The Second Reading Is Carried
The debate on the bill was prolonged during the whole of that week.
Lord Brentford, who loved his seat in the Cabinet and the glory of
being a Minister, better even than he loved his borough, had taken
a gloomy estimate when he spoke of twenty-seven defaulters, and of
the bill as certainly lost. Men who were better able than he to make
estimates,--the Bonteens and Fitzgibbons on each side of the House,
and above all, the Ratlers and Robys, produced lists from day to
day which varied now by three names in one direction, then by two
in another, and which fluctuated at last by units only. They all
concurred in declaring that it would be a very near division. A great
effort was made to close the debate on the Friday, but it failed, and
the full tide of speech was carried on till the following Monday. On
that morning Phineas heard Mr. Ratler declare at the club that, as
far as his judgment went, the division at that moment was a fair
subject for a bet. “There are two men doubtful in the House,” said
Ratler, “and if one votes on one side and one on the other, or if
neither votes at all, it will be a tie.” Mr. Roby, however, the
whip on the other side, was quite sure that one at least of these
gentlemen would go into his lobby, and that the other would not go
into Mr. Ratler’s lobby. I am inclined to think that the town was
generally inclined to put more confidence in the accuracy of Mr. Roby
than in that of Mr. Ratler; and among betting men there certainly
was a point given by those who backed the Conservatives. The odds,
however, were lost, for on the division the numbers in the two
lobbies were equal, and the Speaker gave his casting vote in favour
of the Government. The bill was read a second time, and was lost, as
a matter of course, in reference to any subsequent action. Mr. Roby
declared that even Mr. Mildmay could not go on with nothing but the
Speaker’s vote to support him. Mr. Mildmay had no doubt felt that he
could not go on with his bill from the moment in which Mr. Turnbull
had declared his opposition; but he could not with propriety withdraw
it in deference to Mr. Turnbull’s opinion.
During the week Phineas had had his hands sufficiently full. Twice he
had gone to the potted peas inquiry; but he had been at the office
of the _People’s Banner_ more often than that. Bunce had been very
resolute in his determination to bring an action against the police
for false imprisonment, even though he spent every shilling of his
savings in doing so. And when his wife, in the presence of Phineas,
begged that bygones might be bygones, reminding him that spilt milk
could not be recovered, he called her a mean-spirited woman. Then
Mrs. Bunce wept a flood of tears, and told her favourite lodger that
for her all comfort in this world was over. “Drat the reformers, I
say. And I wish there was no Parliament; so I do. What’s the use of
all the voting, when it means nothing but dry bread and cross words?”
Phineas by no means encouraged his landlord in his litigious spirit,
advising him rather to keep his money in his pocket, and leave the
fighting of the battle to the columns of the _Banner_,--which would
fight it, at any rate, with economy. But Bunce, though he delighted
in the _Banner_, and showed an unfortunate readiness to sit at the
feet of Mr. Quintus Slide, would have his action at law;--in which
resolution Mr. Slide did, I fear, encourage him behind the back of
his better friend, Phineas Finn.
Phineas went with Bunce to Mr. Low’s chambers,--for Mr. Low had in
some way become acquainted with the law-stationer’s journeyman,--and
there some very good advice was given. “Have you asked yourself what
is your object, Mr. Bunce?” said Mr. Low. Mr. Bunce declared he had
asked himself that question, and had answered it. His object was
redress. “In the shape of compensation to yourself,” suggested Mr.
Low. No; Mr. Bunce would not admit that he personally required any
compensation. The redress wanted was punishment to the man. “Is it
for vengeance?” asked Mr. Low. No; it was not for vengeance, Mr.
Bunce declared. “It ought not to be,” continued Mr. Low; “because,
though you think that the man exceeded in his duty, you must feel
that he was doing so through no personal ill-will to yourself.”
“What I want is, to have the fellows kept in their proper places,”
said Mr. Bunce.
“Exactly;--and therefore these things, when they occur, are mentioned
in the press and in Parliament,--and the attention of a Secretary of
State is called to them. Thank God, we don’t have very much of that
kind of thing in England.”
“Maybe we shall have more if we don’t look to it,” said Bunce
stoutly.
“We always are looking to it,” said Mr. Low;--“looking to it very
carefully. But I don’t think anything is to be done in that way by
indictment against a single man, whose conduct has been already
approved by the magistrates. If you want notoriety, Mr. Bunce, and
don’t mind what you pay for it; or have got anybody else to pay for
it; then indeed--”
“There ain’t nobody to pay for it,” said Bunce, waxing angry.
“Then I certainly should not pay for it myself if I were you,” said
Mr. Low.
But Bunce was not to be counselled out of his intention. When he was
out in the square with Phineas he expressed great anger against Mr.
Low. “He don’t know what patriotism means,” said the law scrivener.
“And then he talks to me about notoriety! It has always been the
same way with ’em. If a man shows a spark of public feeling, it’s
all hambition. I don’t want no notoriety. I wants to earn my bread
peaceable, and to be let alone when I’m about my own business. I pays
rates for the police to look after rogues, not to haul folks about
and lock ’em up for days and nights, who is doing what they has a
legal right to do.” After that, Bunce went to his attorney, to the
great detriment of the business at the stationer’s shop, and Phineas
visited the office of the _People’s Banner_. There he wrote a leading
article about Bunce’s case, for which he was in due time to be paid
a guinea. After all, the _People’s Banner_ might do more for him in
this way than ever would be done by Parliament. Mr. Slide, however,
and another gentleman at the _Banner_ office, much older than Mr.
Slide, who announced himself as the actual editor, were anxious that
Phineas should rid himself of his heterodox political resolutions
about the ballot. It was not that they cared much about his own
opinions; and when Phineas attempted to argue with the editor on the
merits of the ballot, the editor put him down very shortly. “We go in
for it, Mr. Finn,” he said. If Mr. Finn would go in for it too, the
editor seemed to think that Mr. Finn might make himself very useful
at the _Banner_ Office. Phineas stoutly maintained that this was
impossible,--and was therefore driven to confine his articles in the
service of the people to those open subjects on which his opinions
agreed with those of the _People’s Banner_. This was his second
article, and the editor seemed to think that, backward as he was
about the ballot, he was too useful an aid to be thrown aside. A
member of Parliament is not now all that he was once, but still there
is a prestige in the letters affixed to his name which makes him loom
larger in the eyes of the world than other men. Get into Parliament,
if it be but for the borough of Loughshane, and the _People’s
Banners_ all round will be glad of your assistance, as will also
companies limited and unlimited to a very marvellous extent. Phineas
wrote his article and promised to look in again, and so they went
on. Mr. Quintus Slide continued to assure him that a “horgan” was
indispensable to him, and Phineas began to accommodate his ears to
the sound which had at first been so disagreeable. He found that his
acquaintance, Mr. Slide, had ideas of his own as to getting into
the ’Ouse at some future time. “I always look upon the ’Ouse as my
oyster, and ’ere’s my sword,” said Mr. Slide, brandishing an old
quill pen. “And I feel that if once there I could get along. I do
indeed. What is it a man wants? It’s only pluck,--that he shouldn’t
funk because a ’undred other men are looking at him.” Then Phineas
asked him whether he had any idea of a constituency, to which Mr.
Slide replied that he had no absolutely formed intention. Many
boroughs, however, would doubtless be set free from aristocratic
influence by the redistribution of seats which must take place, as
Mr. Slide declared, at any rate in the next session. Then he named
the borough of Loughton; and Phineas Finn, thinking of Saulsby,
thinking of the Earl, thinking of Lady Laura, and thinking of Violet,
walked away disgusted. Would it not be better that the quiet town,
clustering close round the walls of Saulsby, should remain as it was,
than that it should be polluted by the presence of Mr. Quintus Slide?
On the last day of the debate, at a few moments before four o’clock,
Phineas encountered another terrible misfortune. He had been at the
potted peas since twelve, and had on this occasion targed two or
three commissariat officers very tightly with questions respecting
cabbages and potatoes, and had asked whether the officers on board
a certain ship did not always eat preserved asparagus while the men
had not even a bean. I fear that he had been put up to this business
by Mr. Quintus Slide, and that he made himself nasty. There was,
however, so much nastiness of the kind going, that his little effort
made no great difference. The conservative members of the Committee,
on whose side of the House the inquiry had originated, did not
scruple to lay all manner of charges to officers whom, were they
themselves in power, they would be bound to support and would support
with all their energies. About a quarter before four the members of
the Committee had dismissed their last witness for the day, being
desirous of not losing their chance of seats on so important an
occasion, and hurried down into the lobby,--so that they might enter
the House before prayers. Phineas here was button-holed by Barrington
Erle, who said something to him as to the approaching division. They
were standing in front of the door of the House, almost in the middle
of the lobby, with a crowd of members around them,--on a spot which,
as frequenters know, is hallowed ground, and must not be trodden by
strangers. He was in the act of answering Erle, when he was touched
on the arm, and on turning round, saw Mr. Clarkson. “About that
little bill, Mr. Finn,” said the horrible man, turning his chin round
over his white cravat. “They always tell me at your lodgings that
you ain’t at home.” By this time a policeman was explaining to Mr.
Clarkson with gentle violence that he must not stand there,--that he
must go aside into one of the corners. “I know all that,” said Mr.
Clarkson, retreating. “Of course I do. But what is a man to do when a
gent won’t see him at home?” Mr. Clarkson stood aside in his corner
quietly, giving the policeman no occasion for further action against
him; but in retreating he spoke loud, and there was a lull of voices
around, and twenty members at least had heard what had been said.
Phineas Finn no doubt had his privilege, but Mr. Clarkson was
determined that the privilege should avail him as little as possible.
It was very hard. The real offender, the Lord of the Treasury, the
peer’s son, with a thousand a year paid by the country was not
treated with this cruel persecution. Phineas had in truth never taken
a farthing from any one but his father; and though doubtless he owed
something at this moment, he had no creditor of his own that was even
angry with him. As the world goes he was a clear man,--but for this
debt of his friend Fitzgibbon. He left Barrington Erle in the lobby,
and hurried into the House, blushing up to the eyes. He looked for
Fitzgibbon in his place, but the Lord of the Treasury was not as yet
there. Doubtless he would be there for the division, and Phineas
resolved that he would speak a bit of his mind before he let his
friend out of his sight.
There were some great speeches made on that evening. Mr. Gresham
delivered an oration of which men said that it would be known in
England as long as there were any words remaining of English
eloquence. In it he taunted Mr. Turnbull with being a recreant to
the people, of whom he called himself so often the champion. But Mr.
Turnbull was not in the least moved. Mr. Gresham knew well enough
that Mr. Turnbull was not to be moved by any words;--but the words
were not the less telling to the House and to the country. Men, who
heard it, said that Mr. Gresham forgot himself in that speech, forgot
his party, forgot his strategy, forgot his long-drawn schemes,--even
his love of applause, and thought only of his cause. Mr. Daubeny
replied to him with equal genius, and with equal skill,--if not with
equal heart. Mr. Gresham had asked for the approbation of all present
and of all future reformers. Mr. Daubeny denied him both,--the one
because he would not succeed, and the other because he would not have
deserved success. Then Mr. Mildmay made his reply, getting up at
about three o’clock, and uttered a prayer,--a futile prayer,--that
this his last work on behalf of his countrymen might be successful.
His bill was read a second time, as I have said before, in obedience
to the casting vote of the Speaker,--but a majority such as that was
tantamount to a defeat.
There was, of course, on that night no declaration as to what
ministers would do. Without a meeting of the Cabinet, and without
some further consideration, though each might know that the bill
would be withdrawn, they could not say in what way they would act.
But late as was the hour, there were many words on the subject before
members were in their beds. Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Monk left the House
together, and perhaps no two gentlemen in it had in former sessions
been more in the habit of walking home arm-in-arm and discussing what
each had heard and what each had said in that assembly. Latterly
these two men had gone strangely asunder in their paths,--very
strangely for men who had for years walked so closely together. And
this separation had been marked by violent words spoken against each
other,--by violent words, at least, spoken against him in office by
the one who had never contaminated his hands by the Queen’s shilling.
And yet, on such an occasion as this, they were able to walk away
from the House arm-in-arm, and did not fly at each other’s throat by
the way.
“Singular enough, is it not,” said Mr. Turnbull, “that the thing
should have been so close?”
“Very odd,” said Mr. Monk; “but men have said that it would be so all
the week.”
“Gresham was very fine,” said Mr. Turnbull.
“Very fine, indeed. I never have heard anything like it before.”
“Daubeny was very powerful too,” said Mr. Turnbull.
“Yes;--no doubt. The occasion was great, and he answered to the spur.
But Gresham’s was the speech of the debate.”
“Well;--yes; perhaps it was,” said Mr. Turnbull, who was thinking of
his own flight the other night, and who among his special friends had
been much praised for what he had then done. But of course he made
no allusion to his own doings,--or to those of Mr. Monk. In this way
they conversed for some twenty minutes, till they parted; but neither
of them interrogated the other as to what either might be called upon
to do in consequence of the division which had just been effected.
They might still be intimate friends, but the days of confidence
between them were passed.
Phineas had seen Laurence Fitzgibbon enter the House,--which he did
quite late in the night, so as to be in time for the division. No
doubt he had dined in the House, and had been all the evening in the
library,--or in the smoking-room. When Mr. Mildmay was on his legs
making his reply, Fitzgibbon had sauntered in, not choosing to wait
till he might be rung up by the bell at the last moment. Phineas was
near him as they passed by the tellers, near him in the lobby, and
near him again as they all passed back into the House. But at the
last moment he thought that he would miss his prey. In the crowd
as they left the House he failed to get his hand upon his friend’s
shoulder. But he hurried down the members’ passage, and just at the
gate leading out into Westminster Hall he overtook Fitzgibbon walking
arm-in-arm with Barrington Erle.
“Laurence,” he said, taking hold of his countryman’s arm with a
decided grasp, “I want to speak to you for a moment, if you please.”
“Speak away,” said Laurence. Then Phineas, looking up into his face,
knew very well that he had been--what the world calls, dining.
Phineas remembered at the moment that Barrington Erle had been close
to him when the odious money-lender had touched his arm and made
his inquiry about that “little bill.” He much wished to make Erle
understand that the debt was not his own,--that he was not in the
hands of usurers in reference to his own concerns. But there was a
feeling within him that he still,--even still,--owed something to his
friendship to Fitzgibbon. “Just give me your arm, and come on with me
for a minute,” said Phineas. “Erle will excuse us.”
“Oh, blazes!” said Laurence, “what is it you’re after? I ain’t good
at private conferences at three in the morning. We’re all out, and
isn’t that enough for ye?”
“I have been dreadfully annoyed to-night,” said Phineas, “and I
wished to speak to you about it.”
“Bedad, Finn, my boy, and there are a good many of us are
annoyed;--eh, Barrington?”
Phineas perceived clearly that though Fitzgibbon had been dining,
there was as much of cunning in all this as of wine, and he was
determined not to submit to such unlimited ill-usage. “My annoyance
comes from your friend, Mr. Clarkson, who had the impudence to
address me in the lobby of the House.”
“And serve you right, too, Finn, my boy. Why the devil did you sport
your oak to him? He has told me all about it. There ain’t such a
patient little fellow as Clarkson anywhere, if you’ll only let him
have his own way. He’ll look in, as he calls it, three times a week
for a whole season, and do nothing further. Of course he don’t like
to be locked out.”
“Is that the gentleman with whom the police interfered in the lobby?”
Erle inquired.
“A confounded bill discounter to whom our friend here has introduced
me,--for his own purposes,” said Phineas.
“A very gentleman-like fellow,” said Laurence. “Barrington knows
him, I daresay. Look here, Finn, my boy, take my advice. Ask him to
breakfast, and let him understand that the house will always be open
to him.” After this Laurence Fitzgibbon and Barrington Erle got into
a cab together, and were driven away.