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I sincerely hope We're on the eve, however, of a day When trouble-makers in the ranks of Labor, Not only here in Foreston but elsewhere, May find it to their interest to respect, Nay, reverence as a thing ordained by G.o.d, The right of men to earn their daily bread, As well as profitable to obey the laws Without the unseemly presence of armed men.
(_There is a clapping of hands. General Chadbourne appears just inside the door and beckons to Ardsley, who goes in to him_)
BISHOP HARDBROOKE.
And I will take occasion here and now To say what you've been thinking all this while, And in the presence of the man himself: We are fortunate, my friends----
RALPH ARDSLEY.
(_Appears and calls to one of the guests farther back_)
The Governor.
BISHOP HARDBROOKE.
In having at the helm of our great State One who loves order more than he loves votes.
(_General clapping of hands_)
SEVERAL.
Good!
GUEST.
(_In a low voice over the crowd_)
Governor!
SEVERAL.
That's good!
(_The Governor bows_)
CRIES.
Speech! Speech!
GOVERNOR BRADDOCK.
My friends, I quite agree with the Bishop.
SEVERAL.
Ha, ha, ha!
GOVERNOR BRADDOCK.
I don't mean in his estimate of me.
(_More laughter. The Governor catches sight of the guest beckoning to him_)
GOVERNOR BRADDOCK.
But here's my better half. You might ask her.
Pardon me till I see----
RALPH ARDSLEY.
(_Calls urgently to the Bishop in a voice that is barely heard_)
Go on! Go on!
BISHOP HARDBROOKE.
Society, my friends, is like this house, This mansion that we all so much admire.
(_Ardsley stands impa.s.sive till the Governor has gone out and the Bishop has again got the attention of the people, then goes quickly into the side room_)
BISHOP HARDBROOKE.
Imagine what a state of things we'd have If every wooden fellow in these walls, Not only here but in the mill upstairs, Should lend his heart to tongues of discontent Until his very tools became a burden.
A VOICE.
Anarchy.
BISHOP HARDBROOKE.
Very true. Where would this be, This beautiful thing that Colonel Egerton Has built with so much labor and so much taste?
And out there in the world where we all dwell, Where all of us have places in the walls, Some working with their hands on farms, in mines; Some building; some at forges; at machines Weaving our garments; others more endowed Loaned to us from the higher planes of being, Men of the Over-Soul, inventors, dreamers, Planners of longer railroads, bigger mills, The great preparers for the finer souls That build the dome, the finishers of things, Prophets of G.o.d, musicians, artists, poets, As we've all seen how Colonel Egerton In his third story has his books and pictures-- Suppose a bitter wind of discontent Should shake the great walls of this social order, Set the first story men against the second, The second against the third, until the ma.s.s, Throwing their tools down on the world's great floor, Should clamor up the dome for pens and brushes, Shutting their eyes to the cold facts of life That we climb up Life's ladder by degrees--
(_His attention is attracted for a moment to a group of men that has been collecting forward centre, evidently concerned with whatever it is that is going on in the side room_)
BISHOP HARDBROOKE.
(_Recovering himself quickly_)
But I'm afraid, my friends----
SEVERAL.
Go on! Go on!
BISHOP HARDBROOKE.
I'm wasting good material for a sermon.
