The Rise of Henry Morcar Read Free Page A

enquiry. “Why was it a black day, Grandpa?” he demanded. By this time the two elder Morcars were again discussing the business affairs which his grandfather’s apostrophe had interrupted, and made no reply. “Why was it? Why was it a black day, Grandpa?” repeated the child. He put his hand on his grandfather’s knee and shook it vigorously. “Why was it a black day?” he shouted.
    â€œHush, love, don’t worry your grandfather. It was because of the McKinley tariff,” explained his father hastily, seeing the question framing again on Harry’s firm wide mouth.
    â€œWhat’s a McKinley tariff?” demanded Harry, staring.
    His mother pulled him away: “It’s something the Americans did which made the trade in cloth much less.”
    â€œYou may well say that, Clara,” interjected his grandfather, unable to keep out of a discussion on a matter which upset him so much. “Export trade dropped from sixty-three to nineteen million running yards in four years, that’s how much less the McKinley tariff made it. What’s nineteen from sixty-three, Harry?”
    â€œForty-four,” said Harry promptly. “What’s a running yard?”
    â€œA yard in length,” explained his father.
    Harry pondered.
    â€œHe’s sharp for his age,” said his father proudly.
    â€œHe’ll need to be,” said his grandfather, grimly jocular.
    â€œHe will if that tariff gets reaffirmed,” said his father in a sober tone.
    â€œNay—we’ve done with that, I reckon,” said Alderman Morcar.
    Harry’s father seemed less certain, shaking his head doubtfully.

4.
Jubilee
    Victoria, great and glorious, firm and free. Ever victorious may she be.
In white letters on a red ground. With a portrait of the Queen above, flanked by Union Jacks.
    The waggon, which had been held up by the crowd in the square long enough for Harry to read this patriotic inscription where it hung over the façade of the railway station, suddenly jolted forward. The packed children were thrown against each other, the well-brushed curls, the starched drill suits and muslin dresses tossed like flowers in a breeze, screams of delighted laughter filled the air. The fifteen thousand Annotsfield Sunday School scholars were on their way in procession to celebrate the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee in the new park. (“Why Diamond?” wondered Harry, but not with sufficient interest to put the question into words.) On his breast a Jubilee badge, a round tin medallion bearing the Queen’s picture, hung from a bow of red white and blue ribbon. Church bells were ringing, older children on foot around the waggons were singing. Now they were lined up on grass in front of a platform decked with flags; the Mayor, in a cocked hat and red robes and a big gold chain, was making a speech; at the back in the middle of the row sat Grandpa, resplendent in his best silk hat. The Mayor was delighted, he said, that in Annotsfield on this wonderful day the sun was shining upon them, and he hoped it would be the same for the great celebrations now being held in London. This was the first time it had occurred to Harry that weather might be different in English places at the same time; he was awestruck by the thought and missed much of the Mayor’s speech, rejoining it at the peroration. “May the sun continue to shine upon Her Majesty, and Her throne continue to set an example to the world, for many years to come. God Save the Queen!” The band played; then everyone cried Hip Hip Hooray.
    Now the crowd of children was breaking up and dispersing; his mother came towards him looking very pretty; the white hat perched on her piled-up light brown hair was trimmed with red white and blue ribbons and she wore three flowers of the same colours pinned in the bosom of her best heliotrope dress.
    â€œCome over here, Harry; don’t you want to go in for the races?”