There followed days of sullen battle for Tallente, a battle with luck
against him, with his back to the wall, with despair more than once
yawning at his feet. The house in Charles Street was closed. There had
come no word to him from Jane, no news even of her departure except the
somewhat surprised reply of Parkins, when he had called on the following
afternoon.
"Her ladyship left for Devonshire, sir, by the ten-fifty train."
Tallente went back to the fight with those words ringing in his ears.
He had deliberately torn to pieces his house of refuge. Success or
failure, what did it matter now? Yet with the dogged courage of one
loathing failure for failure's own sake, he flung himself into the
struggle.
On the fifth day after Jane's departure, the thunderbolt fell.
Tallente's article was printed in full and the weaker members of the
Democratic Party shouted at once for his resignation. At a question
cunningly framed by Dartrey, Tallente rose in the House to defend his
position, and acting on the soundest axiom of military tactics, that the
best defence is attack, he turned upon Miller, and with caustic
deliberation exposed the plot framed for his undoing. He threw caution
to the winds, and though repeatedly and gravely called to order, he
poured out his scorn upon his enemy till the latter, white as a sheet,
rose to demand the protection of the Speaker. There were very few in
the House that day who ever forgot the almost terrifying spectacle of
Miller's collapse under his adversary's hurricane assault, or the proud
and dignified manner in which Tallente concluded his own defence. But
this was only the first step. The Labour Press throughout the country
took serious alarm at an attack which, though out of date and influenced
by conditions no longer predominant, yet struck a very lusty blow at the
very existence of their great nervous centres. Miller, as Chairman of
the Associated Trades Unions, issued a manifesto which, notwithstanding
his declining influence, exercised considerable effect. It seemed clear
that he could rely still upon a good ninety votes in the House of
Commons. Horlock became more cheerful. He met Tallente leaving the
House one windy March evening and the two men shared a taxi together,
westwards.
"Looks to me like another year of office, thanks to you," the Prime
Minister observed. "Lenton tells me that we shall have a majority of
forty on Thursday week. It is Thursday week you're going for us again,
isn't it?"
"Many things may happen before then," Tallente replied, with a little
affirmative nod. "Dartrey may decide that I am too expensive a luxury
and make friends with Miller."
"I don't think that's likely," Horlock pronounced. "Dartrey is a fine
fellow, although he is not a great politician. He is out to make a
radical and solid change in the government of this country and he knows
very well that Miller's gang will only be a dead weight around his neck.
He'd rather wait until he has weaned away a few more votes--even get rid
of Miller if he can--and stick to you."
"I think you are right," Tallente said. "I am keeping the Democrats
from a present triumph, but if through me they shake themselves free
from what I call the little Labourites, I think things will pan out
better for them in the long run."
"And in the meantime," Horlock went on, lighting a cigar and passing his
case to Tallente, "I must give you the credit of playing a magnificent
lone hand. I expected to see Miller fall down in a fit when you went
for him in the House. If only his army of adherents could have heard
that little duel, I think you'd have won straight through!"
"Unfortunately they couldn't," Tallente sighed, "and it's so hard to
capture the attention, to reach the inner understanding, of a great
mixed community."
"It's a curious thing about Englishmen," Horlock reflected, "especially
the Englishman who has to vote. The most eloquent appeals on paper
often leave him unmoved. A perfectly convincing pamphlet he lays down
with the feeling that no doubt it's all right but there must be another
side. It's the spoken words that tell, every time. What about Miller's
election next week?"
"A great deal depends upon that," Tallente replied. "Miller himself
says that it is a certainty. On the other hand, Saunderson is going to
be proposed, and, with Dartrey's influence, should have a pretty good
backing."
They travelled on in silence for a short time. Tallente looked idly
through the rain-streaming window at the block of traffic, the hurrying
passers-by, the cheerful warmth of the shops and restaurants.
"You take life too seriously, Tallente," his companion said, a little
abruptly.
"Do I?" Tallente answered, with a thin smile.
"You do indeed. Look at me. I haven't a line on my face as compared
with yours and I've held together a patchwork Government for five years.
I don't know when I may be kicked out and I know perfectly well that the
Government which succeeds mine is going to undo all I have done and is
going to establish a state of things in this country which I consider
nothing short of revolutionary. I am not worrying about it, Tallente.
The fog of Downing Street stinks sometimes in my nostrils, but I have a
little country house--you must come and see me there some day--down in
Buckinghamshire, one of these long, low bungalow types, you know, with
big gardens, two tennis courts, and a golf course just across the river.
My wife spends most of her time there now and every week-end, when I go
down, I think what a fool I am to waste my time trying to hold a
reluctant nation to principles they are thoroughly sick of. Tallente,
you can turn me out whenever you like. The day I settle down for two or
three months' rest is going to be one of the happiest of my life."
"You have a wonderful temperament," Tallente remarked, a little sadly.
"Temperament be damned!" was the forcible reply. "I have done my best.
When you've said those four words, Tallente, any man ought to have
philosophy enough to add, 'Whatever the result may be, it isn't going to
be my funeral.' Look at you--haggard, losing weight every day, poring
over papers, scheming, planning, writing articles, pouring out the great
gift of your life twice as fast as you need. No one will thank you for
it. It's quite enough to give half your soul and the joy of living to
work for others. Keep something up your sleeve for yourself, Tallente.
Mark you, that's the soundest thing in twentieth century philosophy
you'll ever hear of.--Corner of Clarges Street right for you, eh?"
Tallente held out his hand.
"Horlock," he said, "thank you. I know you're right but unfortunately I
am not like you. I haven't an idyllic retreat, a charming companion
waiting for me there, a life outside that's so wonderful. I am driven
on because there's nothing else."
Horlock laid his hand upon his companion's shoulder. His tone was
suddenly grave--amply sympathetic.
"My friend--and enemy," he said. "If that is so--I'm sorry for you."