On the omnibus they conversed as any
casual acquaintances might have done. Glazzard occasionally
inspected his companion's features, which were not vulgar, yet not
pleasing. The young man had a habit of sucking in his cheeks, and of
half closing his eyes as if he suffered from weak sight; his limbs
twitched now and then, and he constantly fingered his throat.
"A fine view," remarked Glazzard, as they came near to the great
cliffs; "but the bridge spoils it, of course."
"Do you think so? Not to my mind. I always welcome the signs of
civilization."
Glazzard looked at him with curiosity, and the speaker threw back
his head in a self-conscious, conceited way.
"Picturesqueness is all very well," he added, "but it very often
means hardships to human beings. I don't ask whether a country looks
beautiful, but what it does for the inhabitants."
"Very right and proper," assented Glazzard, with a curl of the lip.
"I know very well," pursued the moralist, "that civilization doesn't
necessarily mean benefit to the class which ought to be considered
first. But that's another question. It _ought_ to benefit them, and
eventually it must."
"You lean towards Socialism?"
"Christian Socialism if you know what that signifies."
"I have an idea. A very improving doctrine, no doubt."
They dismounted, and began the ascent of the hillside by a path
which wound among trees.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222