Lord Stranleigh, Philanthropist/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII.
the wheat pit.
"As I walk along the Bois de Boulogne
With an independent air,
You should see the people stare.
You should hear them all declare,
Di-dum-di-dum-di-diddeldy-dum-
Da-di-do-di-dum-dare
There's the man that broke the bank at Monte Carlo."
Stranleigh was sitting in his library meditating when the joyous strains that accompany the above effort grew louder and louder as they progressed through the house, until the door opened and Blake walked in, looking very spruce and well-groomed, with hat slightly tilted on one side, as becomes a man with a good opinion of himself.
"Oh, I beg pardon," he cried, taking off his head-gear. "I thought the house was empty."
"It is, Blake, it is; for empty-headedness on the part of inmates does not fill a house. Wherefore this ancient ditty from the lips of an up-to-date young man?"
"I've forgotten some words of the elegy, but the main theme applies to yours truly. I've done a great stroke of business. Pulled it off with eclat; with these claws, in fact"—he spread out his fingers all a-crook—"and I approach you with hands full of boodle, metaphorically speaking."
"Had a stroke of luck, eh?"
"Luck? Not on your life. Does a man equipped with my brain power require the blind assistance of luck? Not so; my fortune has come to me through deep calculation; through my accurate and extensive knowledge of human nature. It was a coup, carefully planned, and the proceeds are now in my bank, subject to my order. I address Lord Stranleigh on terms of equality, as rich man talking to rich man."
"Great heavens! This is astonishing. Elucidate!"
"Do you remember telling me that the then foreshadowed oil boom would speedily collapse?"
"Yes; that was six weeks ago."
"Precisely. The moment I realised that was your deliberate opinion, I gathered together everything I possessed, and plunged it into oil. If Lord Stranleigh, unprompted by anybody, came to a conclusion, I knew that conclusion must be wrong, so I went in for all I was worth on the other side. Hence my wealth now greatly exceeds yours."
"There seems to be a touch of brag about that statement."
Do not misapprehend me. I did not say I have more money than you have. I merely said I was better off. You see, there are so many things I don't want. I have no use for a steam yacht, for estates in most of the shires, for thoroughbred horses, and all such. My desires are moderate. Besides, I am blessed with common-sense, and know how to use my money; therefore, behold the man of real affluence."
"Well, Blake, I'm very glad to hear it. There is much in what you say about desire, but I hope you are not palming those sentiments off on me as something new: they belong, really, to old Epicurius. And now I suppose you have come formally to tender your resignation?"
No; I don't intend to dismiss you as master just yet. I rather like my job, and I certainly like you."
Stranleigh smiled.
"Mutual," he remarked.
"I feel in a position now, however, to say disagreeable things with more confidence than has hitherto been the case."
"I'm sure I never objected to them, and I hope you are not under the illusion that you have refrained from them during the past."
"Perhaps not, perhaps not. You see, I had a sort of free and independent training. I am first of all a journalist, and a secretary only in a secondary capacity. As a journalist I hate to see futility around me. I wish to talk with you like a rich uncle on the failure of your last two schemes."
"If you so dislike futility, may I point out that the proper time to have spoken was before my plans were put into practice?"
"Ah, yes; but before they were put into practice I was merely a poor, sweated minion of my lord. Now I address you as a man of substance."
"All right. Go ahead. I know from experience you can't be stopped, but before you begin, I should like to protest against your calling my last scheme a failure. I did what I set out to do. I captured the most obstreperous section of the Government, and straightway kidnapped the contingent. I gave them an object lesson that won't be forgotten."
"Don't flatter yourself, Lord Stranleigh. You gave them a delightful voyage in a luxurious yacht. You made no impression on the minds of any one of them, as Wynn told you."
"Oh, Wynn! He's not the only toad in the puddle, or perhaps, speaking of Walmer, I should say the only pebble on the beach. I certainly excited the interest of the Right Honourable Kirkstall Wilmot, who is younger than Wynn, and much more enterprising. He told me, before I put him ashore, that National Defence, in his mind, was the most important issue at stake, and it may surprise you to know I am waiting here for him at this moment. He wishes to discuss the matter with me unembarrassed by the presence of his colleagues."
"That's Wilmot all over! He's never happy unless he's undermining. Everyone knows what his ambition is."
"Ah, you're wavering from the subject, Blake. You asserted that I made no impression, and I'm proving to you that I did."
Only one thing on earth. Lord Stranleigh, will arouse the serious attention of a politician, and that is: what effect will this or the other action exert on the voter. This brings me to what I wished to tell you. You failed to call to your assistance the greatest power on earth."
"Money? Why, I spent money like water."
"Oh, money is a mere inert mass. Within itself it has no potency. It is a tool, useful only in the hands of a man with knowledge and brains."
"Thanks, Blake. Go on; what, then, is the greatest power on earth?"
"The power of the Press, my lord and master. You were astonished at the result of advertising for an idea; at the instant response; at the bagful after bagful of letters. Now suppose for a moment that you had realised the treasure you possess in me, a veteran journalist. Suppose, when you bought those coastguard stations, you had said to me—
"'How can we hitch our waggon to the Press?'
"I should instantly have tipped the wink to one or two of our most enterprising papers; not baldly, as if I wanted anything from them, but in a distressful, hesitating, puzzled sort of way. I should have begun something like this—
"'That's an amazing thing Lord Stranleigh has done. I wonder what will be the outcome?'
"Newspaper ears would at once be on the alert, and instead of having to force information into them, I should find myself embodying 'good copy,' the one thing on earth that an enterprising reporter is looking out for. I should hesitate, and appeals would be made to me.
"'What is Stranleigh trying to do?' the reporters would ask.
"Why, you see the result at once. An instant furore in the Press, for and against you. Questions asked in Parliament, receiving evasive replies from Ministers. Pictures in the papers of the purchased coastguard stations; pictures of old coastguardsmen; pictures of the foreigners installed by Stranleigh; portraits of Stranleigh himself (a) as the saviour of his country, (b) as a traitor who should be hanged. Wild excitement throughout the land when the villain Stranleigh spirits these foreigners away from their posts, and places them outside the range of English law. Why, it makes my blood boil with indignation when I think of such good material wasted. And then you'd have made the Government sit up, instead of which your project fizzled out like a damp squib."
"My dear Blake, you wax eloquent. I'd no idea so much enthusiasm was concealed behind such an unprepossessing exterior."
"I said you didn't appreciate me."
"Very well, Blake. Such neglect of soaring genius shall no longer be attributed to me. I confess I'm rather tired of saving my country. Nevertheless, if the Right Honourable Kirkstall Wilmot propounds some feasible plan that he himself lacks the money to carry out, I'll finance him. I shall propose to enlist the co-operation of the Press, and if he does not object, you are hereby appointed our Publicity Agent."
"Right you are! I'll make the sparks fly!"
There was a gentle tap at the door, after which Ponderby entered softly.
"The Right Honourable Kirkstall Wilmot, my lord."
"Very good. Bring him in, Ponderby. And now, Blake, this is a private conference. Cut away and enjoy your newly-won riches."
Stranleigh had dignified the meeting by applying to it the word "conference," but "monologue" would have been a better name. The Minister was not much older than Stranleigh himself, but centuries of experience seemed to add weight to his words. His face, without being strong, might be termed aggressive, and was in marked contrast to the placid countenance of the young nobleman, while his manner was almost domineering. If the world but paid attention to the wishes of the Right Honourable Kirkstall Wilmot, we should indeed be living in an earthly Paradise. Everything wrong between nations took its rise in neglect to consult Wilmot.
"Good morning, Stranleigh!" he cried. "It is very good of you to receive me in this friendly way. Very good; very good indeed."
Even Stranleigh's enemies, if he had any, would admit that he was not such a fool as he looked. The insincerity of the Minister's greeting did not escape him. The words the Right Honourable should have used were—
"You are highly honoured by my visit"; and Stranleigh, standing, replied to the unspoken sentence and not to the one uttered.
"The honour is mine, Mr. Wilmot. Won't you take a chair?"
Both sat down, but the member of the Cabinet apparently was not at ease unless on his feet. His tones and his gestures were those of a man addressing an audience, and the speaker with an oratorical voice required a platform to march on. It was one of the Right Honourable's habits to walk about with his hands underneath his constantly-agitated coat-tails, reminding modern auditors of Chantecleer thinking he was causing the sun to rise, which, after all, was a likeness not far out of the way. To older people he recalled John B. Gough, the temperance lecturer, who began a discourse with almost trembling diffidence, but who roused the coldest audience the moment his coat-tails commenced to wave. This similitude was defective in one particular. Kirkstall Wilmot never suffered from moments of diffidence, trembling or otherwise.
"I've learned from Wynn the particulars about your venture regarding the coastguard stations, and of course I was one of the seven whom you kidnapped, so needed no account of that at second-hand. Now, you'd have been saved all the trouble you've taken if you had studied the subject deeply enough to acquaint yourself with the fact that an invasion of England is impossible. Perhaps you are prepared to admit that your two attempts to influence the mind of the Government have been neither more nor less than ghastly failures."
"Oh, yes; some friends of mine have been kind enough to point that out."
"Very good. Would you, then, be content to hear where the real danger lies?"
"Most interested, I'm sure."
"Have you ever visited Malta, or Gibraltar?"
"Both places, several times."
"Were you shown the grain supply at either?"
"Can't remember that I was."
"No matter. Malta and Gibraltar possess store-houses, cellarage, in fact, containing grain to feed the population for years in case of a siege; yet here's our own home island unprovided with any Government storehouse of food. The fate of England, in case of a European war against her, will hang on the food supply; not on the question of invasion. England could be starved into surrender in a very few weeks. When you remember what a single steamer like the Alabama did, practically wiping off the ocean all the United States shipping, imagine what might be accomplished by the German mercantile marine, with its magnificent fleet of fast steamships, excelling in speed anything on the waters except less than half-a-dozen of our own. One well-placed shot would sink a grain ship, and these huge boats of the German-Lloyd and Hamburg-American lines could carry enough coal and provisions to keep them at sea for weeks, if not months, and after the first dozen or so food-ships were destroyed, no grain tramp would venture out from the American ports."
"But what would our fleet be doing all this time?"
"Our fleet couldn't catch them."
"Torpedo-boat destroyers could."
"But hang it all, man, our torpedo-boat destroyers can't live in mid-Atlantic, and if they could, have no coal storage sufficient for such a voyage. Mid-Atlantic, do I say? Why, these German boats could cruise just outside the three mile limit, fronting every principal port in North or South America from which wheat could be shipped, and nab the grain boats before they were five miles away from home."
"Not if the grain boats flew the American flag."
"Food is contraband of war, and the grain vessels would have to take their own risks. During the Civil War blockade-runners were destroyed by the United States, no matter what flag they flew."
"Granting all this is true"
"Granting? Why, of course it's true, every word of it. These islands could be starved into surrender within a month."
"I'm afraid you exaggerate, Mr. Wilmot. I myself have seen a man who fasted sixty days and was still in the ring."
The Right Honourable treated this interruption with the scorn that it deserved.
"You are making light of a serious question," he said, severely. "If the people of this country fasted for half the time, in what condition would they be to repel an invasion? But let us get back to common-sense. Here's the case in a nutshell. I want some rich man to do in private what the Government should do in public, only on a much smaller scale, of course. I want him to build a huge granary, say on the Yorkshire moors, where land is cheap, and fill this granary with American wheat."
"I'm quite willing, if you tell me what to do with the wheat, once I secure it."
"Sell it."
"Oh, I am to become a grain merchant, then? I doubt whether I am qualified to shine in that line."
"My dear Stranleigh, if you would allow me to develop the plan, before you pass judgment upon it, we should save much valuable time. You cannot take up a well-thought-out scheme, and criticise the first detail without knowing anything of what follows."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Wilmot. Your reproof is merited. I cease to interrupt, and will remain dumb until you have finished."
"Very good. My project settles the invasion question, settles the tariff question, settles the cheap and dear loaf question, settles the unemployment question, brings steady prosperity to our dominions over sea, while at the same time it places our industries at home upon a solid foundation."
"Great heavens!" murmured Stranleigh under his breath, but not loud enough for his confident visitor to overhear.
"I'm not a man who looks upon merely one item in a programme. No design stands by itself. It interlocks with others, and our narrow-minded politicians make the mistake of concentrating their attention on one link in the chain, whereas the statesman views the chain as a whole. Now, perhaps you do not know that a Canadian farmer is prosperous if he receives a dollar a bushel for his wheat. If you eliminate the middlemen, and deal direct with the farmer, you can give him his dollar a bushel, and sell wheat in England at a price that will produce the cheapest loaf we have consumed during the past century; thus, with one hand you bestow prosperity upon the Canadian farmer, while with the other you pass on a loaf to the British consumer at the lowest rate he has ever enjoyed. Our manufacturing industries are placed on the solid foundation of the best and cheapest food, while the agitation on the tariff is, in consequence, crushed.
"Now, as to the unemployed question. Modern science and the increased use of concrete bring building operations within the range of unskilled labour. The erection of these granaries would merely mean the mixing of mortar and shovelling it into moulds. You could lodge your men, drafted in from the overcrowded cities, in tents at first, and afterwards they might build their own huts. Fresh air and good plain food, with steady labour, and the discipline of an army, would make men of them; strong and capable citizens."
Stranleigh here made a note on a sheet of paper before him, but said nothing. The Minister went on with ever-increasing enthusiasm.
"When this organisation got into full swing you, at its head, would have given yourself a task fitted for a beneficent Napoleon, and I'm not sure but commercially it would pay, although that is not the object we have in view. In one way it would be similar to those great engineering projects successfully carried out in Western America, where water is stored, held back by gigantic dams, and distributed over the deserts in irrigation, turning those deserts into flowering and fruitful gardens, a line of activity with which our greatest men might be proud to be connected."
The Minister ceased his perambulations, and now faced his auditor, and
"Silence like a poultice came
To heal the blows of sound."
"Your policy does not lack comprehensiveness," said Stranleigh quietly. "As you say, any man might be proud to carry out such a useful work. I have made a few notes of points on which I should like further enlightenment. Your Canadian farmer is scattered over millions of square miles. You could, of course, by the expensive means of agents, or the cheaper form of correspondence, enter into agreements with him. He might enforce those agreements on you, but how could you, except at ruinous expense, make him keep his side of the bargain? If the market price of wheat in Canada was, say, seventy cents a bushel, he would gladly sell to you for a dollar, and you could get all the grain there was in the country. But suppose the price rose to a dollar-and-a-half a bushel, he would in most cases, bargain or no bargain, take the ready cash of the local dealer."
Wilmot waved aside the suggestion with a gesture of dismissal.
"Oh, that is a mere detail. The Canadian farmer rarely gets a dollar for his wheat. A corner now and then unduly forces up its price, but the advance is strictly temporary, and even at its height, the farmer seldom benefits. The jumping cost is always the work of the middleman, whom we would gradually eliminate. At first, of course, we should be troubled by him, but we should merely cease for the moment to purchase, and wait till the clouds rolled past. Or, we might at the beginning adopt the Biblical plan; buy in the years of cheapness, and refrain when the purchase involved too great a loss."
As he continued, Stranleigh grew more and more amazed. What a magnificent revivalist preacher this man would have made, had he not turned aside to politics! He quoted as if he knew the whole Book by heart, the words rolling sonorously from his tongue without ever a break or a mistake.
"'Now therefore let Pharaoh look out a man discreet and wise, and set him over the land of Egypt.
"'Let Pharaoh do this, and let him appoint officers over the land, and take up the fifth part of the land of Egypt in the seven plenteous years.
"'And let them gather all the food of those good years that come, and lay up corn under the hand of Pharaoh, and let them keep food in the cities.
"'And that food shall be for store to the land against the seven years of famine, which shall be in the land of Egypt; that the land perish not through the famine.
"'And the thing was good in the eyes of Pharaoh, and in the eyes of all his servants.
"'And Pharaoh said unto his servants, can we find such a one as this is, a man in whom the Spirit of God is?
"'And Pharaoh said unto Joseph, Forasmuch as God hath shewed thee all this, there is none so wise and discreet as thou art.'"
"Well," said Stranleigh with a smile, "I never flattered myself that I was qualified to enact the part of Joseph. However, we will let that pass, and tackle my next difficulty. I have recently had an opportunity of testing the working capacity of the unemployed."
"Yes," interrupted Wilmot, "Wynn told me about it."
"Then there is no need for me to recapitulate. I disbelieve in either the energy or industry of the unemployed."
"Ah, that is merely your own lack of faith."
"No, it is my own lesson of experience."
"All you required was military discipline."
"I daresay, but I have no authority to discipline an unwilling worker. Even in the Army, an officer is not allowed to strike a soldier."
"True, nevertheless, you could exercise discipline if only you went the right way about it."
"What is the right way, Mr. Wilmot?"
"Do you know what contracting out means?"
"I'm afraid I don't."
"Well, roughly speaking, it is this. Any rights a man possesses he may dispose of, this being a free country. You've no right to strike a man in the face with your fist, yet if a man permits you to do so, or sells you the right to do so, who is to prevent you? Prize-fighting is an illegal sport, but boxing with gloves is not, and a man may be very severely punished by the latter method. Having your consent I might knock you insensible with gloves on my fists. Without your consent the placing of my finger on your shoulder is illegal assault. A man by contract may give you the liberty of punishment."
"Do you mean to say that if a man was contracted out I might legally encompass his death?"
"Oh, nonsense, Stranleigh, you're going to extremes. Of course you couldn't. Where your unemployed experiment failed was in this: you were not paying your men wages. You could therefore exercise no control over them. In the case we are discussing I should expect you to pay high wages, and through the method of contracting out, to arm yourself with the power of discipline, which must, of course, take a reasonable form."
"As, for example?"
"Well, the pillory was made illegal by statute 7 Will. IV. and 1 Vict. c. 23 in 1837. Stocks have become obsolete, but I do not think they are illegal. They are still existent in many English villages, and I believe, without being sure, that a magistrate could sentence a prisoner to them. They would be more in our line, because they have always been associated with labour. It was the Statute of Labourers that brought them into being in the reign of Edward III., and labourers mostly occupied them, principally for breaches of the Sunday Observance Act, walking too far, going fishing, or things like that; also on tramps who never would labour. Even in the United States they were used, especially during slavery days. It seems to me rather a pity that stocks have gone out of use, for they cause no physical hurt, the damage to a prisoner arising merely from the jeers of his comrades. I'll look up the legal status of stocks."
"Well, see that you look them up carefully, for I have often had my feelings hurt with them on the Stock Exchange."
The Minister righteously did not smile. He was a most serious man for one so young, and gave no countenance to flippancy.
"Will you go in for my plan?" he demanded brusquely.
"Yes; under your direction, and in moderation. You cannot expect me to plunge as if I were the British Government."
"Certainly not; certainly not. I shall be glad to direct, only my name must not be connected with the affair; at least, not for the present."
Stranleigh smiled.
"That is a matter of course. I shall take the blame in case of failure; you will get the credit if the project is a success."
"Oh, I don't mean that at all, but no matter. When will you begin?"
"At once."
"Right. I do like promptness. Well, good-bye, Stranleigh. I'm very pleased to have met you."
"And I you," said his lordship, rising.
The Right Honourable Kirkstall Wilmot, as has been remarked, was a very busy man, and Stranleigh had no further communication with him. Politics means a continual fight and unrelenting vigilance on the part of those engaged in it, and Stranleigh saw by the papers that Wilmot was doing even more than his share. The seed the Minister had sown fell on good ground, for although his lordship was as indolent as the other was active, he occupied the delightful position of a wealthy man who had merely to give orders and see them efficiently carried out. Blake was the buffer between him and strenuous exertion, and the ex-journalist entered the fray with a vim, especially when he learned that he would have the privilege of dealing with workmen who, in case of any malingering, could be punished satisfactorily.
Not hearing from the Right Honourable regarding the legality of stocks, his lordship asked Blake to make investigation, and the solicitor whom Blake consulted said that if any man liked to pay the wages, he could place stocks all over his estate and hire men to sit in them.
So, presently, architects and builders were at work on the Yorkshire moors. The army tents stored away at Lannacombe coastguard station were set up near the site of the first granary, and two or three hundred out-of-work labourers were requisitioned from Manchester.
Curiously enough, the stocks were a great success. The first slounger called upon to undergo punishment made light of it.
"Why, blimey!" he cried, "I could do this on me 'ead" (which, by the way, he couldn't; a man has to sit down when his ankles are in the stocks). "This is a bit of all right. I can smoke my pipe, read my paper, and 'ave a nap of sleep."
Indeed, taking it all in all, the punishment seemed childish in its mildness, but there is one thing that it takes a philosopher to stand, and few labourers dabble much in philosophy. This one thing is ridicule. During the noon hour, the man in the stocks found another side to the question. He was unmercifully chaffed; often so brutally that had his limbs been clear he would have knocked down the joker. He writhed in his helplessness, and quite unable intellectually to cope with the united wits of the company, he fell back on lurid profanity, which merely made his tormentors laugh the louder and goad him the more.
From this first trial the stocks became a terror that a man would do anything, even hard work, to avoid. Stranleigh believed he had found the missing ingredient of the mixture that would solve the unemployed question. Building went on merrily, and as there were no taverns within twenty miles, the men soon began to present a gratifying improvement in physique, just as the Right Honourable predicted would be the case.
At the proper moment Blake turned on his newspaper contingent, and Stranleigh went back to town fully satisfied with the outlook of the great experiment he had begun. One morning at breakfast the young nobleman shook open a largely circulated London morning paper, and despite his usual nonchalance, his eyes opened widely as he saw his own name scattered over the broad sheet, and read the startling headings which introduced a long and bitter article.
"SLAVERY IN ENGLAND.
APPALLING DISCOVERY ON THE YORKSHIRE MOORS.
WELL-NIGH INCREDIBLE ACTION BY A NOTORIOUS
MEMBER OF THE NOBILITY.
EARL STRANLEIGH OF WYCHWOOD AND HIS FIVE
HUNDRED WHITE SLAVES.
GRINDING LABOUR. HORRIBLE TORTURE. ILLEGAL
PUNISHMENTS. CRUELTIES THAT WOULD
HAVE MADE NERO BLUSH."
With compressed lips the young man read the lurid, soul-chilling narrative that followed. By an unexampled stroke of enterprise this journal had been enabled to ferret out a slave colony in the very centre, as one might say, of free England; the land that had poured out blood and treasure to suppress the slave traffic in distant lands; the country that had given birth to Wilberforce, to John Bright, to Gladstone, and so forth, and so forth; the land of a thousand pulpits, where every Sabbath day the blessings of peace and freedom were prayed for. Yet in this land, and in an isolated portion of its largest county, nearly five hundred men toiled incessantly, day in and day out, far removed from any civilising influence. Thirty miles from a school or a church, living first in tents, and later in a compound built by their own seared hands, could be found slaves working under the hypocritical designation of contract labour. Ancient tortures that England shuddered under the very remembrance of had been reintroduced, in order to quell rebellion in the souls of white men doomed to bondage. And all for what? For the further enrichment of Lord Stranleigh, already computed to be the wealthiest man in the British Empire; a man who never in his life had done a day's useful work, but battened on the sufferings and toil of others. Here followed a drastic picture of the men in the stocks, for, as Stranleigh now suspected, Blake, in his over-zeal, had filled up all the stocks to make the sight more impressive, bribing the men with unlimited beer to such an extent that most of them had fallen asleep, which apparently made the unaccustomed London reporters believe they had fainted, or had become comatose through torture, for the description of their swollen ankles and distorted faces was certainly enough to shock humanity.
Next day England rang with the news, and for once Stranleigh had roused the country from end to end. The third day he was arrested, and it required all the legal ability of his defenders to persuade the Court to accept bail. The great pulsing hearts of the public beat in unison on this matter, and the victims at once became the heroes of the land. Each entered a civil suit for damages, and in no case was the verdict lees than a thousand pounds. One judge expressed his regret that he was unable to put Stranleigh himself in the stocks for at least a month. Practically the whole Press fell a victim to the slavery scare, although the comments of foreign journals showed that this was a craze which cut two ways. In these sheets the horrible Stranleigh was held up as a typical Britisher, who had been found out. The English Press had given them the weapons, and quotation was free. Foreigners had no difficulty in showing what a mob of howling hypocrites the British really were, so freely censuring other countries, pretending to be virtuous and all that, when this hideous cancer festered in their own bosom.
Patrick O'Finney arose from his place in Parliament, amidst the cheers of his compatriots, and asked a question of the Rt. Hon. Kirkstall Wilmot.
"Does the Government intend to take action with regard to the case of Lord Stranleigh, and if so, what action? The damages awarded against such a rich man as his lordship, large though their total amount appeared to be, was quite inadequate punishment for a crime so atrocious. Every humane man must in his own heart hope that drastic punishment be meted out to this titled scoundrel."
Mr. O'Finney sat down amidst cheers from every part of the House of Commons. There was deep silence as the Right Honourable Kirkstall Wilmot rose to his feet. He spoke in a voice of solemnity which fitted the occasion.
"The information in possession of the Government does not accord exactly with the sensational accounts already published in the daily Press. We have not yet heard Lord Stranleigh in his own defence. (A voice: 'There is no defence').
"I quite agree there can be no defence if even a tithe of that we have read with aching hearts is true. A mere reference to this inexplicable action causes me the deepest pain, and for once I find myself bereft of words with which adequately to portray my abhorrence of the abominable proceedings in Yorkshire (loud cheers, during which the orator visibly struggled with his emotions). I have given much serious thought to this most regrettable affair, and the conclusion I have come to, not without expert advice, is that Lord Stranleigh suffers from mental derangement, and can hardly be held accountable for his actions. The Government has seen to it that all his victims were fully compensated and set at liberty, and this aside from the verdicts so justly awarded against him."
The Right Honourable Kirkstall Wilmot's speech called forth universal acclaim, and although one or two malcontents expressed a desire to see Stranleigh put in prison, crazy or not, it was generally agreed that the dignified demeanour and solemn sentences of the Minister were worthy of the best traditions of the House of Commons.