“No; I won’t do that,” said Arthur Fletcher.
“That’s what you ought to do.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Then take no notice of the letter and carry a fairly big stick. It should be big enough to hurt him a good deal, but not to do him any serious damage.” At that moment an agent came in with news of the man’s retirement from the contest. “Has he left the town?” asked Gresham. No;—he had not left the town, nor had he been seen by anyone that morning. “You had better let me go out and get the stick, before you show yourself,” said Gresham. And so the stick was selected.
As the two walked down the street together, almost the first thing they saw was Lopez standing at his hotel door with a cutting whip in his hand. He was at that moment quite alone, but on the opposite side of the street there was a policeman—one of the borough constables—very slowly making his way along the pavement. His movement, indeed, was so slow that anyone watching him would have come to the conclusion that that particular part of the High Street had some attraction for him at that special moment. Alas, alas! How age will alter the spirit of a man! Twenty years since Frank Gresham would have thought anyone to be a mean miscreant who would have interposed a policeman between him and his foe. But it is to be feared that while selecting that stick he had said a word which was causing the constable to loiter on the pavement!
But Gresham turned no eye to the policeman as he walked on with his friend, and Fletcher did not see the man. “What an ass he is!” said Fletcher—as he got the handle of the stick well into his hand. Then Lopez advanced to them with his whip raised; but as he did so the policeman came across the street quickly, but very quietly, and stood right before him. The man was so thoroughly in the way of the aggrieved wretch that it was out of the question that he should touch Fletcher with his whip.
“Do you usually walk about attended by a policeman?” said Lopez, with all the scorn which he knew how to throw into his voice.
“I didn’t know that the man was here,” said Fletcher.
“You may tell that to the marines. All the borough shall know what a coward you are.” Then he turned round and addressed the street, but still under the shadow, as it were, of the policeman’s helmet. “This man who presumes to offer himself as a candidate to represent Silverbridge in Parliament has insulted my wife. And now, because he fears that I shall horsewhip him, he goes about the street under the care of a policeman.”
“This is intolerable,” said Fletcher, turning to his friend.
“Mr. Lopez,” said Gresham. “I am sorry to say that I must give you in charge;—unless you will undertake to leave the town without interfering further with Mr. Fletcher either by word or deed.”
“I will undertake nothing,” said Lopez. “The man has insulted my wife, and is a coward.”
About two o’clock on the afternoon of that day Mr. Lopez appeared before the Silverbridge bench of magistrates, and was there sworn to keep the peace to Mr. Fletcher for the next six months. After that he was allowed to leave the town, and was back in London, with his wife in Belgrave Mansions, to dinner that evening.
On the day but one after this the ballot was taken, and at eight o’clock on the evening of that day Arthur Fletcher was declared to be duly elected. But Mr. Du Boung ran him very hard.
The numbers were—
| Fletcher | 315 |
| Du Boung | 308 |
Mr. Du Boung’s friends during these two last days had not hesitated to make what use they could on behalf of their own candidate of the Lopez and Fletcher quarrel. If Mr. Fletcher had insulted the other man’s wife, surely he could not be a proper member for Silverbridge. And then the row was declared to have been altogether discreditable. Two strangers had come into this peaceful town and had absolutely quarrelled with sticks and whips in the street, calling each other opprobrious names. Would it not be better that they should elect their own respectable townsman? All this was nearly effective. But, in spite of all, Arthur Fletcher was at last returned.
XXXV
Lopez Back in London
Lopez, as he returned to town, recovered something of his senses, though he still fancied that Arthur Fletcher had done him a positive injury by writing to his wife. But something of that madness left him which had come from his deep sense of injury, both as to the letter and as to the borough, and he began to feel that he had been wrong about the horsewhip. He was very low in spirits on this return journey. The money which he had spent had been material to him, and the loss of it for the moment left him nearly bare. While he had had before his eyes the hope of being a member of Parliament he had been able to buoy himself up. The position itself would have gone very far with Sexty Parker, and would, he thought, have had some effect even with his father-in-law. But now he was returning a beaten man. Who is there that has not felt that fall from high hope to utter despair which comes from some single failure? As he thought of this he was conscious that his anger had led him into great imprudence at Silverbridge. He had not been circumspect, as it specially behoved a man to be surrounded by such difficulties as his. All his life he had been schooling his temper so as to
