Phineas Finn

especially courteous to the old lady who lodged in her first-floor drawing-room⁠—for Phineas lived up two pairs of stairs⁠—and she would excuse such servility by declaring that there was no knowing how soon she might want assistance. But her husband, in such emergencies, would become furious and quarrelsome, and would declare that Labour was going to the wall, and that something very strong must be done at once. That shilling which Bunce paid weekly to the Union she regarded as being absolutely thrown away⁠—as much so as though he cast it weekly into the Thames. And she had told him so, over and over again, making heart-piercing allusions to the eight children and to the bit of meat. He would always endeavour to explain to her that there was no other way under the sun for keeping Labour from being sent to the wall;⁠—but he would do so hopelessly and altogether ineffectually, and she had come to regard him as a lunatic to the extent of that one weekly shilling.

She had a woman’s instinctive partiality for comeliness in a man, and was very fond of Phineas Finn because he was handsome. And now she was very proud of him because he was a member of Parliament. She had heard⁠—from her husband, who had told her the fact with much disgust⁠—that the sons of Dukes and Earls go into Parliament, and she liked to think that the fine young man to whom she talked more or less every day should sit with the sons of Dukes and Earls. When Phineas had really brought distress upon her by owing her some thirty or forty pounds, she could never bring herself to be angry with him⁠—because he was handsome and because he dined out with Lords. And she had triumphed greatly over her husband, who had desired to be severe upon his aristocratic debtor, when the money had all been paid in a lump.

“I don’t know that he’s any great catch,” Bunce had said, when the prospect of their lodger’s departure had been debated between them.

“Jacob,” said his wife, “I don’t think you feel it when you’ve got people respectable about you.”

“The only respectable man I know,” said Jacob, “is the man as earns his bread; and Mr. Finn, as I take it, is a long way from that yet.”

Phineas returned to his lodgings before he went down to his club, and again told Mrs. Bunce that he had altogether made up his mind about the chambers. “If you’ll keep me I shall stay here for the first session I daresay.”

“Of course we shall be only too proud, Mr. Finn; and though it mayn’t perhaps be quite the place for a member of Parliament⁠—”

“But I think it is quite the place.”

“It’s very good of you to say so, Mr. Finn, and we’ll do our very best to make you comfortable. Respectable we are, I may say; and though Bunce is a bit rough sometimes⁠—”

“Never to me, Mrs. Bunce.”

“But he is rough⁠—and silly, too, with his radical nonsense, paying a shilling a week to a nasty Union just for nothing. Still he means well, and there ain’t a man who works harder for his wife and children;⁠—that I will say of him. And if he do talk politics⁠—”

“But I like a man to talk politics, Mrs. Bunce.”

“For a gentleman in Parliament of course it’s proper; but I never could see what good it could do to a law-stationer; and when he talks of Labour going to the wall, I always ask him whether he didn’t get his wages regular last Saturday. But, Lord love you, Mr. Finn, when a man as is a journeyman has took up politics and joined a Trade Union, he ain’t no better than a milestone for his wife to take and talk to him.”

After that Phineas went down to the Reform Club, and made one of those who were buzzing there in little crowds and uttering their prophecies as to future events. Lord de Terrier was to go out. That was certain. Whether Mr. Mildmay was to come in was uncertain. That he would go to Windsor tomorrow morning was not to be doubted; but it was thought very probable that he might plead his age, and decline to undertake the responsibility of forming a Ministry.

“And what then?” said Phineas to his friend Fitzgibbon.

“Why, then there will be a choice out of three. There is the Duke, who is the most incompetent man in England; there is Monk, who is the most unfit; and there is Gresham, who is the most unpopular. I can’t conceive it possible to find a worse Prime Minister than either of the three;⁠—but the country affords no other.”

“And which would Mildmay name?”

“All of them⁠—one after the other, so as to make the embarrassment the greater.” That was Mr. Fitzgibbon’s description of the crisis; but then it was understood that Mr. Fitzgibbon was given to romancing.

VIII

The News About Mr. Mildmay and Sir Everard

Fitzgibbon and Phineas started together from Pall Mall for Portman Square⁠—as both of them had promised to call on Lady Laura⁠—but Fitzgibbon turned in at Brooks’s as they walked up St. James’s Square, and Phineas went on by himself in a cab. “You should belong here,” said Fitzgibbon as his friend entered the cab, and Phineas immediately began to feel that he would have done nothing till he could get into Brooks’s. It might be very well to begin by talking politics at the Reform Club. Such talking had procured for him his seat at Loughshane. But that was done now, and something more than talking was wanted for any further progress. Nothing, as he told himself, of political import was managed at the Reform Club. No influence from thence was ever brought to bear upon the adjustment of places under the Government, or upon the arrangement of cabinets. It might be very well to count votes at the Reform Club; but after the votes had been