gone; we see clearer--some of
us. . . . And I tell you that I would not willingly condemn Jack to
such a life as his father led--even if I was penniless. Wait--let me
finish"--as Vane started to speak--"Of course with you he would have
better chances than his father had before him--but the city life would
kill him--even as it has killed thousands of others. . . . I wonder if
you can realise the hideous tragedy of the poor clerk. He can't strike
for higher wages, like the British working man. He just goes on and on
and suffers in silence. . . . In Jack's case it would be the
same. . . . What--four hundred a year?" She laughed a little
scornfully. "It's not much to bring up a family on, Captain
Vane. . . . Four hundred a year, and Acacia Avenue--two streets
up. . . . Acacia Avenue doesn't call on Culman Terrace, you
know. . . ." Again she laughed. "No, Jack isn't made for that sort of
life, thank God. He aches for the big spaces in his boyish way, for
the lands where there are big things to be done. . . . And I've
encouraged him. There'll be nobody there to sneer if his clothes get
frayed and he can't buy any more--because of the children's boots.
There'll be no appearances to keep up there. And I'd a thousand times
rather that Jack should stand--or fall--in such surroundings, than that
he should sink slowly . . . here."

She paused for a moment, and then stood up and faced him. "It's
emigration, Captain Vane, that I and people like me have got to turn to
for our boys. For ourselves--it doesn't much matter; we've had our
day, and I don't want you to think the sun never shined on us, for it
did. . . . Just wonderfully at times. . . ." She gave a quick sigh.
"Only now . . . things are different. . . . And up till now, Culman
Terrace hasn't considered emigration quite the thing. It's not quite
respectable. . . . Only aristocratic ne'er-do-wells and quite
impossibly common men emigrate. It's a confession of failure. . . .
And so we've continued to swell the ranks of the most pitiful class in
the country--the gentleman and his family with the small fixed income.
The working man regards him with suspicion because he wears a black
coat--or, with contempt because he doesn't strike; the Government
completely ignores him because they know he's too much a slave to
convention to do anything but vote along so-called gentlemanly lines.
What do you suppose would be the result if the enormous body of middle
cla