"On the contrary," I replied, "we have won."
In a bound Robin was on the hearth-rug, gripping my hand with his. (His
other had somehow got hold of one of Dolly's, and I remember wondering
if he was hurting her as much as me.)
"You mean it?" he roared.
"I do. She is sleeping like a lamb."
"Oh, man, I'm just glad! What does _anything_ matter after that?"
Then we sat down and smiled upon each other largely and vacuously. We
were all a little unstrung that night, I think. After all, it seems
rather unreasonable to lavish one's time, labour, and money on an
electoral contest, and then laugh when you lose, and say it doesn't
matter, just because a child isn't going to die. Oh, I am glad Mr Cash
was not there!
"But I must tell you what happened when the result was read out," said
Robin. "It was a near thing--a majority of twenty-seven. (I don't think
it is worth while to ask for a recount: everything was done very
carefully.) When the figures went up there was the usual hullabaloo----"
"We heard it, thanks," said Gerald.
"And presently Stridge stepped out on to the balcony and bowed his
acknowledgments. There was a lot more yelling and horn-blowing, and then
they began to cry out for Inglethwaite."
"Naturally. Yes?"
"They were quiet at last, and Stridge got his speech in. He talked the
usual blethers about having struck a blow that night that would ring
through England,--just what _you_ would have had to say if you had got
in, in fact,--and _then_ he went on, the old sumph, to say that for
reasons best known to himself his _honourable_ opponent had seen fit to
withhold his presence from them that night, and he begged leave to add
that he considered that a man, even though he knew he was going to be
beaten, ought to have the pluck to come and face the music."
"Mangy bounder!" remarked my brother-in-law dispassionately.
"Oh, I was just raging!" continued Robin. "The people of course yelled
themselves hoarse; and Stridge was going on to rub it into you, when I
stepped on to the balcony beside him--I had been standing just inside
the window--and I put my hand on Stridge's fat shoulder and I pulled him
back a wee thing, and I roared--
"'Gentlemen, will you not let me say a word for Mr Inglethwaite?'"
Dolly's eyes began to blaze, and I saw her lips part in anticipation.
"There was a tremendous uproar then," Robin went on with relish. "The
folk howled to Stridge to put me over the balcony----"
"I wish he had tried!" said Gerald with simple fervour.
"And other folk cried to me to go on. They knew there must be some
explanation of your absence. I just stood there and let them roar.
Inside the room there was a fine commotion; and with the tail of my eye
I could see Cash hurrying round explaining to them what I wanted to say.
(He has his points, Cash!) Then at last, as the noise got worse and
worse, I put my mouth to Stridge's ear and bellowed that he would regret
it all his life if he didn't let me say what I had to say, and that he
would be grateful to me afterwards, and all that. He is a decent old
buffer, really, and he was evidently impressed with what I said----"
"I should like to know exactly what you did say, Robin," I interpolated.
"Never mind just now. Anyhow, he turned and clambered back into the
room, and left me with the crowd. They were soon quiet, and I just told
them."
Robin leaned back in his chair.
"Told them _what_?" came from all parts of the room.
But Robin had become suddenly and maddeningly Caledonian again.
"I just told them about Philly," he said. "What else could I do? It
wasn't like telling them during the election. That would have been an
appeal to the gallery for votes. This was just common justice to you.
Anyhow, they quite quietened down after that."
And that was all the report that its author ever gave us of a speech
which, in the space of four minutes, turned a half-maddened election mob
into a silent, a sympathetic, and (I heard afterwards) a deeply moved
body of sober human beings.
"What happened next?" asked Kitty, who had rejoined us. (Phillis was
still sleeping sweetly, she said.)
"After that I hauled old Stridge on to the balcony again and gave him a
congratulatory hand-shake, _coram populo_, on your behalf. Then I
retired and slipped out by a back way and came here. Stridge was in full
eruption again when I left----"
Dolly held up her hand.
"What is that curious noise?" she said.
"It's outside," said Kitty.
Gerald went to the window and lifted the blind. Then he turned to us.
"I say," he said in an unusual voice, "come here a minute."
We drew up the blind and surveyed the scene before us.
Two minutes before the moon had shone upon an untrodden expanse of snow.
Now the Close was black with people. There must have been two or three
thousand. They stood there in the gleaming moonlight, silent,
motionless, like an army of phantoms. At their head and forefront--I
could see the moonlight glitter on his watch-chain, which lay in a most
favourable position for lunar reflection--stood the newly elected Member
for Stoneleigh, Mr Alderman Stridge.
Simultaneously there was a knock at the door, and the hall-porter of the
hotel appeared.
"Mr Stridge's compliments, sir, and he would like to have a word with
you."
"Go down quickly, Adrian," said Kitty anxiously. "They'll wake Philly!"
I descended without a word, and passed out into the Close from a French
window on the ground floor.
I glanced up in the direction of our rooms and noticed that my party
were standing on the balcony outside the sitting-room. I could see
Kitty's anxious face. But she need have had no fear.
Mr Stridge advanced towards me, silk hat in hand. Behind him stood a
variety of Stoneleigh worthies, and I had time to notice that the group
was composed of an indiscriminate mixture of friends and foes.
"Mr Inglethwaite, sir," said Stridge, "I should like to shake you by the
hand."
He did so, as did a few of those immediately around us, in perfect
silence. I wondered what was coming.
"That is all, sir," said Stridge simply, and not without a certain
dignity. "We shall move off now. We did you a wrong to-night, and we all
of us"--he indicated the motionless multitude with a sweep of his
hand--"agreed to come here in silence, just for a moment, as an
indication of our sympathy and--respect."
I was unable to speak, which was not altogether surprising. There was
something overwhelming about the dumb kindness of it all,--three
thousand excited folk holding themselves in for fear of disturbing a
sick child,--and I merely shook Stridge's hand again.
However, I found my voice at last.
"Mr Stridge," I said, "there is only one thing I will say in response to
your kindness, but I think it is the one thing most calculated to reward
you all for it. To-night my little girl's illness took a favourable
turn. She is now fast asleep, and practically out of danger."
I saw a great ripple pass over the crowd, like a breeze over a
cornfield, as the news sped from mouth to mouth. Both Stridge's great
hands were on my shoulders.
"Good lad!" he said. "Good lad!"
He patted my shoulders again, and then, as if struck by a sudden idea,
he turned and whispered a direction to his lieutenants. I overheard the
words "Market Square," and "A good half mile away." Once more the wave
passed over the cornfield, and without a sound the great concourse
turned to the left and streamed away over the trampled snow, leaving me
standing bareheaded on the steps of the French window, almost directly
below the spot where the unconscious little object of all this
consideration lay fast asleep.
I returned to the group on the balcony. They had heard most of the
conversation, and Kitty was unaffectedly dabbing her eyes.
"Well, let us get in out of the cold," I said, suddenly cheerful and
brisk. "I want my supper."
"Wait a moment," said Robin, "I don't think everything is quite over
yet. What is that? Listen!"
From the direction of the Market Square came the shouts of a great
multitude. Cheer upon cheer floated up to the starry heavens. The roars
that had greeted the declaration of the poll were nothing to these.
There was a united ring about them that had been lacking in the others.
It was like one whole-hearted many-headed giant letting off steam.
"A-a-h!" said Kitty.