THE UNDER-SIDE
From the Business Quarter they presently passed by the into a of the city, where the of the was done. On their way the the Thames twice, and passed in a across one of the great that entered the city from the North. In cases his was and in very vivid. The river was a of black sea water, by buildings, and either way into a with lights. A of black passed seaward, by blue-clad men. The road was a long and very and high tunnel, along which big-wheeled and swiftly. Here, too, the of the Labour Department was in abundance. The of the tracks, the and the of the big in to the body, Graham most vividly. One and very high with with the of many hundred sheep his attention unduly. Abruptly the of the cut and out the picture.
Presently they left the way and by a and a passage that downward, and so came to a again. The of changed. Even the of ornament disappeared, the lights in number and size, the more and more in to the as the were reached. And in the biscuit-making place of the potters, among the mills, in the rooms of the metal workers, among the of Eadhamite, the was on man, woman and child.
Many of these great and were of machinery, out to the dislocation, but there was work it was being done by slow-moving in canvas. The only people not in were the of the work-places and the orange-clad Labour Police. And fresh from the of the dancing halls, the of the quarter, Graham note the faces, the muscles, and of many of the latter-day workers. Such as he saw at work were in to the and who were their labours. The of the old Victorian times had that and all such producers, to extinction; the place of his was taken by some machine. The latter-day labourer, male as well as female, was a machine-minder and feeder, a and attendant, or an artist under direction.
The women, in with those Graham remembered, were as a class plain and flat-chested. Two hundred years of from the of Puritanical religion, two hundred years of city life, had done their work in the of and from the myriads. To be physically or mentally, to be in any way or exceptional, had been and was still a way of to the drudge, a line of to the Pleasure City and its and delights, and at last to the Euthanasy and peace. To be against such was to be of souls. In the of Graham's life, the newly had been a multitude, still by the of personal and a high morality; now it was into an class, with a and physical of its own—even with a of its own.
They downward, downward, the places. Presently they passed one of the of the moving ways, and saw its on their rails overhead, and of white lights the slits. The that were not were lighted; to Graham they and their of in gloom, and where work was going on the was less than upon the public ways.
Beyond the of Eadhamite he came to the of the jewellers, and, with some and by using his signature, to these galleries. They were high and dark, and cold. In the a men were making of gold filigree, each man at a little bench by himself, and with a little light. The long of light patches, with the and moving among the yellow coils, and the like the of a ghost, in each shadow, had the effect.
The work was executed, but without any of or drawing, for the most part or the of the on a motif. These a white without pockets or sleeves. They this on to work, but at night they were and they left the of the Department. In of every precaution, the Labour told them in a tone, the Department was not robbed.
Beyond was a of in and setting of ruby, and next these were men and together upon the of copper that the of cloisonné tiles. Many of these had and a white, to a by a that to be much in fashion. Asano to Graham for this sight, but himself on the score of the of this route. "This is what I wanted to see," said Graham; "this is what I wanted to see," trying to avoid a start at a particularly disfigurement.
"She might have done with herself than that," said Asano.
Graham some comments.
"But, Sire, we not that without the purple," said Asano. "In your days people such crudities, they were nearer the by two hundred years."
They along one of the of this cloisonné factory, and came to a little that a vault. Looking over the parapet, Graham saw that was a under yet more than any he had seen. Three barges, in dust, were being of their of by a of men, each a little truck; the the place with a mist, and the electric yellow. The of these about their feet, and to and against a long of white-washed wall. Every now and then one would stop to cough.
A shadowy, of out of the water, to Graham's mind the of the of and and that rose above overhead him and the sky. The men in under the of two of the Labour Police; their a on the along which they to and fro. And as he looked at this scene, some voice in the to sing.
"Stop that!" one of the policemen, but the order was disobeyed, and one and then all the white-stained men who were there had taken up the refrain, it defiantly—the Song of the Revolt. The upon the now to the of the song, tramp, tramp, tramp. The who had at his fellow, and Graham saw him his shoulders. He no to stop the singing.
And so they through these and places of toil, many painful and things. That walk left on Graham's mind a of memories, pictures of halls, and through clouds of dust, of machines, the of looms, the of machinery, the and of and armature, of ill-lit of sleeping places, of pin-point lights. Here was the of tanning, and here the of a brewery, and here reeks. Everywhere were and of such a as Graham had seen, thick Titans of greasy, the weight of that city world, as these millions were by its complexity. And were features, limbs, and degradation.
Once and again, and again a third time, Graham the song of the his long, in these places, and once he saw a a passage, and learnt that a number of these had their their work was done. Graham was the again when he saw a number of blue-clad children a passage, and presently the of their panic in a company of the Labour Police with clubs, some unknown disturbance. And then came a disorder. But for the most part this that worked, hopelessly. All the that was left in was above in the that night, calling for the Master, and and its arms.
They from these and in the light of the middle passage of the again. They aware of the and of the of one of the General Intelligence Offices, and came men running, and along the and about the was a and crying. Then a woman with a of mute white terror, and another who and as she ran.
"What has now?" said Graham, puzzled, for he not their thick speech. Then he it in English and that the thing that was shouting, that men to one another, that took up screaming, that was like the of a thunderstorm, and through the city, was this: "Ostrog has ordered the Black Police to London. The Black Police are from South Africa…. The Black Police. The Black Police."
Asano's was white and astonished; he hesitated, looked at Graham's face, and told him the thing he already knew. "But how can they know?" asked Asano.
Graham someone shouting. "Stop all work. Stop all work," and a hunchback, in green and gold, came the toward him, again and again in good English, "This is Ostrog's doing, Ostrog the Knave! The Master is betrayed." His voice was and a thin from his mouth. He an that the Black Police had done in Paris, and so passed shrieking, "Ostrog the Knave!"
For a moment Graham still, for it had come upon him again that these were a dream. He looked up at the great of on either side, into at last above the lights, and to the of platforms, and the shouting, people who were past. "The Master is betrayed!" they cried. "The Master is betrayed!"
Suddenly the itself in his mind and urgent. His to fast and strong.
"It has come," he said. "I might have known. The hour has come."
He swiftly. "What am I to do?"
"Go to the Council House," said Asano.
"Why should I not appeal—? The people are here."
"You will time. They will if it is you. But they will about the Council House. There you will their leaders. Your is there—with them."
"Suppose this is only a rumour?"
"It true," said Asano.
"Let us have the facts," said Graham.
Asano his shoulders. "We had the Council House," he cried. "That is where they will swarm. Even now the may be impassable."
Graham him and him.
They up the to the one, and there Asano a labourer. The to his questions were in the thick, speech.
"What did he say?" asked Graham.
"He little, but he told me that the Black Police would have here the people knew—had not someone in the Wind-Vane Offices learnt. He said a girl."
"A girl? Not—?"
"He said a girl—he did not know who she was. Who came out from the
Council House aloud, and told the men at work among the ruins."
And then another thing was shouted, something that an into movements, it came like a wind along the street. "To your wards, to your wards. Every man arms. Every man to his ward!"
