He had told Mrs. Bunce, before he left his home after breakfast, that he should for the present remain under her roof. She had been much gratified, not simply because lodgings in Great Marlborough Street are less readily let than chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, but also because it was a great honour to her to have a member of Parliament in her house. Members of Parliament are not so common about Oxford Street as they are in the neighbourhood of Pall Mall and St. James’s Square. But Mr. Bunce, when he came home to his dinner, did not join as heartily as he should have done in his wife’s rejoicing. Mr. Bunce was in the employment of certain copying law-stationers in Carey Street, and had a strong belief in the law as a profession;—but he had none whatever in the House of Commons. “And he’s given up going into chambers?” said Mr. Bunce to his wife.
“Given it up altogether for the present,” said Mrs. Bunce.
“And he don’t mean to have no clerk?” said Mr. Bunce.
“Not unless it is for his Parliament work.”
“There ain’t no clerks wanted for that, and what’s worse, there ain’t no fees to pay ’em. I’ll tell you what it is, Jane;—if you don’t look sharp there won’t be nothing to pay you before long.”
“And he in Parliament, Jacob!”
“There ain’t no salary for being in Parliament. There are scores of them Parliament gents ain’t got so much as’ll pay their dinners for ’em. And then if anybody does trust ’em, there’s no getting at ’em to make ’em pay as there is at other folk.”
“I don’t know that our Mr. Phineas will ever be like that, Jacob.”
“That’s gammon, Jane. That’s the way as women gets themselves took in always. Our Mr. Phineas! Why should our Mr. Phineas be better than anybody else?”
“He’s always acted handsome, Jacob.”
“There was one time he could not pay his lodgings for well-nigh nine months, till his governor come down with the money. I don’t know whether that was handsome. It knocked me about terrible, I know.”
“He always meant honest, Jacob.”
“I don’t know that I care much for a man’s meaning when he runs short of money. How is he going to see his way, with his seat in Parliament, and this giving up of his profession? He owes us near a quarter now.”
“He paid me two months this morning, Jacob; so he don’t owe a farthing.”
“Very well;—so much the better for us. I shall just have a few words with Mr. Low, and see what he says to it. For myself I don’t think half so much of Parliament folk as some do. They’re for promising everything before they’s elected; but not one in twenty of ’em is as good as his word when he gets there.”
Mr. Bunce was a copying journeyman, who spent ten hours a day in Carey Street with a pen between his fingers; and after that he would often spend two or three hours of the night with a pen between his fingers in Marlborough Street. He was a thoroughly hardworking man, doing pretty well in the world, for he had a good house over his head, and always could find raiment and bread for his wife and eight children; but, nevertheless, he was an unhappy man because he suffered from political grievances, or, I should more correctly say, that his grievances were semipolitical and semi-social. He had no vote, not being himself the tenant of the house in Great Marlborough Street. The tenant was a tailor who occupied the shop, whereas Bunce occupied the whole of the remainder of the premises. He was a lodger, and lodgers were not as yet trusted with the franchise. And he had ideas, which he himself admitted to be very raw, as to the injustice of the manner in which he was paid for his work. So much a folio, without reference to the way in which his work was done, without regard to the success of his work, with no questions asked of himself, was, as he thought, no proper way of remunerating a man for his labours. He had long since joined a Trade Union, and for two years past had paid a subscription of a shilling a week towards its funds. He longed to be doing some battle against his superiors, and to be putting himself in opposition to his employers;—not that he objected personally to Messrs. Foolscap, Margin, and Vellum, who always made much of him as a useful man;—but because some such antagonism would be manly, and the fighting of some battle would be the right thing to do. “If Labour don’t mean to go to the wall himself,” Bunce would say to his wife, “Labour must look alive, and put somebody else there.”
Mrs. Bunce was a comfortable motherly woman, who loved her husband but hated politics. As he had an aversion to his superiors in the world because they were superiors, so had she a liking for them for the same reason. She despised people poorer than herself, and thought it a fair subject for boasting that her children always had meat for dinner. If it was ever so small a morsel, she took care that they had it, in order that the boast might be maintained. The world had once or twice been almost too much for her—when, for instance, her husband had been ill; and again, to tell the truth, for the last three months of that long period in which Phineas had omitted to pay his bills; but she had kept a fine brave heart during those troubles, and could honestly swear that the children always had a bit of meat, though she herself had been occasionally without it for days together. At such times she would be more than ordinarily meek to Mr. Margin, and
