Then followed a busy week. Claims of all kinds were addressed to
him, some reasonable, most of them not to be entertained. Mr. Yottle
was constantly at the Manor; there he and Hubert held a kind of
court. Hubert was not well fitted for business of this nature; he
easily became impatient, and, in spite of humane intentions, often
suffered from a tumult of his blood, when opposed by some dogged
mechanic.
'I can't help it!' he exclaimed to Mr. Wyvern one right, after a day
of peculiar annoyance. 'We are all men, it is true; but for the
brotherhood--feel it who can! I am illiberal, if you like, but in
the presence of those fellows I feel that I am facing enemies. It
seems to me that I have nothing in common with them but the animal
functions. Absurd? Yes, of course, it is absurd; but I speak of how
intercourse with them affects me. They are our enemies, yours as
well as mine; they are the enemies of every man who speaks the pure
English tongue and does not earn a living with his hands. When they
face me I understand what revolution means; some of them look at me
as they would if they had muskets in their hands.'
'You are not conciliating,' remarked the vicar.
'I am not, and cannot be. They stir the worst feelings in me; I grow
arrogant, autocratic. As long as I have no private dealings with
them I can consider their hardships and judge their characters
dispassionately; but I must not come to close quarters.
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