The thoughts of Slippery Sam were after this fashion.
“H. means war with China. And he has already said in my private ear,
‘If you don’t do my bidding I shall have you out and put in somebody
who will.’ Now I, Wilberforce Williams, who am quite frank with myself,
though with nobody else, do not want war with China. It will be an
unjust war. It will be an ill-timed war, because money is still pretty
‘tight,’ and war itself is still out of fashion. Moreover, it may lead
ultimately--[Mr. Williams was a far-sighted man]--to trouble with Japan
and possibly, I don’t say probably, to war with the United States. Nor
do I think this Chinese business can ever be popular. Hartz says his
newspapers and his cinemas shall make it popular. Well, it is only too
true, that in that line he can do anything ... all the same ... this
may be ... I don’t say it is ... the psychological moment for the much
trodden worm to begin to turn.
“China might make a live issue to take to the country in the good
old-fashioned way. A general election must come within three months.
I’ve had the nous, thank God, to keep the old party machine in being.
It needs overhauling and bringing up-to-date, but there is a certain
amount of money in the party chest, and if I can get the right
people in charge--alas, honest men are very shy of me!--it is just
possible--don’t let us put it higher--that W. W. may catch the Colossus
napping.”
Much beguiled was this venerable-looking, white-haired and ineffably
cunning gentleman with the idea that was slowly coming to birth in his
mind. No sooner had the member for Blackhampton sat down, which he did
amid murmurs of ironical applause, after boring the House of Commons
for a full hour, although posterity may be inclined to take a more
lenient view of the performance, than the prime minister retired to his
room. In that seclusion, he amused himself with a little quiet study
of Whitaker. This young man, at the Stunt Election of 19--, although
not taking quite so kindly to the Coupon as he might have done, had yet
been returned for Blackhampton by a solid majority of four thousand odd.
“Well,” ruminated the prime minister, “Blackhampton is the metropolis
of the midland counties and in those parts they are a shrewd,
hard-headed folk. They have a knack of going pretty straight to the
root of most matters. And they appear to have a good opinion of John
Endor. It might do no harm to have a little preliminary try-out at
Blackhampton, to learn the thickness of the ice and to gauge the
temperature of the country.”
So grateful was the idea to the mind of Mr. Williams that as he went
into the lobby in search of John Endor he smiled pleasantly at his
thoughts. By a happy chance, almost the first man he met was the member
for Blackhampton.
“My dear Mr. Endor,”--in the humane art of patting on the shoulder
the younger generation Slippery Sam had no peer--“permit me, if I
may--without impertinence--to congratulate you--to congratulate you
most sincerely on a fine--a really fine--effort.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the member for Blackhampton. “It is very good of
you.” Naïf young man, he could not withhold a little blush of pleasure!
There was such a genuine ring in this voice of fatherly benevolence.
Besides, to John Endor, anachronism as he was, the prime minister of
England still meant something.
“Don’t let me be fulsome”--the well modulated voice of Mr. Williams
could achieve real charm on these occasions--“but do you know whom
you brought back to the mind of an old man? Mr. Gladstone. As I sat
listening to you, my dear sir, I thought of the long ago--alas, how
long ago it seemed!--when Mr. Gladstone brought in his Bill for
Ireland. But, as I say, don’t let me be fulsome.”
John Endor was dumb before these praises.
“Your grandfather the Duke,” the prime minister flowed smoothly on,
“was a little before my day. But he was a great man. His speeches in
Another Place on the People’s Charter live in history. For a man of his
time and class he was most enlightened. I am so glad for his sake that
there is still among us one of his kin to bear the torch.”
John Endor was still dumb, but now he glowed with happiness.
“I wonder, Mr. Endor, if you can dine with us to-morrow at Number 10,
just my wife and me? Nobody else, except perhaps, my daughter. But
quite informal--just _en famille_. Afterwards over a cigar, we’ll have
a little talk. Your fine speech ... it’s ... well, to-morrow evening,
at eight.”