With his soft felt hat at the back of his head, his rather heavy, rather mottled face, his rationally thick boots and slouching tweed-clad form, a little round-shouldered and very obstinate looking, he strolls through all my speculations sucking his teeth audibly, and occasionally throwing out a shrewd aphorism, the intractable unavoidable ore of the new civilisation.
Essentially he was ******.Generally speaking, he hated and despised in equal measure whatever seemed to suggest that he personally was not the most perfect human being conceivable.He hated all education after fifteen because he had had no education after fifteen, he hated all people who did not have high tea until he himself under duress gave up high tea, he hated every game except football, which he had played and could judge, he hated all people who spoke foreign languages because he knew no language but Staffordshire, he hated all foreigners because he was English, and all foreign ways because they were not his ways.Also he hated particularly, and in this order, Londoner's, Yorkshiremen, Scotch, Welch and Irish, because they were not "reet Staffordshire," and he hated all other Staffordshire men as insufficiently "reet." He wanted to have all his own women inviolate, and to fancy he had a call upon every other woman in the world.He wanted to have the best cigars and the best brandy in the world to consume or give away magnificently, and every one else to have inferior ones.(His billiard table was an extra large size, specially made and very inconvenient.) And he hated Trade Unions because they interfered with his autocratic direction of his works, and his workpeople because they were not obedient and untiring mechanisms to do his bidding.He was, in fact, a very *****, vigorous human being.He was about as much civilised, about as much tamed to the ideas of collective action and mutual consideration as a Central African negro.
There are hordes of such men as he throughout all the modern industrial world.You will find the same type with the slightest modifications in the Pas de Calais or Rhenish Prussia or New Jersey or North Italy.No doubt you would find it in New Japan.These men have raised themselves up from the general mass of untrained, uncultured, poorish people in a hard industrious selfish struggle.
To drive others they have had first to drive themselves.They have never yet had occasion nor leisure to think of the state or social life as a whole, and as for dreams or beauty, it was a condition of survival that they should ignore such cravings.All the distinctive qualities of my uncle can be thought of as dictated by his conditions; his success and harshness, the extravagances that expressed his pride in ****** money, the uncongenial luxury that sprang from rivalry, and his self-reliance, his contempt for broad views, his contempt for everything that he could not understand.
His daughters were the inevitable children of his life.Queer girls they were! Curiously "spirited" as people phrase it, and curiously limited.During my Cambridge days I went down to Staffordshire several times.My uncle, though he still resented my refusal to go into his business, was also in his odd way proud of me.I was his nephew and poor relation, and yet there I was, a young gentleman learning all sorts of unremunerative things in the grandest manner, "Latin and mook," while the sons of his neighhours, not nephews merely, but sons, stayed unpolished in their native town.Every time I went down I found extensive changes and altered relations, and before I had settled down to them off I went again.I don't think I was one person to them; I was a series of visitors.There is a gulf of ages between a gaunt schoolboy of sixteen in unbecoming mourning and two vividly self-conscious girls of eighteen and nineteen, but a Cambridge "man" of two and twenty with a first and good tennis and a growing social experience, is a fair contemporary for two girls of twenty-three and twenty-four.
A motor-car appeared, I think in my second visit, a bottle-green affair that opened behind, had dark purple cushions, and was controlled mysteriously by a man in shiny black costume and a flat cap.The high tea had been shifted to seven and rechristened dinner, but my uncle would not dress nor consent to have wine; and after one painful experiment, I gathered, and a scene, he put his foot down and prohibited any but high-necked dresses.
"Daddy's perfectly impossible," Sybil told me.
The foot had descended vehemently! "My own daughters!" he had said, "dressed up like --"--and had arrested himself and fumbled and decided to say--"actresses, and showin' their fat arms for every fool to stare at!" Nor would he have any people invited to dinner.
He didn't, he had explained, want strangers poking about in his house when he came home tired.So such calling as occurred went on during his absence in the afternoon.
