The conversation at dinner, though it was altogether on political subjects, had in it nothing of special interest as long as the girl was there to change the plates; but when she was gone, and the door was closed, it gradually opened out, and there came on to be a pleasant sparring match between the two great Radicals—the Radical who had joined himself to the governing powers, and the Radical who stood aloof. Mr. Kennedy barely said a word now and then, and Phineas was almost as silent as Mr. Kennedy. He had come there to hear some such discussion, and was quite willing to listen while guns of such great calibre were being fired off for his amusement.
“I think Mr. Mildmay is making a great step forward,” said Mr. Turnbull.
“I think he is,” said Mr. Monk.
“I did not believe that he would ever live to go so far. It will hardly suffice even for this year; but still coming from him, it is a great deal. It only shows how far a man may be made to go, if only the proper force be applied. After all, it matters very little who are the Ministers.”
“That is what I have always declared,” said Mr. Monk.
“Very little indeed. We don’t mind whether it be Lord de Terrier, or Mr. Mildmay, or Mr. Gresham, or you yourself, if you choose to get yourself made First Lord of the Treasury.”
“I have no such ambition, Turnbull.”
“I should have thought you had. If I went in for that kind of thing myself, I should like to go to the top of the ladder. I should feel that if I could do any good at all by becoming a Minister, I could only do it by becoming first Minister.”
“You wouldn’t doubt your own fitness for such a position?”
“I doubt my fitness for the position of any Minister,” said Mr. Turnbull.
“You mean that on other grounds,” said Mr. Kennedy.
“I mean it on every ground,” said Mr. Turnbull, rising on his legs and standing with his back to the fire. “Of course I am not fit to have diplomatic intercourse with men who would come to me simply with the desire of deceiving me. Of course I am unfit to deal with members of Parliament who would flock around me because they wanted places. Of course I am unfit to answer every man’s question so as to give no information to anyone.”
“Could you not answer them so as to give information?” said Mr. Kennedy.
But Mr. Turnbull was so intent on his speech that it may be doubted whether he heard this interruption. He took no notice of it as he went on. “Of course I am unfit to maintain the proprieties of a seeming confidence between a Crown all-powerless and a people all-powerful. No man recognises his own unfitness for such work more clearly than I do, Mr. Monk. But if I took in hand such work at all, I should like to be the leader, and not the led. Tell us fairly, now, what are your convictions worth in Mr. Mildmay’s Cabinet?”
“That is a question which a man may hardly answer himself,” said Mr. Monk.
“It is a question which a man should at least answer for himself before he consents to sit there,” said Mr. Turnbull, in a tone of voice which was almost angry.
“And what reason have you for supposing that I have omitted that duty?” said Mr. Monk.
“Simply this—that I cannot reconcile your known opinions with the practices of your colleagues.”
“I will not tell you what my convictions may be worth in Mr. Mildmay’s Cabinet. I will not take upon myself to say that they are worth the chair on which I sit when I am there. But I will tell you what my aspirations were when I consented to fill that chair, and you shall judge of their worth. I thought that they might possibly leaven the batch of bread which we have to bake—giving to the whole batch more of the flavour of reform than it would have possessed had I absented myself. I thought that when I was asked to join Mr. Mildmay and Mr. Gresham, the very fact of that request indicated liberal progress, and that if I refused the request I should be declining to assist in good work.”
“You could have supported them, if anything were proposed worthy of support,” said Mr. Turnbull.
“Yes; but I could not have been so effective in taking care that some measure be proposed worthy of support as I may possibly be now. I thought a good deal about it, and I believe that my decision was right.”
“I am sure you were right,” said Mr. Kennedy.
“There can be no juster object of ambition than a seat in the Cabinet,” said Phineas.
“Sir, I must dispute that,” said Mr. Turnbull, turning round upon our hero. “I regard the position of our high Ministers as most respectable.”
“Thank you for so much,” said Mr. Monk. But the orator went on again, regardless of the interruption:—
“The position of gentlemen in inferior offices—of gentlemen who attend rather to the nods and winks of their superiors in Downing Street than to the interest of their constituents—I do not regard as being highly respectable.”
“A man cannot begin at the top,” said Phineas.
“Our friend Mr. Monk has begun at what you are pleased to call the top,” said
