Читать книгу The Anxious Days - Philip Gibbs - Страница 20

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Later, at this dinner-table, the conversation became general, but it was all rather depressing.

Henry Lambert expressed the opinion that the nation was becoming demoralized by pauperizing the unemployed.

“It’s the complete exposure of democracy,” he said. “Parliament has lost its control of public expenditure. Politicians merely bribe the electorate by promises of social services. Nobody thinks of economy nowadays. Nobody remembers that in four and a half years of war we spent as much as in two and a half centuries previously. Our statesmen have been suffering from megalomania.”

“Good heavens, what’s that?” asked Admiral Sir Edmund Hall. “I thought I knew every disease, but that’s a new one on me, old boy! Don’t tell me about it, or I shall think I’ve caught it!”

“It’s a belief in a bottomless purse,” said Henry Lambert. “I knew a fellow once who invited a big party to the Savoy when he was stony broke. He provided his guests with expensive wines, liqueurs, cigars, and all delights. Then he took them on one side and offered to lend them large sums of money. Presently they became a bit scared and put him into the hands of a doctor. That’s the state of mind of our politicians. Only we don’t call in the doctor.”

“Ah, but what doctor?” asked Dick Charrington, who was now Lord Bramshaw. “You can’t believe a word these economic experts have to say. They all sing to a different tune. As for the bankers—if Arthur over there will forgive my impertinence—they don’t know the first thing about international finance, as far as I can make out. They’re just common or garden money-lenders, using their clients’ investments to make loans at high interest on very dubious security. Germany, for example.”

“My dear Bramshaw,” interrupted Arthur Hammerton of the Bank of England, “may I advise you as your little friend not to expose your ignorance in public? You may be able to find Malta on the map—though I gravely doubt it—but don’t lay down the law about mysteries which defy the most intelligent among us.”

Lord Bramshaw—that plump gentleman—ignored this jibe and maintained his belief that nobody knew a damn thing about anything, and least of all the bankers.

“I disagree,” remarked Admiral Hall cheerfully. “Henry Lambert here knows a good port and provides it for his friends. Henry, this is remarkably fine stuff.”

“Have some more!” said Henry Lambert. “Simon, pass the bottle along.”

Commander Compton ventured to make a few remarks.

“You people seem very pessimistic. Since I’ve been in England I’ve heard nothing but prophecies of impending ruin. What about the Empire?”

“Ah!” said Henry Lambert darkly, but with a humorous glint in his eyes. “What about it? What about Mr. Gandhi? How long are we going to hold India when all the little Labour laddies want to hand it away with a pound of tea?”

“Surely,” said Commander Compton, “we have tremendous reserves of spirit and energy! I can’t believe we’re down and out, or anything like it. If only we make use of our vast opportunities we can go very far yet. Look at Canada and Africa and Australia, to say nothing of the Malay States and other places of potential wealth. There’s plenty of room for new populations to build up big and prosperous nations. Can’t we get these unemployed out of this Slough of Despond in which they seem to have stuck up to the neck? They’re the same fellows who won the War. They were good soldiers after six months’ training. Can’t we train them to be good colonists and pioneers? If they only had someone to lead them they’d follow all right, unless I’m all wrong about them.”

“Where’s the money coming from?” asked Henry Lambert of the Treasury.

“And how are you going to persuade the Dominions to let them in?” asked Bramshaw. “Australia has shut its gates. Canada is sending back English emigrants who slouch about the cities living on poor relief. They have their own problems of unemployment.”

“Every time I hear the word ‘Empire’,” said Arthur Hammerton, “I expect another sixpence on the income tax. Compton, my dear old thing, you’re talking Kipling stuff at a time when it’s as dead as the poor old Dodo. The Dominions don’t care a damn for the Mother Country. They put up tariffs against British industries and expect us to import their grain.”

Commander Compton smiled round the table at this friendly criticism.

“You’re all defeatists,” he said cheerfully. “I still believe in our traditional character. You can’t kill the spirit of a people. If I had the gift of the gab I would call to the younger crowd and give them a lead out of this desolation. Instead of letting them hang about Labour Exchanges for a miserable dole, I’d lead them on to the land to grow something out of the old earth.”

“You might call up spirits from the vasty deep, but would they come?” asked Hammerton, the banking expert, smiling through his pince-nez at Commander Compton’s enthusiasm. “Our one-armed hero has the simple mind of the sailor, God bless him!”

“Oh, I’m afraid I’ve been talking through my hat,” said Compton humbly. “I’m only a rubber planter out of a job.”

“Speaking of which ...” said Admiral Sir Edmund Hall.