And
they'll sell their souls to get the thousands. Who's the better--who's
the happier for it in the end? We have left ourselves nothing to love
with--nothing to be happy with. What does natural beauty--or human
feeling--matter to the men who spend their days speculating in the City?
I know 'em. I have watched some of them for years. It's a thirst that
destroys a man. To want to be rich is bad enough--to want to be rich
_quick_ is death and damnation ..."
There was silence again, till suddenly Boden addressed Colonel Barton,
who was sitting opposite half asleep in the sun.
"I say, what's the name of a village, about two miles from here, I walked
through while you were all at church this morning?--the most God-forsaken
place I ever saw!--a horrible, insanitary hole!"
"Mainstairs!" said Barton, promptly, waking up. "That's the only village
hereabout that fits the description. But Melrose owns two or three of
them."
"The man that owns that village ought to be hung," said Boden with quiet
ferocity. "In any decent state of society he would be hung."
Barton shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm on the sanitary authority. We've summoned him till we're tired, to
put those cottages in repair. No use. Now, we've told him that we shall
repair them ourselves and send in the bill to him. That's stirred him,
and he's immediately given everybody notice to quit--says he'll close the
whole village. But the people won't go. There are no other cottages for
miles--they've taken to stoning our inspectors.
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