camberwell to give legal advice. He had written one or two articles concerning the society in weekly penny papers, and in these he had taken care not to obtrude his own name or his own work. Even Spanswick admitted now that Erb was turning out better than he had expected, but Spanswick’s views might have been brightened by the fact that Erb was organising a ticket benefit at the Surrey on Spanswick’s behalf: this not so much on account of any personal misfortune, but because Mrs. Spanswick, always a thoughtless, inconsiderate woman, had mistakenly chosen a time when Spanswick was temporarily suspended from duty for insobriety, to present him with twin babies. “Three,” grumbled Spanswick, “three, I could have understood. There’d been a bit of money about three. But two—” Spanswick’s friends had promised to rally round him, a feat they performed in theory only, and Erb had to go elsewhere to find buyers of the tickets. Lady Frances had taken a box—a fact which modified and chastened Spanswick’s very extreme views in regard to what he usually called the slave-owning upper classes. Lady Frances had done a kinder thing than this. On one of her visits to Bermondsey she had met Louisa, white-faced and twitching as a result of her work, had gone to Louisa’s employer, and had made him shake in his very shoes by denouncing him and all his works, had demanded for Louisa a fortnight’s holiday, which the employer, anxious enough to conciliate this emphatic young titled person, and fearful of being sent to the Tower, at once conceded; sent Louisa, with sister Alice for company, away to the country house at Penshurst where the better side of Alice’s nature detached itself, and she became an attentive nurse. Erb’s Aunt Emma lived at Penshurst: the old lady went up high in the estimation of the other villagers by reason of her nieces’ visit to the Court.

The month being July, work well in demand and overtime to be had without asking, Erb was able to obtain consent to almost any project that he liked to submit to his committee. The society was new enough to feel the enthusiasm of youth; the men were pleased with the sensation of power that it gave to them, and they assumed there were no limits to its possibilities. From which causes Erb had several irons heating in the fire, of which one was a new paper to be called “The Carman,” to be issued twice a month, and to cost one halfpenny per copy. The expense of production would be something more than this, but when Erb, who was to be managing editor, used that blessed word “propaganda,” there was nothing more to be said, and the last doubter gave in.It was at this time that Erb gave up whistling in the streets.

The white-haired labour member had taken him to the House on two occasions, and in the smoking room had introduced him to some wealthy members of the party; and, whilst the board at the side showed the names of unattractive speakers, the members chatted so agreeably that Erb forgot himself occasionally and addressed one who was in evening dress, and had so much money that he wore several coins on his watch chain, as “Sir;” lifting of eyebrows on the part of the labour member told him he had blundered. Members asked questions of Erb, questions which betrayed the fact that their knowledge of the real feelings of the working men was superficial, and thenceforth Erb felt more at his ease. They gave their names as patrons of the Spanswick benefit, and the member who wore coins offered Erb a cigarette, and, seeing him through the outer lobby, begged him to drop a line should anything important occur; this in a way that suggested later to Erb, as he crossed Westminster, that the coin member wanted to find opportunity of becoming attached to some creditable grievance, not so much for the sake of the grievance as for the sake of himself.

“Now,” said Erb definitely to the fringe of lights near St. Thomas’s Hospital, “I’m not going to be made a cat’s paw, mind you.”

Interest came with the arrangements for Spanswick’s benefit. This necessitated calls at the theatre near the Obelisk in the evenings, and speech with excited men who went about behind the scenes with their hats at the backs of their heads: men who were for ever mislaying letters and documents, and complaining of everybody else’s carelessness, and eventually finding the letters or documents in their own hands; the while on the stage some lady in black, with her face whitened, was bewailing to a keenly interested house the perfidy of man, and assuring the gallery of her determination to track down one particular individual, though he should have made his way to the uttermost ends of the earth. The Spanswick night was to be a ticket benefit (which, being interpreted, meant that only the tickets sold outside the theatre would add to Spanswick’s income and assuage his present distress), and the night selected was a Friday in the week booked by the “Sin’s Reward” Company—Friday, because that was near to the men’s pay day, and would hook them at the fleeting moment when spare cash was on the very point of burning a hole in their pockets. Because Lawrence Railton was of the company, and because Erb was responsible for the success of the evening, Rosalind communicated to the scheme the keen interest that became her so well; her father, with ponderous generosity, had promised to ensure a triumphant evening by giving what he termed the considerable advantage of a somewhat long and not altogether undistinguished experience. Erb was anxious to see Lawrence Railton, desirous of seeing what manner of youth had succeeded where he had desired to do so. Matters being as they were, there was no alternative but to play the friend of the family, to meet Mr. Railton with the outstretched hand of amity, to congratulate him, and to save up presently for a wedding present which should represent nicely a genial interest in the welfare of the young couple. A plated cruet-stand he thought, as at present advised, but there were arguments in favour of an inkstand that looked like a lawn-tennis set—an inkstand had a suggestion of literary tastes that appealed to the prospective editor of “The Carman;” it suggested also a compliment to Rosalind that a cruet-stand with the best intentions could never convey. He did not quite know how he would endure it all. Perhaps it would best be remedied by increased application to the work of the society, and if ever the day should come when he found himself elected to a seat in that House at Westminster (the outside of which he went to see very often, just for self-encouragement), Rosalind would feel that she might have done better than marry Mr. Lawrence Railton.

“But I don’t quite see,” admitted Erb, as he wrestled with all this, “I don’t quite see what sort of help I shall get out of that.”