"I'm a Socialist, you see," said Sid. "I don't 'old with Wealth. What _is_ Wealth? Labour robbed out of the poor. At most it's only yours in Trust. Leastways, that 'ow _I_ should take it." He reflected. "The Present distribution of Wealth," he said and stopped.
Then he let himself go, with unmasked bitterness. "It's no sense at all. It's jest damn foolishness. Who's going to work and care in a muddle like this? Here first you do--something anyhow--of the world's work, and it pays you hardly anything, and then it invites you to do nothing, nothing whatever, and pays you twelve hundred pounds a year.
Who's going to respect laws and customs when they come to damn silliness like that?" He repeated, "Twelve hundred pounds a year!"
At the sight of Kipps' face he relented slightly.
"It's not you I'm thinking of, o' man; it's the system. Better you than most people. Still----"
He laid both hands on the gate and repeated to himself, "Twelve 'undred a year.... Gee-Whizz, Kipps! You'll be a swell!"
"I shan't," said Kipps with imperfect conviction. "No fear."
"You can't 'ave money like that and not swell out. You'll soon be too big to speak to--'ow do they put it?--a mere mechanic like me."
"No fear, Siddee," said Kipps with conviction. "I ain't that sort."
"Ah!" said Sid, with a sort of unwilling scepticism, "money'll be too much for you. Besides--you're caught by a swell already."
"'Ow d'you mean?"
"That girl you're going to marry. Masterman says----"
"Oo's Masterman?"
"Rare good chap I know--takes my first floor front room. Masterson says it's always the wife pitches the key. Always. There's no social differences--till women come in."
"Ah!" said Kipps profoundly. "You don't know."
Sid shook his head. "Fancy!" he reflected, "Art Kipps!... Twelve 'Undred a Year!"
Kipps tried to bridge that opening gulf. "Remember the Hurons, Sid?"
"Rather," said Sid.
"Remember that wreck?"
"I can smell it now--sort of sour smell."
Kipps was silent for a moment with reminiscent eyes on Sid's still troubled face.
"I say, Sid, 'ow's Ann?"
"_She's_ all right," said Sid.
"Where is she now?"
"In a place ... Ashford."
"Oh!"
Sid's face had become a shade sulkier than before.
"The fact is," he said, "we don't get on very well together. _I_ don't hold with service. We're common people, I suppose, but I don't like it.
I don't see why a sister of mine should wait at other people's tables.
No. Not even if they got Twelve 'Undred a Year."
Kipps tried to change the point of application. "Remember 'ow you came out once when we were racing here?... She didn't run bad for a girl."
And his own words raised an image brighter than he could have supposed, so bright it seemed to breathe before him and did not fade altogether, even when he was back in Folkestone an hour or so later.
But Sid was not to be deflected from that other rankling theme by any reminiscences of Ann.
"I wonder what you will do with all that money," he speculated. "I wonder if you will do any good at all. I wonder what you _could_ do. You should hear Masterman. He'd tell you things. Suppose it came to me, what should I do? It's no good giving it back to the state as things are.
Start an Owenite profit-sharing factory perhaps. Or a new Socialist paper. We want a new Socialist paper."
He tried to drown his personal chagrin in elaborate exemplary suggestions....
--3
"I must be gettin' on to my motor," said Kipps at last, having to a large extent heard him out.
"What! Got a motor?"
"No!" said Kipps apologetically. "Only jobbed for the day."
"'Ow much?"
"Five pounds."
"Keep five families for a week! Good Lord!" That seemed to crown Sid's disgust.
Yet drawn by a sort of fascination he came with Kipps and assisted at the mounting of the motor. He was pleased to note it was not the most modern of motors, but that was the only grain of comfort. Kipps mounted at once, after one violent agitation of the little shop-door to set the bell a-jingle and warn his Uncle and Aunt. Sid assisted with the great furlined overcoat and examined the spectacles.
"Good-bye, o' chap!" said Kipps.
"Good-bye, o' chap!" said Sid.
The old people came out to say good-bye.
Old Kipps was radiant with triumph. "'Pon my Sammy, Artie! I'm a goo'
mind to come with you," he shouted, and then, "I got something you might take with you!"
He dodged back into the shop and returned with the perforated engraving after Morland.
"You stick to this, my boy," he said. "You get it repaired by someone who knows. It's the most vallyble thing I got you so far, you take my word."
"Warrup!" said the motor, and tuff, tuff, tuff, and backed and snorted while old Kipps danced about on the pavement as if foreseeing complex catastrophes, and told the driver, "That's all right."