“And if we beat them?” asked Phineas.
“It will depend on the numbers. Everybody who has spoken to me about it, seems to think that they will dissolve if there be a respectable majority against them.”
“Of course he will dissolve,” said Phineas, speaking of Mr. Gresham; “what else can he do?”
“He is very anxious to carry his Irish Reform Bill first, if he can do so. Good night, Phineas. I shall not be down tomorrow as there is nothing to be done. Come to me on Thursday, and we will go to the House together.”
On the Wednesday Phineas was engaged to dine with Mr. Low. There was a dinner party in Bedford Square, and Phineas met half-a-dozen barristers and their wives—men to whom he had looked up as successful pundits in the law some five or six years ago, but who since that time had almost learned to look up to him. And now they treated him with that courteousness of manner which success in life always begets. There was a judge there who was very civil to him; and the judge’s wife whom he had taken down to dinner was very gracious to him. The judge had got his prize in life, and was therefore personally indifferent to the fate of ministers; but the judge’s wife had a brother who wanted a County Court from Lord De Terrier, and it was known that Phineas was giving valuable assistance towards the attainment of this object. “I do think that you and Mr. Monk are so right,” said the judge’s wife. Phineas, who understood how it came to pass that the judge’s wife should so cordially approve his conduct, could not help thinking how grand a thing it would be for him to have a County Court for himself.
When the guests were gone he was left alone with Mr. and Mrs. Low, and remained awhile with them, there having been an understanding that they should have a last chat together over the affairs of our hero. “Do you really mean that you will not stand again?” asked Mrs. Low.
“I do mean it. I may say that I cannot do so. My father is hardly so well able to help me as he was when I began this game, and I certainly shall not ask him for money to support a canvass.”
“It’s a thousand pities,” said Mrs. Low.
“I really had begun to think that you would make it answer,” said Mr. Low.
“In one way I have made it answer. For the last three years I have lived upon what I have earned, and I am not in debt. But now I must begin the world again. I am afraid I shall find the drudgery very hard.”
“It is hard no doubt,” said the barrister, who had gone through it all, and was now reaping the fruits of it. “But I suppose you have not forgotten what you learned?”
“Who can say? I dare say I have. But I did not mean the drudgery of learning, so much as the drudgery of looking after work;—of expecting briefs which perhaps will never come. I am thirty years old now, you know.”
“Are you indeed?” said Mrs. Low—who knew his age to a day. “How the time passes. I’m sure I hope you’ll get on, Mr. Finn. I do indeed.”
“I am sure he will, if he puts his shoulder to it,” said Mr. Low.
Neither the lawyer nor his wife repeated any of those sententious admonitions, which had almost become rebukes, and which had been so common in their mouths. The fall with which they had threatened Phineas Finn had come upon him, and they were too generous to remind him of their wisdom and sagacity. Indeed, when he got up to take his leave, Mrs. Low, who probably might not see him again for years, was quite affectionate in her manners to him, and looked as if she were almost minded to kiss him as she pressed his hand. “We will come and see you,” she said, “when you are Master of the Rolls in Dublin.”
“We shall see him before then thundering at us poor Tories in the House,” said Mr. Low. “He will be back again sooner or later.” And so they parted.
LXXV
P.P.C.
On the Thursday morning before Phineas went to Mr. Monk, a gentleman called upon him at his lodgings. Phineas requested the servant to bring up the gentleman’s name, but tempted perhaps by a shilling the girl brought up the gentleman instead. It was Mr. Quintus Slide from the office of the “Banner of the People.”
“Mr. Finn,” said Quintus, with his hand extended, “I have come to offer you the calumet of peace.” Phineas certainly desired no such calumet. But to refuse a man’s hand is to declare active war after a fashion which men do not like to adopt except on deliberation. He had never cared a straw for the abuse which Mr. Slide had poured upon him, and now he gave his hand to the man of letters. But he did not sit down, nor did he offer a seat to Mr. Slide. “I know that as a man of sense who knows the world, you will accept the calumet of peace,” continued Mr. Slide.
“I don’t know why I should be asked particularly to accept war or peace,” said Phineas.
“Well, Mr. Finn—I don’t often quote the Bible; but those who are not for us must be against us. You will agree to that. Now that you’ve freed yourself from the iniquities of that sink of abomination in Downing Street, I look upon you as a man again.”
“Upon my word you are very kind.”
“As a man and also a brother. I suppose you know that I’ve got the Banner into my own ’ands now.” Phineas was obliged to explain that he had not hitherto been made acquainted with this
