his father again behind the blind, irrevocably prone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO.

But by the time the speeches were in progress he was uplifted high once
more into the joy of life. He had been welcomed by acquaintances and by
strangers with a deferential warmth that positively startled him. He
realised, as never before, that the town esteemed him as a successful
man. His place was not many removes from the chair. Osmond Orgreave
was on his right, and Albert Benbow on his left. He had introduced an
impressed Albert to his friend Mr Orgreave, recently made a Justice of
the Peace.

And down the long littered tables stretched the authority and the wealth
of the town-aldermen, councillors, members of the school board,
guardians of the poor, magistrates, solid tradesmen, and solid
manufacturers, together with higher officials of the borough and some
members of the learned professions. Here was the oligarchy which,
behind the appearances of democratic government, effectively managed,
directed, and controlled the town. Here was the handful of people who
settled between them whether rates should go up or down, and to whom it
did not seriously matter whether rates went up or down, provided that
the interests of the common people were not too sharply set in
antagonism to their own interests. Here were the privileged, who did
what they liked on the condition of not offending each other. Here the
populace was honestly and cynically and openly regarded as a restless
child, to be humoured and to be flattered, but also to be ruled firmly,
to be kept in its place, to be ignored when advisable, and to be made to
pay.

For the feast, the court-room had been transformed into a banqueting
hall, and the magistrates' bench, where habitual criminals were created
and families ruined and order maintained, was hidden in flowers. Osmond
Orgreave was dryly facetious about that bench. He exchanged comments
with other magistrates, and they all agreed, with the same dry
facetiousness, that most of the law was futile and some of it
mischievous; and they all said, `But what can you do?' and by their tone
indicated that you could do nothing. According to Osmond Orgreave's
wit, the only real use of a magistrate was to sign the necessary papers
for persons who had lost pawn-tickets. It appeared that such persons in
distress came to Mr Orgreave every day for the august signature. "I
ha