WHEN, at a quarter to three, the Mayor left the Club, he linked his arm in that of Alderman Murrell, whose famous shop stood cheek by jowl with the City Hall at the other side of Market Square. As they came slowly down the steps, both gentlemen had a sense not merely of having lunched, but also of having done ample justice to the affairs of the nation. But amid the press of sharp realities into which they slowly projected themselves, they were soon aware that the affairs of the nation were still in the foreground of the picture. Above Market Square a monstrous air-ship still hovered, on whose Gargantuan belly the magic letters U. P. were clearly visible. And at that moment, dashing across the great Square itself, was a familiar mustard-colored contraption, with the legend “First with the News as Usual” flaring above it. The news was heralded by a large placard hung at the tail of the machine. “Aunt Mittie to address Charwoman’s Conference” was its cryptic nature.
To the initiate, however, the “news” was not without significance. And Sir Munt and the worthy Alderman were themselves at the brink of enlightenment. As slowly and with a touch of pomp they descended the Club steps, for the awed eyes of ordinary workaday citizens were upon them, a shower of small white leaflets fell from the sky. It was a part and only a trivial part of the U. P. propaganda but the general effect was remarkably like a stage snowstorm. Indeed, Sir Munt emitted a quiet “very pretty” as he stooped augustly to retrieve one of these handbills which had fluttered and rotated to its long home at the bottom of the Club steps.
Sir Munt always liked to speak of himself as a practical man. Therefore, with an air of supreme nonchalance, the chief magistrate paused amid the citizens to adjust his eyeglasses.
The handbill gave the following information:
TORCHLIGHT PROCESSION OF THE
CHARWOMEN OF ENGLAND!!!
To-morrow (Thursday) Evening the Delegates to the Charwomen’s Conference will march to the Statue of John Bright in the Great Market Square to demand a Compulsory Pint of U. P. Stout with the midday meal.
The Right Honorable Sir Augustus Bimley, K.C.M.G., P.C., Britain’s First and Still the Best Bookmaker M.P. will assume the Plinth at nine o’clock precisely (weather permitting).
After the Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Blackhampton has offered a short prayer, Dame Agnita Shrubsole, D.B.E. (“Aunt Mittie”) will address the gathering.
N.B. ENDOR MUST GO
“Very pretty!” Again Sir Munt paid involuntary tribute. “Very nice, indeed!” He handed the leaflet to his friend. “What do you think on it, Murrell?”
The Alderman adjusted a pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses, a replica of the Mayor’s, and read the document with care.
“Charwomen don’t cut much ice, anyway,” was the comment of Alderman Murrell.
The further-seeing man of affairs took him up sharply. “Don’t make any mistake, my boy. Charwomen have all got a vote these days, the same as you and me. That’s where the fun comes in. Aunt Mittie’s Own Journal sells its millions of copies a week. And if you subscribe to it, you get reductions on everything from a nightgown edged with Honiton lace to a bottle of lime juice cordial. You can also ballot for free tickets to the movies, the Christmas Goose Club and the U. P. Burial Society. I tell you, my boy, you get your money’s worth with Aunt Mittie’s Own Journal.”
“How they do it for twopence a week—that’s what gets me!” The mind of the linendraper Imperialist moved in a rather narrow orbit.
“They don’t do it—not on the paper. But what they lose on the swings, they get back on the roundabouts. And don’t forget this, Murrell, if it comes to a showdown the U. P. can afford to lose on the swings and on the roundabouts, because the cocoanuts, my boy, will get them home every time. And why, Murrell?” A touch of forensic passion had begun to work in the veins of Blackhampton’s first citizen. “Because Mugs like you and me are the cocoanuts. We are being milked dry, my boy—we, the Middle Classes, the folk who have a bit to lose and haven’t learnt to defend it. The Charwomen’s Conference is up-to-date Communism, my boy, with a certain newspaper Boss behind it all. He and his Ring, who have corralled the country’s power, are keeping the workers quiet by showing them how to dip their hands in the pockets of you and me.”