There are in all England, let us say, some 2,000,000 of poor and friendless and untaught boys.
And there is _one_ Lord Chancellor. Now, it is just possible for _one_ boy out of the 2,000,000 to become Lord Chancellor; but it is quite impossible for _all_ the boys, or even for one boy in 1000, or for one boy in 10,000, to become Lord Chancellor.
Our M.P. means that if a boy is clever and industrious he may become Lord Chancellor.
But suppose _all_ the boys are as clever and as industrious as he is, they cannot _all_ become chancellors.
The one boy can only succeed because he is stronger, cleverer, more pushing, more persistent, or more _lucky_ than any other boy.
In my story, _Bob's Fairy_, this very point is raised. I will quote it for you here. Bob, who is a boy, is much troubled about the poor; his father, who is a self-made man and mayor of his native town, tells Bob that the poor are suffering because of their own faults. The parson then tries to make Bob understand--
"Come, come, come," said the reverend gentleman, "you are too young for such questions. Ah--let me try to--ah--explain it to you. Here is your father. He is wealthy. He is honoured. He is mayor of his native town. Now, how did he make his way?"
Mr. Toppinroyd smiled, and poured himself out another glass of wine.
His wife nodded her head approvingly at the minister.
"Your father," continued the minister, "made himself what he is by industry, thrift, and talent."
"If another man was as clever, and as industrious and thrifty as father," said Bob, "could he get on as well?"
"Of course he could," replied Mr. Toppinroyd.
"Then the poor are not like that?" asked Bob.
"I regret to say," said the parson, "that--ah--they are not."
"But if they were like father, they could do what he has done?" Bob said.
"Of course, you silly," exclaimed his mother.
Ned chuckled behind his paper. Kate turned to the piano.
Bob nodded and smiled. "How droll!" said he.
"What's droll?" his father asked sharply.
"Why," said Bob, "how funny it would be if all the people were industrious, and clever, and steady!"
"Funny?" ejaculated the parson.
"Funny?" repeated Mr. Toppinroyd.
"What do you mean, dear?" inquired Mrs. Toppinroyd mildly.
"If all the men in Loomborough were as clever and as good as father," said Bob simply, "there would be 50,000 rich mill-owners, and they would all be mayor of the same town."
Mr. Toppinroyd gave a sharp glance at his son, then leaned forward, boxed his ears, and said--
"Get to bed, you young monkey. Go!"
Do you see the idea? The poor cannot _all_ be mayors and chancellors and millionaires, because there are too many of them and not enough high places.
But they can all be asses, and they will be asses, if they listen to such rubbish as that uttered by this Tory M.P.
You have twenty men starting for a race. You may say, "There is nothing to prevent any man from winning the race," but you mean any one man who is luckier or swifter than the rest. You would never be foolish enough to believe that _all_ the men could win. You know that nineteen of the men _must lose_.
So we know that in a race for the Chancellorship _only one_ boy can win, and the other 1,999,999 _must lose_.
It is the same thing with temperance, industry, and cleverness. Of 10,000 mechanics one is steadier, more industrious, and more skilful than the others. Therefore he will get work where the others cannot. But _why_? Because he is worth more as a workman. But don't you see that if all the others were as good as he, he would _not_ be worth more?
Then you see that to tell 1,000,000 men that they will get more work or more wages if they are cleverer, or soberer, or more industrious, is as foolish as to tell the twenty men starting for a race that they can all win if they will all try.
If all the men were just as fast as the winner, the race would end in a dead heat.
There is a fire panic in a big hall. The hall is full of people, and there is only one door. A rush is made for that door. Some of the crowd get out, some are trampled to death, some are injured, some are burned.
Now, of that crowd of people, who are most likely to escape?
Those nearest to the door have a better chance than those farthest, have they not?
Then the strong have a better chance than the weak, have they not?
And the men have a better chance than the women, and the children the worst chance of all. Is it not so?
Then, again, which is most likely to be saved--the selfish man who fights and drags others down, who stands upon the fallen bodies of women and children, and wins his way by force; or the brave and gentle man who tries to help the women and the children, and will not trample upon the wounded?
Don't you know that the noble and brave man stands a poor chance of escape, and that the selfish, brutal man stands a good chance of escape?
Well, now, suppose a man to have got out, perhaps because he was near the door, or perhaps because he was very strong, or perhaps because he was very lucky, or perhaps because he did not stop to help the women and children, and suppose him to stand outside the door, and cry out to the struggling and dying creatures in the burning hall, "Serves you jolly well right if you _do_ suffer. Why don't you get out? _I_ got out. You can get out if you _try_. _There is nothing to prevent any one of you from getting out._"
Suppose a man talked like that, what would you say of him? Would you call him a sensible man? Would you call him a Christian? Would you call him a gentleman?
You will say I am severe. I am. Every time a successful man talks as this M.P. talks he inflicts a brutal insult upon the unsuccessful, many thousands of whom, both men and women, are worthier and better than himself.
But let us go back to our subject. That fire panic in the big hall is a picture of _life_ as it is to-day.
It is a scramble of a big crowd to get through a small door. Those who get through are cheered and rewarded, and few questions are asked as to _how_ they got through.
Now, Socialists say that there should be more doors, and no scramble.
But let me use this example of the hall and the panic more fully.
Suppose the hall to be divided into three parts. First the stalls, then the pit stalls, then the pit. Suppose the only door is the door in the stalls. Suppose the people in the pit stalls have to climb a high barrier to get to the stalls. Suppose those in the pit have to climb a high barrier to get to the pit stalls, and then the high barrier that parts the pit stalls from the stalls. Suppose there is, right at the back of the pit, a small, weak boy. Now, I ask you, as sensible men, is there "nothing to prevent" that boy from getting through that door? You know the boy has only the smallest of chances of getting out of that hall. But he has a thousand times a better chance of getting safely out of that door than the son of a crossing-sweeper has of becoming Lord Chancellor of England.
In our hall the upper classes would sit in the stalls, the middle classes in the pit stalls, and the workers in the pit. _Whose son would have the best chance for the door?_
I compared the race for the Chancellorship just now to a foot-race of twenty men; and I showed you that if all the runners were as fleet as greyhounds only one could win, and nineteen _must_ lose.