"You hear that?" I said. "Don't you ever call me a prejudiced old Tory
again, Robin."
"Then," continued the dolorous Cash, "you are too squeamish. Those
posters that you wouldn't allow to be put up--that was simply throwing
away good votes. Politics in this part of the country can't be played
with kid gloves. Then there are the meetings. You don't let the other
side have it hot enough. Call 'em robbers and liars! That's what wins an
election!"
"I suppose it is," I said mournfully. "Robin, we must put our opinions
in our pockets and beat the party drum. Come on, let us go to the
Committee Rooms!"
For the next fortnight we worked like galley-slaves. Each morning Kitty
and I drove round the town in an open carriage-and-pair decorated with
our colours, bowing to such of our constituents as would look at us, and
punctiliously returning any salutes we received. Occasionally
whole-hearted supporters would give us a cheer, and occasionally--rather
more frequently, it seemed to me--disagreeable persons booed at us. Once
we were held up outside a hide-and-tallow work by a gang of workmen who
wished to address a few questions to the Candidate. We came well out of
that ordeal, for both Kitty and Dolly happened to be in the carriage
that day, and they so completely captivated the spokesman of the
deputation--no wonder! a pretty woman never looks so attractive as in
furs--that that gentleman concluded a catechism of unpremeditated
brevity and incoherence by proposing a vote of confidence in, coupled
with three cheers for, Mr Inglethwaite and his young ladies!
On another occasion a gnarled and fervent Radical of the bootmaking
persuasion hobbled to the door of his establishment, and waving clenched
and uplifted fists, called down upon us and our retreating equipage all
the curses at the command of a rather extensive vocabulary until we were
out of earshot.
Occasionally little girls threw posies into the carriage: little boys,
not to be outdone in politeness, threw stones: and altogether I felt
very much as the Honourable Samuel Slumkey must have done upon the
historic occasion on which he solicited the votes of the electors of the
borough of Eatanswill.
Talking of Eatanswill, I had already made the acquaintance of Mr Horatio
Fizkin in the person of my opponent, Mr Alderman Stridge, Wholesale
Provision Merchant and Italian Warehouseman. His selection as Liberal
Candidate was a blow to us: we had hoped for nothing worse than a
briefless carpet-bagger from the Temple, as on previous occasions.
However, the Alderman on our introduction was extremely affable, and
expressed a hope, with the air of one discovering the sentiment for the
first time, that the best man might win; to which I, as in duty bound,
replied that I hoped not; and we parted with mutual expressions of
goodwill and esteem, to deride each other's politics and bespatter each
other's characters on countless platforms and doorsteps until we should
meet again, after the fray, at the counting of the votes.
On returning from our morning drive (which usually included an open-air
meeting) we took luncheon, generally in the presence of various anæmic
young men who represented local organs of public opinion, and who
expected the long-suffering candidate to set forth his views between
mouthfuls of chop and sips of sherry. I usually turned these over to
Robin, who understood their ways; and he charmed them so wisely that
even the relentless Cash was compelled to admit that our press notices
might have been worse.
Robin was a tower of strength. Indeed he and Dolly were my two chief
lieutenants; Dilly and Dicky, as became a pair who had only been married
a few months, proving but broken reeds. A week's electioneering proved
sufficient for their requirements; and, declining flatly to "grin like a
dog and run about the city"--Dilly's pithy summary of the art of
canvassing--any longer, they left us ten days before polling-day to pay
a country-house visit. But Robin was everywhere. He answered my letters
and he interviewed reporters. He could keep a meeting in hand (pending
my arrival from another) with such success that when I finally appeared
upon the platform to take up the wondrous tale of my party's
perfections, the audience were loth to let Robin go. In six days he
acquired a knowledge of the wants, peculiarities, weaknesses, and
traditions of my constituents which had occupied all my powers of
concentration and absorption for six arduous years. He used to drop into
his speeches little topical allusions and local "gags" which, though
Greek to the uninitiated, never failed to produce a roar: and a
political speaker who can unfailingly make his audience laugh with
him--not at him--has gone far on the road to success.
Once, at a meeting, when I was half-way through a speech to an
unmistakably bored and rather hostile audience, Robin, who was sitting
beside me, slipped a sheet of paper on to my table. The message on the
paper, written large for me to read, said--_Compare Stridge to the Old
Lady of Dippleton_. What the lady had done I did not know, neither had I
time to inquire; but I took my secretary's advice, and, after pausing
for a brief drink of water, concluded my sentence--
"--and I maintain, gentlemen, that my opponent, in advocating such a
policy as that which he has had the--the--yes, the _effrontery_ to lay
before a clear-thinking and broad-minded Stoneleigh audience last night,
has shown himself to be no wiser in his generation, no better or more
statesmanlike in character, than--than--what shall we say? than"--I
glanced at the paper on the table--"the Old Lady of Dippleton!"
There was a great roar of laughter, and I sat down. I was ultimately
awarded a vote of thanks, which should by rights have been given to the
heroine of my closing allusion. I may mention here that no subsequent
inquiry of mine ever elicited from Robin or any one else what the Old
Lady of Dippleton _had_ done. Probably it was one of those things that
no real lady ever ought to do, and I discreetly left it at that.
Dolly, too, proved a treasure. Her strong line was canvassing. She could
ingratiate herself with short-tempered and over-driven wives apparently
without effort; surly husbands melted before her smile; sheepish young
men forgot the encumbering existence of their hands and feet in her
presence; and she was absolutely infallible with babies. Her methods
were entirely her own, and gratifyingly free from the superior and
patronising airs usually adopted by fine ladies when they go to solicit
the votes of that variegated and much-graded community which they
cheerfully and indiscriminately sum up as "the lower classes."
Let us follow her as she flits on her way to pay a morning call upon Mr
Noah Gulching of Jackson's Row.
Mr Gulching, she finds, is absent in search of a job, while Mrs
Gulching, thoroughly cross and worried, is doing the housework with one
hand and dangling a fractious teething baby from the other. The rest of
the family are engaged in playing games of skill and chance (on the win,
tie, or wrangle principle), in the middle of the street outside; and
piercing screams testify to the fact that John William Gulching, aged
two, had just been uprooted by Mary Kate Gulching, who wants to lay out
a new Hop-Scotch court, from the flagstone upon which he has been seated
for the last half hour and dumped down upon another, the warming of
which, even his untutored sensations inform him, will be a matter of
some time and trouble.
Dolly, not a whit dismayed by a thoroughly ungracious reception, tucks
up her skirt, rolls up her sleeves, finishes washing-up, makes a bed,
and peels some potatoes. Then she takes the baby and attends to its more
conspicuous wants, what time Mrs Gulching, thoroughly mollified,--she
had thought at first that Dolly was "a person with tracks,"--goes round
the corner to the "Drop Inn," at which hostelry the work of which her
spouse is habitually in pursuit invariably goes to ground, and brings
that gentleman home with her, to find Dolly playing with a spotless
infant whom she gradually recognises as her own offspring.
Dolly begins at once.
"Good morning, Mr Gulching! I expect you think I am one of those horrid
canvassers."
Mr Gulching, a little taken aback, admits that such was his impression.
"Well, I'm not," says Dolly. (_Oh, Dolly!_) "I suppose there may be some
excuse for canvassing among people who do not take much interest in
politics,--though _I_ shouldn't like to do it,--but it would be rather a
waste of time for me or any one else to come and try on that sort of
thing with _you_, wouldn't it, Mr Gulching?"
Mr Gulching, outwardly frigid but inwardly liquescent, agrees that this
is so; and adds in a truculent growl that he would like to see 'em try
it on.
"What I really want," continues Dolly, "is your _advice_. I am told that
you are so respected here, and have such a knowledge of the requirements
of the neighbourhood, that you might be inclined to give us a little
help in a scheme which Mr Inglethwaite has in hand. Schemes for the
improvement of some of the houses--not snug little cribs like this, but
the homes of people who are not so clever and able to take care of
themselves as you--and the supplying of more amusements in the evenings;
entertainments, lectures----"
"Teetotal?" inquires Mr Gulching hoarsely.
"Oh dear, no. I am sure Mr Inglethwaite would not wish to deprive any
one of his glass of beer. He quite agrees with your views about moderate
drinking." (This, I may mention, is a slanderous libel on me, but it
sounds all right as Dolly says it.) "But he knows that the success of
his efforts will depend entirely upon whether he has the support of such
men as yourself--men who know what they want and will see that they get
it. We can't do without you, you see," she adds, with a bewitching
little smile.
Visible swelling on the part of Mr Gulching. Dolly gets up.
"Well, I know you are a busy man, Mr Gulching, so I mustn't keep you
listening to a woman's chatter any more. I'm afraid I haven't explained
things very deeply, but then you men are such creatures for wanting to
get to the root of the matter, aren't they, Mrs Gulching? However, Mr
Inglethwaite will call shortly and discuss things with you. I know he
wants your advice. Meanwhile, perhaps you will mention the matter to any
friends of yours whom you think would be likely to help us, won't you?
Good morning, and thank you so much for granting me this--er--interview.
An Englishman's house is his castle, isn't it? That is why it was so
good of you to let me come in. Good-bye, Mrs Gulching. He's a perfectly
sweet little chap, and I must come and see him again, if I may." (The
last remark is a little ambiguous, but probably refers to the baby.)
And Dolly, with a friendly nod to the rest of the family (who are by
this time drawn up _en échelon_ at the street door, under the personal
direction of Violet Amelia Gulching), sails out, followed by a gratified
leer from the greatly inflated Mr Gulching, having secured that free and
independent elector's vote without even having asked for it. And yet
some women are crying out for the right to control elections!
At the street corner, with a persuasive finger in the buttonhole of an
unconvinced Socialist (and a vigilant eye straining down the long and
unlovely vista of Jackson's Row), Dolly usually encounters Robert
Chalmers Fordyce.