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“I am not being defensive.” He began, observing the other man’s smile and returning it with one of his own, amused at the direction of the conversation. Of course Arthur liked to poke fun at him, it was something he was very well acquainted with. He joined the man in smoking, more inclined to do so in Arthur’s presence. “Ah, yes, I knew you were going to say that. You are trying to imply something, my friend. Of course, his being locked up many times was not something I was directly involved in. As for losing my head— quite a way to put it, by the way— if you are trying to say I got some kind of thrill from it, I must say you’re wrong. Why? Does this disappoint you?”

“That’s what I said when people used to smoke indoors.” Gilbert replied, not making any effort to stop what he was doing. With his eyes locked to the glass, he resumed drawing. “Did people listen? No. And the reek never left my tapestry.” As good reason as any to misbehave. Bitterness. 

The turning of wheels on the wet road, the tapping of rain against the window and the hissing in the radio grew into white noise in Gilbert’s ears as the miles stretched. Until a familiar tune brought him back and completely elated his spirit. It was their song, after all. Prussia finally turned back from the window and grinned. “Turn it up! My, my…”

Ah yes, how typical that Gilbert would use Arthur’s own bad habits against him at a time like this. Grumbling under breath, he pressed down on a button that lowered the window on the passenger’s side, giving Gilbert no other option but to desist his irritating activity, whilst leaving him unshielded from the merciless elements. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The story of which we have been dealing with is not one that any Englishman can recall with pleasure. It has been mainly a story of intellectual mistake and moral wrong-doing; it is then the more consoling that we can close with a more cheerful note. Sursum corda. Lift up your hearts. Whatever be or failures and mistakes, they are not those of our eighteenth-century predecessors. Whatever be the future of that marvelous commonwealth of nations we call the British Empire, it will not fall to pieces because the selfish greed of this central member of it seeks to exploit its strength and resources for her own private interests and  advantage.

Heaven knows we have suffered enough for our sins of the past. The splendid vision of an Anglo-Saxon brotherhood, making for the peace and security of the world, has been hitherto darkened and blurred by the unsavoury memories of Anglo-American dislike and distrust. Perhaps the presence side by side of the United States and Great Britain in the Great War has given us the chance of wiping the slate really clean. Those of us who can do noting else to further the good cause of Anglo-American sympathy and friendship can at least make sure that neither by word nor institution we foul the waters of past controversy, or allow passion or prejudice to obscure the serenity of our political judgments.

The Hat Act and the Iron Act were not themselves serious restrictions, but they did point the way to further curbs on colonial industry. In 1764 Grenville’s government followed the precedent those acts set when it forbade colonial assemblies to make their paper money legal tender. The Sugar Act, the Stamp Act, and the Townshend taxes were efforts to cream off what American development was producing. The Tea Act was a direct assault by the empire’s foremost economic power on the merchants of the port towns. 

Writer Theodore Draper suggests that British fear of American development was a central theme in the transatlantic “struggle for power.” It is the case that during the very same years British domination over Ireland and India was leading to the long-term subordination of their economies to British needs. In those countries, local merchants and local trading networks were crushed as the British moved in. Local industry was stifled so that British industry could prosper. Local agriculture was organised to produce staple crops for Britain to process, rather than mixed crops for local people to use. When Britain turned from “salutary neglect” to stricter control, it pointed its North American policy in the same direction.

“Well, I mean…” Alfred trailed off, frowning into his own beer for a second as he thought about it. Did it seem like Arthur tried to be a better person? … Not really. It seemed like he wasn’t as bad a person as Alfred used to believe him to be, but whether that was because he tried harder or because Alfred himself had a new perspective he couldn’t be sure. People who tried to be good usually didn’t go around being rude to people and acting aloof or pretentious as Alfred thought his old friend often did. But he also knew that Arthur wasn’t doing that on purpose, and he could be nice when he wanted, did that constitute him trying to be better?

“I know you’re a good person, Arthur. I wholeheartedly believe that you are good in your heart, and it’d be pretty hard to make me think otherwise. But it’s not always good enough to just… try. You have to be better.” Taking a drink himself, his expression sobered as he studied the man beside him. This was all something Alfred was quite familiar with, as conscious as he was of his image, but trying to explain his philosophy to someone else wasn’t easy.

“It’s not enough to keep apologizing and feeling bad for the shitty things you’ve done if you keep doing shitty things. The shitty things you do aren’t bad enough to make you a bad person I don’t think, but if you’re unhappy you’ve gotta make a real change y’know?”

The mere fact that Alfred hesitated before answering made Arthur’s stomach sink – surely that can’t be a positive sign. He was not at all feeling good about himself art the moment. Yet another failure in the relationship domain grated on Arthur’s already poor self-esteem. It was quite devastating considering he personally felt he’d gone to great lengths to be the best version of himself that he possibly could be for this person, only to fail terribly despite all his careful intentions. 

In truth, he had not asked Alfred this question in the hopes of hearing an honest response, he had asked in the hopes that Alfred might take some pity and tell him a nice white lie – but alas, Alfred was no mind-reader, and Arthur’s brows furrowed once he had received that less-then-desirable response. He returned his attention to his drink in quite the same dejected manner as previous, before downing the entirety of its remnants. 

“Say what you really feel why don’t you,” he grumbled, clumsily reaching forward to refill his glass with rum. “But I guess you’re not wrong: that’s exactly the sort of thing I do, isn’t it? I don’t care to acknowledge my mistakes until it’s too late.” It irritated Arthur just how well the lad knew him. If Alfred were to list down Arthur’s faults, they’d be alarmingly accurate. “I might have good intentions, but my methods of expressing them are lacking. I get what you’re saying, I do.” His voice quivered somewhat. “But you see, change is a lot easier said than done. My old pride is constantly at odds with this modern conscience – yet I get no bloody points for trying.”