CHAPTER XVII
The Election
And now the important day of the election had arrived, and some men'shearts beat quickly enough. To be or not to be a member of the BritishParliament is a question of very considerable moment in a man's mind.Much is often said of the great penalties which the ambitious pay forenjoying this honour; of the tremendous expenses of elections; of thelong, tedious hours of unpaid labour: of the weary days passed in theHouse; but, nevertheless, the prize is one very well worth the pricepaid for it--well worth any price that can be paid for it short ofwading through dirt and dishonour.
No other great European nation has anything like it to offer to theambition of its citizens; for in no other great country of Europe,not even in those which are free, has the popular constitutionobtained, as with us, true sovereignty and power of rule. Here it isso; and when a man lays himself out to be a member of Parliament, heplays the highest game and for the highest stakes which the countryaffords.
To some men, born silver-spooned, a seat in Parliament comes asa matter of course. From the time of their early manhood theyhardly know what it is not to sit there; and the honour is hardlyappreciated, being too much a matter of course. As a rule, theynever know how great a thing it is to be in Parliament; though, whenreverse comes, as reverses occasionally will come, they fully feelhow dreadful it is to be left out.
But to men aspiring to be members, or to those who having beenonce fortunate have again to fight the battle without assurance ofsuccess, the coming election must be matter of dread concern. Oh, howdelightful to hear that the long-talked-of rival has declined thecontest, and that the course is clear! or to find by a short canvassthat one's majority is safe, and the pleasures of crowing over anunlucky, friendless foe quite secured!
No such gratification as this filled the bosom of Mr Moffat onthe morning of the Barchester election. To him had been broughtno positive assurance of success by his indefatigable agent, MrNearthewinde. It was admitted on all sides that the contest would bea very close one; and Mr Nearthewinde would not do more than assertthat they ought to win unless things went very wrong with them.
Mr Nearthewinde had other elections to attend to, and had not beenremaining at Courcy Castle ever since the coming of Miss Dunstable:but he had been there, and at Barchester, as often as possible, andMr Moffat was made greatly uneasy by reflecting how very high thebill would be.
The two parties had outdone each other in the loudness of theirassertions, that each would on his side conduct the election instrict conformity to law. There was to be no bribery. Bribery! who,indeed, in these days would dare to bribe; to give absolute money foran absolute vote, and pay for such an article in downright palpablesovereigns? No. Purity was much too rampant for that, and the meansof detection too well understood. But purity was to be carried muchfurther than this. There should be no treating; no hiring of twohundred voters to act as messengers at twenty shillings a day inlooking up some four hundred other voters; no bands were to be paidfor; no carriages furnished; no ribbons supplied. British voters wereto vote, if vote they would, for the love and respect they bore totheir chosen candidate. If so actuated, they would not vote, theymight stay away; no other inducement would be offered.
So much was said loudly--very loudly--by each party; but,nevertheless, Mr Moffat, early in these election days, began to havesome misgivings about the bill. The proclaimed arrangement had beenone exactly suitable to his taste; for Mr Moffat loved his money. Hewas a man in whose breast the ambition of being great in the world,and of joining himself to aristocratic people was continually at warwith the great cost which such tastes occasioned. His last electionhad not been a cheap triumph. In one way or another money hadbeen dragged from him for purposes which had been to his mindunintelligible; and when, about the middle of his first session, hehad, with much grumbling, settled all demands, he had questioned withhimself whether his whistle was worth its cost.
He was therefore a great stickler for purity of election although,had he considered the matter, he should have known that with himmoney was his only passport into that Elysium in which he had nowlived for two years. He probably did not consider it; for when, inthose canvassing days immediately preceding the election, he hadseen that all the beer-houses were open, and half the populationwas drunk, he had asked Mr Nearthewinde whether this violation ofthe treaty was taking place only on the part of his opponent, andwhether, in such case, it would not be duly noticed with a view to apossible future petition.
Mr Nearthewinde assured him triumphantly that half at least of thewallowing swine were his own especial friends; and that somewhatmore than half of the publicans of the town were eagerly engaged infighting his, Mr Moffat's battle. Mr Moffat groaned, and would haveexpostulated had Mr Nearthewinde been willing to hear him. But thatgentleman's services had been put into requisition by Lord de Courcyrather than by the candidate. For the candidate he cared but little.To pay the bill would be enough for him. He, Mr Nearthewinde, wasdoing his business as he well knew how to do it; and it was notlikely that he should submit to be lectured by such as Mr Moffat on atrumpery score of expense.
It certainly did appear on the morning of the election as though somegreat change had been made in that resolution of the candidates to bevery pure. From an early hour rough bands of music were to be heardin every part of the usually quiet town; carts and gigs, omnibusesand flys, all the old carriages from all the inn-yards, and everyvehicle of any description which could be pressed into the servicewere in motion if the horses and post-boys were not to be paid forby the candidates, the voters themselves were certainly very liberalin their mode of bringing themselves to the poll. The electiondistrict of the city of Barchester extended for some miles on eachside of the city, so that the omnibuses and flys had enough to do.Beer was to be had at the public-houses, almost without question, byall who chose to ask for it; and rum and brandy were dispensed toselect circles within the bars with equal profusion. As for ribbons,the mercers' shops must have been emptied of that article, as far asscarlet and yellow were concerned. Scarlet was Sir Roger's colour,while the friends of Mr Moffat were decked with yellow. Seeing whathe did see, Mr Moffat might well ask whether there had not been aviolation of the treaty of purity!
At the time of this election there was some question whether Englandshould go to war with all her energy; or whether it would not bebetter for her to save her breath to cool her porridge, and notmeddle more than could be helped with foreign quarrels. The last viewof the matter was advocated by Sir Roger, and his motto of courseproclaimed the merits of domestic peace and quiet. "Peace abroad anda big loaf at home," was consequently displayed on four or five hugescarlet banners, and carried waving over the heads of the people. ButMr Moffat was a staunch supporter of the Government, who were alreadyinclined to be belligerent, and "England's honour" was therefore thelegend under which he selected to do battle. It may, however, bedoubted whether there was in all Barchester one inhabitant--let aloneone elector--so fatuous as to suppose that England's honour was inany special manner dear to Mr Moffat; or that he would be a whit moresure of a big loaf than he was now, should Sir Roger happily become amember of the legislature.
And then the fine arts were resorted to, seeing that language fellshort in telling all that was found necessary to be told. Poor SirRoger's failing as regards the bottle was too well known; and it wasalso known that, in acquiring his title, he had not quite laid asidethe rough mode of speech which he had used in his early years. Therewas, consequently, a great daub painted up on sundry walls, on whicha navvy, with a pimply, bloated face, was to be seen standing on arailway bank, leaning on a spade holding a bottle in one hand, whilehe invited a comrade to drink. "Come, Jack, shall us have a drop ofsome'at short?" were the words coming out of the navvy's mouth; andunder this was painted in huge letters,
"THE LAST NEW BARONET."
But Mr Moffat hardly escaped on easier terms. The trade by which hisfather had made his money was as well known as that of the railwaycontractor;
and every possible symbol of tailordom was displayed ingraphic portraiture on the walls and hoardings of the city. He wasdrawn with his goose, with his scissors, with his needle, with histapes; he might be seen measuring, cutting, stitching, pressing,carrying home his bundle, and presenting his little bill; and undereach of these representations was repeated his own motto: "England'shonour."
Such were the pleasant little amenities with which the people ofBarchester greeted the two candidates who were desirous of the honourof serving them in Parliament.
The polling went on briskly and merrily. There were somewhat abovenine hundred registered voters, of whom the greater portion recordedtheir votes early in the day. At two o'clock, according to SirRoger's committee, the numbers were as follows:--
Scatcherd 275 Moffat 268
Whereas, by the light afforded by Mr Moffat's people, they stood in aslightly different ratio to each other, being written thus:--
Moffat 277 Scatcherd 269
This naturally heightened the excitement, and gave additional delightto the proceedings. At half-past two it was agreed by both sides thatMr Moffat was ahead; the Moffatites claiming a majority of twelve,and the Scatcherdites allowing a majority of one. But by threeo'clock sundry good men and true, belonging to the railway interest,had made their way to the booth in spite of the efforts of a bandof roughs from Courcy, and Sir Roger was again leading, by ten or adozen, according to his own showing.
One little transaction which took place in the earlier part of theday deserves to be recorded. There was in Barchester an honestpublican--honest as the world of publicans goes--who not only waspossessed of a vote, but possessed also of a son who was a voter.He was one Reddypalm, and in former days, before he had learned toappreciate the full value of an Englishman's franchise, he had been adeclared Liberal and an early friend of Roger Scatcherd's. In latterdays he had governed his political feelings with more decorum, andhad not allowed himself to be carried away by such foolish fervour ashe had evinced in his youth. On this special occasion, however, hisline of conduct was so mysterious as for a while to baffle even thosewho knew him best.
His house was apparently open in Sir Roger's interest. Beer, at anyrate, was flowing there as elsewhere; and scarlet ribbons goingin--not, perhaps, in a state of perfect steadiness--came out moreunsteady than before. Still had Mr Reddypalm been deaf to the voiceof that charmer, Closerstil, though he had charmed with all hiswisdom. Mr Reddypalm had stated, first his unwillingness to vote atall:--he had, he said, given over politics, and was not inclined totrouble his mind again with the subject; then he had spoken of hisgreat devotion to the Duke of Omnium, under whose grandfathers hisgrandfather had been bred: Mr Nearthewinde had, as he said, beenwith him, and proved to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wouldshow the deepest ingratitude on his part to vote against the duke'scandidate.
Mr Closerstil thought he understood all this, and sent more, andstill more men to drink beer. He even caused--taking infinite troubleto secure secrecy in the matter--three gallons of British brandy tobe ordered and paid for as the best French. But, nevertheless, MrReddypalm made no sign to show that he considered that the rightthing had been done. On the evening before the election, he toldone of Mr Closerstil's confidential men, that he had thought a gooddeal about it, and that he believed he should be constrained by hisconscience to vote for Mr Moffat.
We have said that Mr Closerstil was accompanied by a learned friendof his, one Mr Romer, a barrister, who was greatly interested in SirRoger, and who, being a strong Liberal, was assisting in the canvasswith much energy. He, hearing how matters were likely to go withthis conscientious publican, and feeling himself peculiarly capableof dealing with such delicate scruples, undertook to look into thecase in hand. Early, therefore, on the morning of the election, hesauntered down the cross street in which hung out the sign of theBrown Bear, and, as he expected, found Mr Reddypalm near his owndoor.
Now it was quite an understood thing that there was to be no bribery.This was understood by no one better than by Mr Romer, who had, intruth, drawn up many of the published assurances to that effect. And,to give him his due, he was fully minded to act in accordance withthese assurances. The object of all the parties was to make it worththe voters' while to give their votes; but to do so without bribery.Mr Romer had repeatedly declared that he would have nothing to dowith any illegal practising; but he had also declared that, as longas all was done according to law, he was ready to lend his bestefforts to assist Sir Roger. How he assisted Sir Roger, and adheredto the law, will now be seen.
Oh, Mr Romer! Mr Romer! is it not the case with thee that thou"wouldst not play false, and yet wouldst wrongly win?" Not inelectioneering, Mr Romer, any more than in other pursuits, can a mantouch pitch and not be defiled; as thou, innocent as thou art, wiltsoon learn to thy terrible cost.
"Well, Reddypalm," said Mr Romer, shaking hands with him. Mr Romerhad not been equally cautious as Nearthewinde, and had already drunksundry glasses of ale at the Brown Bear, in the hope of softening thestern Bear-warden. "How is it to be to-day? Which is to be the man?"
"If any one knows that, Mr Romer, you must be the man. A poornumbskull like me knows nothing of them matters. How should I?All I looks to, Mr Romer, is selling a trifle of drink now andthen--selling it, and getting paid for it, you know, Mr Romer."
"Yes, that's important, no doubt. But come, Reddypalm, such an oldfriend of Sir Roger as you are, a man he speaks of as one of hisintimate friends, I wonder how you can hesitate about it? Now withanother man, I should think that he wanted to be paid for voting--"
"Oh, Mr Romer!--fie--fie--fie!"
"I know it's not the case with you. It would be an insult to offeryou money, even if money were going. I should not mention this, onlyas money is not going, neither on our side nor on the other, no harmcan be done."
"Mr Romer, if you speak of such a thing, you'll hurt me. I know thevalue of an Englishman's franchise too well to wish to sell it. Iwould not demean myself so low; no, not though five-and-twenty pounda vote was going, as there was in the good old times--and that's notso long ago neither."
"I am sure you wouldn't, Reddypalm; I'm sure you wouldn't. But anhonest man like you should stick to old friends. Now, tell me," andputting his arm through Reddypalm's, he walked with him into thepassage of his own house; "Now, tell me--is there anything wrong?It's between friends, you know. Is there anything wrong?"
"I wouldn't sell my vote for untold gold," said Reddypalm, who wasperhaps aware that untold gold would hardly be offered to him for it.
"I am sure you would not," said Mr Romer.
"But," said Reddypalm, "a man likes to be paid his little bill."
"Surely, surely," said the barrister.
"And I did say two years since, when your friend Mr Closerstilbrought a friend of his down to stand here--it wasn't Sir Rogerthen--but when he brought a friend of his down, and when I drewtwo or three hogsheads of ale on their side, and when my bill wasquestioned and only half-settled, I did say that I wouldn't interferewith no election no more. And no more I will, Mr Romer--unless it beto give a quiet vote for the nobleman under whom I and mine alwayslived respectable."
"Oh!" said Mr Romer.
"A man do like to have his bill paid, you know, Mr Romer."
Mr Romer could not but acknowledge that this was a natural feeling onthe part of an ordinary mortal publican.
"It goes agin the grain with a man not to have his little bill paid,and specially at election time," again urged Mr Reddypalm.
Mr Romer had not much time to think about it; but he knew well thatmatters were so nearly balanced, that the votes of Mr Reddypalm andhis son were of inestimable value.
"If it's only about your bill," said Mr Romer, "I'll see to have thatsettled. I'll speak to Closerstil about that."
"All right!" said Reddypalm, seizing the young barrister's hand, andshaking it warmly; "all right!" And late in the afternoon when a voteor two became matter of intense interest, Mr Reddypal
m and his soncame up to the hustings and boldly tendered theirs for their oldfriend, Sir Roger.
There was a great deal of eloquence heard in Barchester on that day.Sir Roger had by this time so far recovered as to be able to gothrough the dreadfully hard work of canvassing and addressing theelectors from eight in the morning till near sunset. A very perfectrecovery, most men will say. Yes; a perfect recovery as regarded thetemporary use of his faculties, both physical and mental; thoughit may be doubted whether there can be any permanent recovery fromsuch disease as his. What amount of brandy he consumed to enablehim to perform this election work, and what lurking evil effect theexcitement might have on him--of these matters no record was kept inthe history of those proceedings.
Sir Roger's eloquence was of a rough kind; but not perhaps the lessoperative on those for whom it was intended. The aristocracy ofBarchester consisted chiefly of clerical dignitaries, bishops, deans,prebendaries, and such like: on them and theirs it was not probablethat anything said by Sir Roger would have much effect. Those menwould either abstain from voting, or vote for the railway hero,with the view of keeping out the de Courcy candidate. Then came theshopkeepers, who might also be regarded as a stiff-necked generation,impervious to electioneering eloquence. They would, generally,support Mr Moffat. But there was an inferior class of voters,ten-pound freeholders, and such like, who, at this period, weresomewhat given to have an opinion of their own, and over them it wassupposed that Sir Roger did obtain some power by his gift of talking.
"Now, gentlemen, will you tell me this," said he, bawling at the topof his voice from off the portico which graced the door of the Dragonof Wantley, at which celebrated inn Sir Roger's committee sat:--"Whois Mr Moffat, and what has he done for us? There have been somepicture-makers about the town this week past. The Lord knows whothey are; I don't. These clever fellows do tell you who I am, andwhat I've done. I ain't very proud of the way they've painted me,though there's something about it I ain't ashamed of either. Seehere," and he held up on one side of him one of the great daubs ofhimself--"just hold it there till I can explain it," and he handedthe paper to one of his friends. "That's me," said Sir Roger, puttingup his stick, and pointing to the pimply-nosed representation ofhimself.
"Hurrah! Hur-r-rah! more power to you--we all know who you are,Roger. You're the boy! When did you get drunk last?" Such-likegreetings, together with a dead cat which was flung at him from thecrowd, and which he dexterously parried with his stick, were theanswers which he received to this exordium.
"Yes," said he, quite undismayed by this little missile which hadso nearly reached him: "that's me. And look here; this brown,dirty-looking broad streak here is intended for a railway; and thatthing in my hand--not the right hand; I'll come to that presently--"
"How about the brandy, Roger?"
"I'll come to that presently. I'll tell you about the brandy in goodtime. But that thing in my left hand is a spade. Now, I never handleda spade, and never could; but, boys, I handled a chisel and mallet;and many a hundred block of stone has come out smooth from under thathand;" and Sir Roger lifted up his great broad palm wide open.
"So you did, Roger, and well we minds it."
"The meaning, however, of that spade is to show that I made therailway. Now I'm very much obliged to those gentlemen over at theWhite Horse for putting up this picture of me. It's a true picture,and it tells you who I am. I did make that railway. I have madethousands of miles of railway; I am making thousands of miles ofrailways--some in Europe, some in Asia, some in America. It's atrue picture," and he poked his stick through it and held it up tothe crowd. "A true picture: but for that spade and that railway, Ishouldn't be now here asking your votes; and, when next Februarycomes, I shouldn't be sitting in Westminster to represent you, as, byGod's grace, I certainly will do. That tells you who I am. But now,will you tell me who Mr Moffat is?"
"How about the brandy, Roger?"
"Oh, yes, the brandy! I was forgetting that and the little speechthat is coming out of my mouth--a deal shorter speech, and a betterone than what I am making now. Here, in the right hand you see abrandy bottle. Well, boys, I'm not a bit ashamed of that; as longas a man does his work--and the spade shows that--it's only fair heshould have something to comfort him. I'm always able to work, andfew men work much harder. I'm always able to work, and no man has aright to expect more of me. I never expect more than that from thosewho work for me."
"No more you don't, Roger: a little drop's very good, ain't it,Roger? Keeps the cold from the stomach, eh, Roger?"
"Then as to this speech, 'Come, Jack, let's have a drop of some'atshort.' Why, that's a good speech too. When I do drink I like toshare with a friend; and I don't care how humble that friend is."
"Hurrah! more power. That's true too, Roger; may you never be withouta drop to wet your whistle."
"They say I'm the last new baronet. Well, I ain't ashamed of that;not a bit. When will Mr Moffat get himself made a baronet? No mancan truly say I'm too proud of it. I have never stuck myself up; no,nor stuck my wife up either: but I don't see much to be ashamed ofbecause the bigwigs chose to make a baronet of me."
"Nor, no more thee h'ant, Roger. We'd all be barrownites if so be weknew the way."
"But now, having polished off this bit of picture, let me ask you whoMr Moffat is? There are pictures enough about him, too; though Heavenknows where they all come from. I think Sir Edwin Landseer must havedone this one of the goose; it is so deadly natural. Look at it;there he is. Upon my word, whoever did that ought to make his fortuneat some of these exhibitions. Here he is again, with a big pairof scissors. He calls himself 'England's honour;' what the deuceEngland's honour has to do with tailoring, I can't tell you: perhapsMr Moffat can. But mind you, my friends, I don't say anything againsttailoring: some of you are tailors, I dare say."
"Yes, we be," said a little squeaking voice from out of the crowd.
"And a good trade it is. When I first knew Barchester there weretailors here could lick any stone-mason in the trade; I say nothingagainst tailors. But it isn't enough for a man to be a tailor unlesshe's something else along with it. You're not so fond of tailors thatyou'll send one up to Parliament merely because he is a tailor."
"We won't have no tailors. No; nor yet no cabbaging. Take a go ofbrandy, Roger; you're blown."
"No, I'm not blown yet. I've a deal more to say about Mr Moffatbefore I shall be blown. What has he done to entitle him to come herebefore you and ask you to send him to Parliament? Why; he isn't evena tailor. I wish he were. There's always some good in a fellow whoknows how to earn his own bread. But he isn't a tailor; he can't evenput a stitch in towards mending England's honour. His father was atailor; not a Barchester tailor, mind you, so as to give him anyclaim on your affections; but a London tailor. Now the question is,do you want to send the son of a London tailor up to Parliament torepresent you?"
"No, we don't; nor yet we won't either."
"I rather think not. You've had him once, and what has he done foryou? Has he said much for you in the House of Commons? Why, he's sodumb a dog that he can't bark even for a bone. I'm told it's quitepainful to hear him fumbling and mumbling and trying to get up aspeech there over at the White Horse. He doesn't belong to the city;he hasn't done anything for the city; and he hasn't the power to doanything for the city. Then, why on earth does he come here? I'lltell you. The Earl de Courcy brings him. He's going to marry theEarl de Courcy's niece; for they say he's very rich--this tailor'sson--only they do say also that he doesn't much like to spend hismoney. He's going to marry Lord de Courcy's niece, and Lord de Courcywishes that his nephew should be in Parliament. There, that's theclaim which Mr Moffat has here on the people of Barchester. He's Lordde Courcy's nominee, and those who feel themselves bound hand andfoot, heart and soul, to Lord de Courcy, had better vote for him.Such men have my leave. If there are enough of such at Barchester tosend him to Parliament, the city in which I was born must be verymuch altered since I was a young man."
And so finishing his sp
eech, Sir Roger retired within, and recruitedhimself in the usual manner.
Such was the flood of eloquence at the Dragon of Wantly. At the WhiteHorse, meanwhile, the friends of the de Courcy interest were treatedperhaps to sounder political views; though not expressed in periodsso intelligibly fluent as those of Sir Roger.
Mr Moffat was a young man, and there was no knowing to whatproficiency in the Parliamentary gift of public talking he might yetattain; but hitherto his proficiency was not great. He had, however,endeavoured to make up by study for any want of readiness of speech,and had come to Barchester daily, for the last four days, fortifiedwith a very pretty harangue, which he had prepared for himself inthe solitude of his chamber. On the three previous days mattershad been allowed to progress with tolerable smoothness, and he hadbeen permitted to deliver himself of his elaborate eloquence withfew other interruptions than those occasioned by his own want ofpractice. But on this, the day of days, the Barchesterian roughs werenot so complaisant. It appeared to Mr Moffat, when he essayed tospeak, that he was surrounded by enemies rather than friends; and inhis heart he gave great blame to Mr Nearthewinde for not managingmatters better for him.
"Men of Barchester," he began, in a voice which was every now andthen preternaturally loud, but which, at each fourth or fifth word,gave way from want of power, and descended to its natural weak tone."Men of Barchester--electors and non-electors--"
"We is hall electors; hall on us, my young kiddy."
"Electors and non-electors, I now ask your suffrages, not for thefirst time--"
"Oh! we've tried you. We know what you're made on. Go on, Snip; don'tyou let 'em put you down."
"I've had the honour of representing you in Parliament for the lasttwo years and--"
"And a deuced deal you did for us, didn't you?"
"What could you expect from the ninth part of a man? Never mind,Snip--go on don't you be put out by any of them. Stick to your waxand thread like a man--like the ninth part of a man--go on a littlefaster, Snip."
"For the last two years--and--and--" Here Mr Moffat looked round tohis friends for some little support, and the Honourable George, whostood close behind him, suggested that he had gone through it like abrick.
"And--and I went through it like a brick," said Mr Moffat, with thegravest possible face, taking up in his utter confusion the wordsthat were put into his mouth.
"Hurray!--so you did--you're the real brick. Well done, Snip; go itagain with the wax and thread!"
"I am a thorough-paced reformer," continued Mr Moffat, somewhatreassured by the effect of the opportune words which his friend hadwhispered into his ear. "A thorough-paced reformer--a thorough-pacedreformer--"
"Go on, Snip. We all know what that means."
"A thorough-paced reformer--"
"Never mind your paces, man; but get on. Tell us something new. We'reall reformers, we are."
Poor Mr Moffat was a little thrown back. It wasn't so easy to tellthese gentlemen anything new, harnessed as he was at this moment; sohe looked back at his honourable supporter for some further hint."Say something about their daughters," whispered George, whose ownflights of oratory were always on that subject. Had he counselled MrMoffat to say a word or two about the tides, his advice would nothave been less to the purpose.
"Gentlemen," he began again--"you all know that I am a thorough-pacedreformer--"
"Oh, drat your reform. He's a dumb dog. Go back to your goose,Snippy; you never were made for this work. Go to Courcy Castle andreform that."
Mr Moffat, grieved in his soul, was becoming inextricably bewilderedby such facetiae as these, when an egg,--and it may be feared not afresh egg,--flung with unerring precision, struck him on the openpart of his well-plaited shirt, and reduced him to speechlessdespair.
An egg is a means of delightful support when properly administered;but it is not calculated to add much spirit to a man's eloquence, orto ensure his powers of endurance, when supplied in the manner abovedescribed. Men there are, doubtless, whose tongues would not bestopped even by such an argument as this; but Mr Moffat was not oneof them. As the insidious fluid trickled down beneath his waistcoat,he felt that all further powers of coaxing the electors out of theirvotes, by words flowing from his tongue sweeter than honey, wasfor that occasion denied to him. He could not be self-confident,energetic, witty, and good-humoured with a rotten egg drying throughhis clothes. He was forced, therefore, to give way, and with sadlydisconcerted air retired from the open window at which he had beenstanding.
It was in vain that the Honourable George, Mr Nearthewinde, and Frankendeavoured again to bring him to the charge. He was like a beatenprize-fighter, whose pluck has been cowed out of him, and who, if hestands up, only stands up to fall. Mr Moffat got sulky also, and whenhe was pressed, said that Barchester and the people in it might bed----. "With all my heart," said Mr Nearthewinde. "That wouldn't haveany effect on their votes."
But, in truth, it mattered very little whether Mr Moffat spoke,or whether he didn't speak. Four o'clock was the hour for closingthe poll, and that was now fast coming. Tremendous exertions hadbeen made about half-past three, by a safe emissary sent fromNearthewinde, to prove to Mr Reddypalm that all manner of contingentadvantages would accrue to the Brown Bear if it should turn out thatMr Moffat should take his seat for Barchester. No bribe was, ofcourse, offered or even hinted at. The purity of Barchester was notcontaminated during the day by one such curse as this. But a man, anda publican, would be required to do some great deed in the publicline; to open some colossal tap; to draw beer for the million and noone would be so fit as Mr Reddypalm--if only it might turn out thatMr Moffat should, in the coming February, take his seat as member forBarchester.
But Mr Reddypalm was a man of humble desires, whose ambitions soaredno higher than this--that his little bills should be duly settled. Itis wonderful what love an innkeeper has for his bill in its entirety.An account, with a respectable total of five or six pounds, isbrought to you, and you complain but of one article; that fire in thebedroom was never lighted; or that second glass of brandy and waterwas never called for. You desire to have the shilling expunged, andall your host's pleasure in the whole transaction is destroyed. Oh!my friends, pay for the brandy and water, though you never drank it;suffer the fire to pass, though it never warmed you. Why make a goodman miserable for such a trifle?
It became notified to Reddypalm with sufficient clearness that hisbill for the past election should be paid without further questionand, therefore, at five o'clock the Mayor of Barchester proclaimedthe results of the contest in the following figures:--
Scatcherd 378 Moffat 376
Mr Reddypalm's two votes had decided the question. Mr Nearthewindeimmediately went up to town; and the dinner party at Courcy Castlethat evening was not a particularly pleasant meal.
This much, however, had been absolutely decided before the yellowcommittee concluded their labour at the White Horse: there should bea petition. Mr Nearthewinde had not been asleep, and already knewsomething of the manner in which Mr Reddypalm's mind had beenquieted.
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