'
'This,' said Mr Tappert gravely, 'is a flagrant case. Put two black
crosses to the name of Curzon.'
'If the society,' said the novice, who was an ill-looking, one-sided,
shambling lad, with sunken eyes set close together in his head--'if the
society would burn his house down--for he's not insured--or beat him
as he comes home from his club at night, or help me to carry off his
daughter, and marry her at the Fleet, whether she gave consent or no--'
Mr Tappertit waved his grizzly truncheon as an admonition to him not to
interrupt, and ordered three black crosses to the name of Curzon.
'Which means,' he said in gracious explanation, 'vengeance, complete and
terrible. 'Prentice, do you love the Constitution?'
To which the novice (being to that end instructed by his attendant
sponsors) replied 'I do!'
'The Church, the State, and everything established--but the masters?'
quoth the captain.
Again the novice said 'I do.'
Having said it, he listened meekly to the captain, who in an address
prepared for such occasions, told him how that under that same
Constitution (which was kept in a strong box somewhere, but where
exactly he could not find out, or he would have endeavoured to procure a
copy of it), the 'prentices had, in times gone by, had frequent holidays
of right, broken people's heads by scores, defied their masters, nay,
even achieved some glorious murders in the streets, which privileges
had gradually been wrested from them, and in all which noble aspirations
they were now restrained; how the degrading checks imposed upon them
were unquestionably attributable to the innovating spirit of the times,
and how they united therefore to resist all change, except such change
as would restore those good old English customs, by which they would
stand or fall.
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