It was in truth his first public speech. At Silverbridge he had attempted to repeat a few words, and in his failure had been covered by the Sprugeons and the Sprouts. But now he was on his legs in a great room, in an unknown town, with all the aristocracy of the place before him! His eyes at first swam a little, and there was a moment in which he thought he would run away. But, on that morning, as he was dressing, there had come to his mind the idea of the possibility of such a moment as this, and a few words had occurred to him. “My friend Frank Tregear,” he began, rushing at once at his subject, “is a very good fellow, and I hope you’ll elect him.” Then he paused, not remembering what was to come next; but the sentiment which he had uttered appeared to his auditors to be so good in itself and so well-delivered, that they filled up a long pause with continued clappings and exclamations. “Yes,” continued the young member of Parliament, encouraged by the kindness of the crowd, “I have known Frank Tregear ever so long, and I don’t think you could find a better member of Parliament anywhere.” There were many ladies present and they thought that the Duke’s son was just the person who ought to come electioneering among them. His voice was much pleasanter to their ears than that of old Mr. Williams. The women waved their handkerchiefs and the men stamped their feet. Here was an orator come among them! “You all know all about it just as well as I do,” continued the orator, “and I am sure you feel that he ought to be member for Polpenno.” There could be no doubt about that as far as the opinion of the audience went. “There can’t be a better fellow than Frank Tregear, and I ask you all to give three cheers for the new member.” Ten times three cheers were given, and the Carbottleites outside the door who had come to report what was going on at the Tregear meeting were quite of opinion that this eldest son of the former Prime Minister was a tower of strength. “I don’t know anything about Mr. Carbottle,” continued Silverbridge, who was almost growing to like the sound of his own voice. “Perhaps he’s a good fellow too.” “No; no, no. A very bad fellow indeed,” was heard from different parts of the room. “I don’t know anything about him. I wasn’t at school with Carbottle.” This was taken as a stroke of the keenest wit, and was received with infinite cheering. Silverbridge was in the pride of his youth, and Carbottle was sixty at the least. Nothing could have been funnier. “He seems to be a stout old party, but I don’t think he’s the man for Polpenno. I think you’ll return Frank Tregear. I was at school with him;—and I tell you, that you can’t find a better fellow anywhere than Frank Tregear.” Then he sat down, and I am afraid he felt that he had made the speech of the evening. “We are so much obliged to you, Lord Silverbridge,” Miss Tregear said as they were walking home together. “That’s just the sort of thing that the people like. So reassuring, you know. What Mr. Williams says about the dissenters is of course true; but it isn’t reassuring.”
“I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself tonight,” Silverbridge said when he was alone with Tregear—probably with some little pride in his heart.
“I ought to say that you did, seeing that you praised me so violently. But, whatever it was, it was well taken. I don’t know whether they will elect me; but had you come down as a candidate, I am quite sure they would have elected you.” Silverbridge was hardly satisfied with this. He wished to have been told that he had spoken well. He did not, however, resent his friend’s coldness. “Perhaps, after all, I did make a fool of myself,” he said to himself as he went to bed.
On the next day, after breakfast, it was found to be raining heavily. Canvassing was of course the business of the hour, and canvassing is a business which cannot be done indoors. It was soon decided that the rain should go for nothing. Could an agreement have been come to with the Carbottleites it might have been decided that both parties should abstain, but as that was impossible the Tregear party could not afford to lose the day. As Mr. Carbottle, by reason of his fatness and natural slowness, would perhaps be specially averse to walking about in the slush and mud, it might be that they would gain something; so after breakfast they started with umbrellas—Tregear, Silverbridge, Mr. Newcomb the curate, Mr. Pinebott the conservative attorney, with four or five followers who were armed with books and pencils, and who ticked off on the list of the voters the names of the friendly, the doubtful, and the inimical.
Parliamentary canvassing is not a pleasant occupation. Perhaps nothing more disagreeable, more squalid, more revolting to the senses, more opposed to personal dignity, can be conceived. The same words have to be repeated over and over again in the cottages, hovels, and lodgings of poor men and women who only understand that the time has come round in which they are to be flattered instead of being the flatterers. “I think I am right in supposing that your husband’s principles are Conservative, Mrs. Bubbs.” “I don’t know nothing about it. You’d better call again and see Bubbs hissel.” “Certainly I will do so. I shouldn’t at all like to leave
