The Day of Judgment. Hocking Joseph
Jacker determined to have it out with him. He was passing through what is called the Church Town, when a number of youths, among whom Jacker was conspicuous, asked him to go into the public house. Paul refused. On being asked his reason for his refusal, he replied that he was on his way to the night-school. A few minutes later there was an uproar. Things were said about Paul's parentage that roused the young fellow beyond the pitch of endurance. "I have borne with you a long time," he said, "but, remember, if you say that again you shall pay for it."
"Iss, and I be willing to pay for it!" cried Jacker, who was eager for a fight. The youths had often accused him of being afraid of Paul, and Jacker, true to his nature, wanted to prove his superiority to any youth in the district. A little later the group of lads had adjourned to a field, and Paul and Jacker appeared as combatants. The result of it was that Paul, in a mad passion, nearly killed his opponent, and was that same evening apprehended by the police as drunk and disorderly. He was taken to the nearest lock-up, and detained there until the next sittings of the magistrate. The landlord at the inn, being Jacker's friend, had appeared as a witness on his behalf, and had declared that Jacker was always a quiet, well-behaved youth, while Paul was a surly villain, with whom it was impossible for quiet lads to live in peace. Of course the truth presently came out, and, while Paul suffered no imprisonment, he had to pay a fine for what had taken place, and was bound over to keep the peace.
This incident, although seemingly unimportant, bore fruit in Paul's life. It determined him to leave the neighbourhood at once. But where should he go? He hated Cornwall, hated the Pencarrow Mines, and longed to get away where he could begin what he regarded as his life's work. As it happened, a man, whose father had left Cornwall several years before, paid a visit to St. Mabyn, and declared that there was always good work for men in Lancashire. When Paul heard of it he made his way to this man. "Peter Wadge," he said, "you have come from Lancashire, I am told?"
Wadge admitted that he had.
"Where do you live?" he asked.
"Brunford," replied Wadge; "and Brunford is the place for a chap like you. No questions will be asked about you there, and the wage is double what it is here!"
"You see," continued Wadge, "the working man has a chance in Lancashire, and we stand no nonsense with the masters."
Paul looked at him questioningly.
"You don't believe me?" said Wadge. "Why, think. Lately, owing to the change in the price of cotton, the manufacturers were making money hand over fist. Well, what did the weavers do? They just went to them and demanded more wages. The manufacturers refused; they were having a big harvest, and did not mean to allow the weavers to have a share in it. But you see we are organised there, and a meeting of the Weavers' Union was called, and the next thing was that they all went on strike. Of course the manufacturers could do nothing without them, and so there was an increase of wage right away. That's the way we deal with them up there. Why, I knew a chap who was sacked because one of the manufacturer's sons didn't like him. Do you think we stood it? Not we! We sent a deputation to the master, and told him that unless the chap were taken back we should all 'come out.'"
"And was he taken back?" asked Paul.
"I should think he was," was the reply. "Why, we working people are somebody up there. We have our representatives on the town council and on the board of guardians. Down here it is the parson and squire that do everything; up there we are alive, and there's a chance for a chap who's got brains. Why, a fellow like you up in Brunford, with your education and gifts, could be a big man in a few years."
Paul thought quietly for a few minutes. There was something in what Wadge said that appealed to him. He longed to put his finger on the pulse of the great busy life of the world, but he remembered the object for which he lived. He longed to get on, but only for that purpose, and he remembered that the man whom he had determined to punish was educated and had a high position.
"And are there any chances," he asked, "for a poor man to be educated? I mean to be educated in the higher things—to learn law and government and that sort of thing?"
"Chances? I should think there are!" replied Wadge. "Why, think of our Mechanics' Institute. We have more than a thousand students there. They all come of an evening, after work, and they pay next to nothing for their lessons; but I've known lots of them who have got on so well that they have been able to go to Owens College at Manchester—even taken degrees. And there is no end to the possibilities for the chap who has taken a degree."
Paul had only a vague idea of what this might mean, but he knew it meant something of importance, and his heart beat quickly at the thought of it. Still, the idea of Lancashire did not appeal to him. He felt sure that Douglas Graham would be in London, and, after all, London was the great heart of things. It was there all these big men went, and it was there, he felt sure, his work lay. Nevertheless, he went on asking Wadge many questions about life in the big towns of Lancashire, and more and more became enamoured by the thought of going there.
"Look here," continued Wadge presently, "I have got a copy of the Brunford Mercury where I am staying, and I'll lend it you. You can see then what's going on."
A few hours later Paul was perusing the journal he had been promised. At first he was disappointed. After all, there did not seem to be anything much more attractive going on in Brunford than in Cornwall. The West Briton was, as far as he could see, a more interesting paper. Presently, however, his heart gave a leap. He saw that a law case of some sort had been going on in Manchester, and as the counsel for one of the parties, he saw the name of "G. D. Graham." At first he could scarcely believe his own eyes. He did not realise that there might be hundreds of Grahams, many of whom might be barristers. With his small parochial ideas, there could be only one Graham who could occupy such a position—and Manchester was only a few miles from Brunford. Of course all the barristers could not live in London. There must be many all over the country, and Graham lived there. A strange feeling filled his heart; he felt sure he had found his father, the man who had wronged his mother, who had blighted her life. Again the picture of her as he saw her last flashed back to his mind, the care-worn, tired, sad-looking woman whom he loved as his mother; and she was going back to servitude, to misery, and all this because of the man who had deceived her, ruined her life. He had taken her as his wife, and then written her that cruel, insulting letter, and left her to the scorn and mercilessness of a hard world. And he would see him. If he lived in Manchester he would be employed for other cases. It would be easy to find out all about them, and he could go there and watch. He realised that he could do nothing while he was ignorant. Perhaps this G. D. Graham was a great man by now, and he would deny all knowledge of what he had done; therefore he must find out, he must prepare himself, and he could only do that through getting a knowledge of the world, a knowledge of law, a knowledge of men.
This decided him. He remembered what Wadge had said about the Mechanics' Institute, and about working-lad students belonging to Owens College and obtaining University degrees. Of course that must mean knowledge, and knowledge was power. So much he had learnt, at all events, at the night-school where he had attended.
He counted up his money, of which he had been very saving, and determined to leave Cornwall at once, and shortly after Christmas he found himself in the train bearing him northward. He had never been out of Cornwall before, and his heart beat high with hope. New scenes, new experiences, new modes of life and thought, a new world—and he was going to enter it! It was on a Monday morning that he started on his journey, and it was dark when he left the little village of St. Mabyn, carrying in his hand a portmanteau which contained all his earthly possessions. It was several miles to the nearest railway station, but that did not trouble him at all. Young and strong as he was, a five-mile walk was nothing, and he found it no hardship to get up in the cold, dark morning in order to catch the first train, northward. He did not arrive in Manchester until late that night, and then found that the last train for Brunford had left some time before he came. Like all lads country-reared, he had heard about the dangers of big towns, of thieves, of midnight murder—and Manchester frightened him. He could not understand it at all, and in his ignorance and fear he shrunk from asking questions.
"You'll go to some pub., I suppose?" said a porter who had told him about the last train to