The Silverbridge Election
About a month after this affair with the runaway horse Arthur
Fletcher went to Greshamsbury, preparatory to his final sojourn at
Silverbridge for the week previous to his election. Greshamsbury, the
seat of Francis Gresham, Esq., who was a great man in these parts,
was about twenty miles from Silverbridge, and the tedious work of
canvassing the electors could not therefore be done from thence;--but
he spent a couple of pleasant days with his old friend, and learned
what was being said and what was being done in and about the borough.
Mr. Gresham was a man, not as yet quite forty years of age, very
popular, with a large family, of great wealth, and master of the
county hounds. His father had been an embarrassed man, with a large
estate; but this Gresham had married a lady with immense wealth,
and had prospered in the world. He was not an active politician. He
did not himself care for Parliament, or for the good things which
political power can give, and was on this account averse to the
Coalition. He thought that Sir Orlando Drought and the others were
touching pitch and had defiled themselves. But he was conscious that
in so thinking he was one of but a small minority; and, bad as the
world around him certainly was, terrible as had been the fall of the
glory of old England, he was nevertheless content to live without
loud grumbling as long as the farmers paid him their rent, and the
labourers in his part of the country did not strike for wages, and
the land when sold would fetch thirty years' purchase. He had not
therefore been careful to ascertain that Arthur Fletcher would pledge
himself to oppose the Coalition before he proffered his assistance
in this matter of the borough. It would not be easy to find such
a candidate, or perhaps possible to bring him in when found. The
Fletchers had always been good Conservatives, and were proper people
to be in Parliament. A Conservative in Parliament is, of course,
obliged to promote a great many things which he does not really
approve. Mr. Gresham quite understood that. You can't have tests and
qualifications, rotten boroughs and the divine right of kings, back
again. But as the glorious institutions of the country are made to
perish, one after the other, it is better that they should receive
the coup de grâce tenderly from loving hands than be roughly
throttled by Radicals. Mr. Gresham would thank his stars that he
could still preserve foxes down in his own country, instead of doing
any of this dirty work,--for let the best be made of such work,
still it was dirty,--and was willing, now as always, to give his
assistance, and if necessary to spend a little money, to put a
Fletcher into Parliament and to keep a Lopez out.
There was to be a third candidate. That was the first news that
Fletcher heard. "It will do us all the good in the world," said Mr.
Gresham. "The Rads in the borough are not satisfied with Mr. Lopez.
They say they don't know him. As long as a certain set could make
it be believed that he was the Duke's nominee they were content to
accept him;--even though he was not proposed directly by the Duke's
people in the usual way. But the Duke has made himself understood
at last. You have seen the Duke's letter?" Arthur had not seen the
Duke's letter, which had only been published in the "Silverbridge
Gazette" of that week, and he now read it, sitting in Mr. Gresham's
magistrate's-room, as a certain chamber in the house had been called
since the days of the present squire's great-grandfather.
The Duke's letter was addressed to his recognised man of business in
those parts, and was as follows:--
Carlton Terrace, -- March, 187--.
MY DEAR MR. MORETON, [Mr. Moreton was the successor of one
Mr. Fothergill, who had reigned supreme in those parts
under the old Duke.]
I am afraid that my wishes with regard to the borough and
the forthcoming election there of a member of Parliament
are not yet clearly understood, although I endeavoured to
declare them when I was at Gatherum Castle. I trust that
no elector will vote for this or that gentleman with an
idea that the return of any special candidate will please
me. The ballot will of course prevent me or any other man
from knowing how an elector may vote;--but I beg to assure
the electors generally that should they think fit to
return a member pledged to oppose the Government of which
I form a part, it would not in any way change my cordial
feelings towards the town. I may perhaps be allowed to add
that, in my opinion, no elector can do his duty except by
voting for the candidate whom he thinks best qualified to
serve the country. In regard to the gentlemen who are now
before the constituency, I have no feeling for one rather
than for the other; and had I any such feeling I should
not wish it to actuate the vote of a single elector. I
should be glad if this letter could be published so as to
be brought under the eyes of the electors generally.
Yours faithfully,
OMNIUM.
When the Duke said that he feared that his wishes were not
understood, and spoke of the inefficacy of his former declaration,
he was alluding of course to the Duchess and to Mr. Sprugeon. Mr.
Sprugeon guessed that it might be so, and, still wishing to have the
Duchess for his good friend, was at once assiduous in explaining
to his friends in the borough that even this letter did not mean
anything. A Prime Minister was bound to say that kind of thing! But
the borough, if it wished to please the Duke, must return Lopez in
spite of the Duke's letter. Such was Mr. Sprugeon's doctrine. But
he did not carry Mr. Sprout with him. Mr. Sprout at once saw his
opportunity, and suggested to Mr. Du Boung, the local brewer, that
he should come forward. Du Boung was a man rapidly growing into
provincial eminence, and jumped at the offer. Consequently there were
three candidates. Du Boung came forward as a Conservative prepared to
give a cautious, but very cautious, support to the Coalition. Mr. Du
Boung, in his printed address, said very sweet things of the Duke
generally. The borough was blessed by the vicinity of the Duke. But,
looking at the present perhaps unprecedented crisis in affairs, Mr.
Du Boung was prepared to give no more than a very cautious support to
the Duke's Government. Arthur Fletcher read Mr. Du Boung's address
immediately after the Duke's letter.
"The more the merrier," said Arthur.
"Just so. Du Boung will not rob you of a vote, but he will cut the
ground altogether from under the other man's feet. You see that as
far as actual political programme goes there isn't much to choose
between any of you. You are all Government men."
"With a difference."
"One man in these days is so like another," continued Gresham
sarcastically, "that it requires good eyes to see the shades of the
colours."
"Then you'd better support Du Boung," said Arthur.
"I think you've just a turn in your favour. Besides, I couldn't
really carry a vote myself. As for Du Boung, I'd sooner have him
than a foreign cad like Lopez." Then Arthur Fletcher frowned and Mr.
Gresham became confused, remembering the catastrophe about the young
lady whose story he had heard. "Du Boung used to be plain English
as Bung before he got rich and made his name beautiful," continued
Gresham, "but I suppose Mr. Lopez does come of foreign extraction."
"I don't know what he comes from," said Arthur moodily. "They tell
me he's a gentleman. However, as we are to have a contest, I hope he
mayn't win."
"Of course you do. And he shan't win. Nor shall the great Du Boung.
You shall win, and become Prime Minister, and make me a peer. Would
you like papa to be Lord Greshamsbury?" he said to a little girl, who
then rushed into the room.
"No, I wouldn't. I'd like papa to give me the pony which the man
wants to sell out in the yard."
"She's quite right, Fletcher," said the squire. "I'm much more likely
to be able to buy them ponies as simple Frank Gresham than I should
be if I had a lord's coronet to pay for."
This was on a Saturday, and on the following Monday Mr. Gresham
drove the candidate over to Silverbridge and started him on his work
of canvassing. Mr. Du Boung had been busy ever since Mr. Sprout's
brilliant suggestion had been made, and Lopez had been in the field
even before him. Each one of the candidates called at the house of
every elector in the borough,--and every man in the borough was
an elector. When they had been at work for four or five days each
candidate assured the borough that he had already received promises
of votes sufficient to insure his success, and each candidate was
as anxious as ever,--nay, was more rabidly anxious than ever,--to
secure the promise of a single vote. Hints were made by honest
citizens of the pleasure they would have in supporting this or that
gentleman,--for the honest citizens assured one gentleman after the
other of the satisfaction they had in seeing so all-sufficient a
candidate in the borough,--if the smallest pecuniary help were given
them, even a day's pay, so that their poor children might not be
injured by their going to the poll. But the candidates and their
agents were stern in their replies to such temptations. "That's a
dodge of that rascal Sprout," said Sprugeon to Mr. Lopez. "That's one
of Sprout's men. If he could get half-a-crown from you it would be
all up with us." But though Sprugeon called Sprout a rascal, he laid
the same bait both for Du Boung and for Fletcher;--but laid it in
vain. Everybody said that it was a very clean election. "A brewer
standing, and devil a glass of beer!" said one old elector who had
remembered better things when the borough never heard of a contest.
On the third day of his canvass Arthur Fletcher with his gang of
agents and followers behind him met Lopez with his gang in the
street. It was probable that they would so meet, and Fletcher had
resolved what he would do when such a meeting took place. He walked
up to Lopez, and with a kindly smile offered his hand. The two men,
though they had never been intimate, had known each other, and
Fletcher was determined to show that he would not quarrel with a man
because that man had been his favoured rival. In comparison with that
other matter this affair of the candidature was of course trivial.
But Lopez who had, as the reader may remember, made some threat about
a horsewhip, had come to a resolution of a very different nature. He
put his arms a-kimbo, resting his hands on his hips, and altogether
declined the proffered civility. "You had better walk on," he said,
and then stood, scowling, on the spot till the other should pass by.
Fletcher looked at him for a moment, then bowed and passed on. At
least a dozen men saw what had taken place, and were aware that Mr.
Lopez had expressed his determination to quarrel personally with Mr.
Fletcher, in opposition to Mr. Fletcher's expressed wish for amity.
And before they had gone to bed that night all the dozen knew the
reason why. Of course there was some one then at Silverbridge clever
enough to find out that Arthur Fletcher had been in love with Miss
Wharton, but that Miss Wharton had lately been married to Mr. Lopez.
No doubt the incident added a pleasurable emotion to the excitement
caused by the election at Silverbridge generally. A personal quarrel
is attractive everywhere. The expectation of such an occurrence will
bring together the whole House of Commons. And of course this quarrel
was very attractive in Silverbridge. There were some Fletcherites
and Lopezites in the quarrel; as there were also Du Boungites, who
maintained that when gentlemen could not canvass without quarrelling
in the streets they were manifestly unfit to represent such a borough
as Silverbridge in Parliament;--and that therefore Mr. Du Boung
should be returned.
Mr. Gresham was in the town that day, though not till after the
occurrence, and Fletcher could not avoid speaking of it. "The man
must be a cur," said Gresham.
"It would make no difference in the world to me," said Arthur,
struggling hard to prevent signs of emotion from showing themselves
in his face, "were it not that he has married a lady whom I have long
known and whom I greatly esteem." He felt that he could hardly avoid
all mention of the marriage, and yet was determined that he would say
no word that his brother would call "howling."
"There has been no previous quarrel, or offence?" asked Gresham.
"None in the least." When Arthur so spoke he forgot altogether the
letter he had written; nor, had he then remembered it, would he have
thought it possible that that letter should have given offence. He
had been the sufferer, not Lopez. This man had robbed him of his
happiness; and, though it would have been foolish in him to make a
quarrel for a grievance such as that, there might have been some
excuse had he done so. It had taken him some time to perceive that
greatly as this man had injured him, there had been no injustice done
to him, and that therefore there should be no complaint made by him.
But that this other man should complain was to him unintelligible.
"He is not worth your notice," said Mr. Gresham. "He is simply not a
gentleman, and does not know how to behave himself. I am very sorry
for the young lady;--that's all." At this allusion to Emily Arthur
felt that his face became red with the rising blood; and he felt
also that his friend should not have spoken thus openly,--thus
irreverently,--on so sacred a subject. But at the moment he said
nothing further. As far as his canvass was concerned it had been
successful, and he was beginning to feel sure that he would be the
new member. He endeavoured therefore to drown his sorrow in this
coming triumph.
But Lopez had been by no means gratified with his canvass or with
the conduct of the borough generally. He had already begun to feel
that the Duchess and Mr. Sprugeon and the borough had thrown him
over shamefully. Immediately on his arrival in Silverbridge a local
attorney had with the blandest possible smile asked him for a cheque
for £500. Of course there must be money spent at once, and of course
the money must come out of the candidate's pocket. He had known all
this beforehand, and yet the demand for the money had come upon him
as an injury. He gave the cheque, but showed clearly by his manner
that he resented the application. This did not tend to bind to him
more closely the services of those who were present when the demand
was made. And then, as he began his canvass, he found that he could
not conjure at all with the name of the Duke, or even with that of
the Duchess; and was told on the second day by Mr. Sprugeon himself
that he had better fight the battle "on his own hook." Now his own
hook in Silverbridge was certainly not a strong hook. Mr. Sprugeon
was still of opinion that a good deal might be done by judicious
manipulation, and went so far as to suggest that another cheque
for £500 in the hands of Mr. Wise, the lawyer, would be effective.
But Lopez did not give the other cheque, and Sprugeon whispered to
him that the Duke had been too many for the Duchess. Still he had
persevered, and a set of understrappers around him, who would make
nothing out of the election without his candidature, assured him from
time to time that he would even yet come out all right at the ballot.
With such a hope still existing he had not scrupled to affirm in his
speeches that the success of his canvass had been complete. But, on
the morning of the day on which he met Fletcher in the street, Mr. Du
Boung had called upon him accompanied by two of the Du Boung agents
and by Mr. Sprugeon himself,--and had suggested that he, Lopez,
should withdraw from the contest, so that Du Boung might be returned,
and that the "Liberal interests" of the borough might not be
sacrificed.
This was a heavy blow, and one which Ferdinand Lopez was not the
man to bear with equanimity. From the moment in which the Duchess
had mentioned the borough to him, he had regarded the thing as
certain. After a while he had understood that his return must be
accompanied by more trouble and greater expense than he had at first
anticipated;--but still he had thought that it was all but sure. He
had altogether misunderstood the nature of the influence exercised
by the Duchess, and the nature also of the Duke's resolution. Mr.
Sprugeon had of course wished to have a candidate, and had allured
him. Perhaps he had in some degree been ill-treated by the borough.
But he was a man whom the feeling of injustice to himself would drive
almost to frenzy, though he never measured the amount of his own
injustice to others. When the proposition was made to him, he scowled
at them all, and declared that he would fight the borough to the
last. "Then you'll let Mr. Fletcher in to a certainty," said Mr.
Sprout. Now there was an idea in the borough that, although all the
candidates were ready to support the Duke's government, Mr. Du Boung
and Mr. Lopez were the two Liberals. Mr. Du Boung was sitting in the
room when the appeal was made, and declared that he feared that such
would be the result. "I'll tell you what I'll do," said Lopez; "I'll
toss up which of us retires." Mr. Sprout, on behalf of Mr. Du Boung,
protested against that proposition. Mr. Du Boung, who was a gentleman
of great local influence, was in possession of four-fifths of the
Liberal interests of the borough. Even were he to retire Mr. Lopez
could not get in. Mr. Sprout declared that this was known to all the
borough at large. He, Sprout, was sorry that a gentleman like Mr.
Lopez should have been brought down there under false ideas. He had
all through told Mr. Sprugeon that the Duke had been in earnest, but
Mr. Sprugeon had not comprehended the position. It had been a pity.
But anybody who understood the borough could see with one eye that
Mr. Lopez had not a chance. If Mr. Lopez would retire Mr. Du Boung
would no doubt be returned. If Mr. Lopez went to the poll, Mr.
Fletcher would probably be the new member. This was the picture as it
was painted by Mr. Sprout,--who had, even then, heard something of
the loves of the two candidates, and who had thought that Lopez would
be glad to injure Arthur Fletcher's chances of success. So far he was
not wrong;--but the sense of the injury done to himself oppressed
Lopez so much that he could not guide himself by reason. The idea of
retiring was very painful to him, and he did not believe these men.
He thought it to be quite possible that they were there to facilitate
the return of Arthur Fletcher. He had never even heard of Du Boung
till he had come to Silverbridge two or three days ago. He still
could not believe that Du Boung would be returned. He thought over
it all for a moment, and then he gave his answer. "I've been brought
down here to fight, and I'll fight it to the last," he said. "Then
you'll hand over the borough to Mr. Fletcher," said Sprout, getting
up and ushering Mr. Du Boung out of the room.
It was after that, but on the same day, that Lopez and Fletcher met
each other in the street. The affair did not take a minute, and then
they parted, each on his own way. In the course of that evening Mr.
Sprugeon told his candidate that he, Sprugeon, could not concern
himself any further in that election. He was very sorry for what had
occurred;--very sorry indeed. It was no doubt a pity that the Duke
had been so firm. "But,"--and Mr. Sprugeon shrugged his shoulders as
he spoke,--"when a nobleman like the Duke chooses to have a way of
his own, he must have it." Mr. Sprugeon went on to declare that any
further candidature would be waste of money, waste of time, and waste
of energy, and then signified his intention of retiring, as far as
this election went, into private life. When asked, he acknowledged
that they who had been acting with him had come to the same resolve.
Mr. Lopez had in fact come there as the Duke's nominee, and as the
Duke had no nominee, Mr. Lopez was in fact "nowhere."
"I don't suppose that any man was ever so treated before, since
members were first returned to Parliament," said Lopez.
"Well, sir;--yes, sir; it is a little hard. But, you see, sir,
her Grace meant the best. Her Grace did mean the best, no doubt.
It may be, sir, there was a little misunderstanding;--a little
misunderstanding at the Castle, sir." Then Mr. Sprugeon retired, and
Lopez understood that he was to see nothing more of the ironmonger.
Of course there was nothing for him now but to retire;--to shake the
dust off his feet and get out of Silverbridge as quickly as he could.
But his friends had all deserted him and he did not know how to
retire. He had paid £500, and he had a strong opinion that a portion
at least of the money should be returned to him. He had a keen sense
of ill-usage, and at the same time a feeling that he ought not to run
out of the borough like a whipt dog, without showing his face to any
one. But his strongest sensation at this moment was one of hatred
against Arthur Fletcher. He was sure that Arthur Fletcher would be
the new member. He did not put the least trust in Mr. Du Boung. He
had taught himself really to think that Fletcher had insulted him
by writing to his wife, and that a further insult had been offered
to him by that meeting in the street. He had told his wife that he
would ask Fletcher to give up the borough, and that he would make
that request with a horsewhip in his hand. It was too late now to
say anything of the borough, but it might not be too late for the
horsewhip. He had a great desire to make good that threat as far as
the horsewhip was concerned,--having an idea that he would thus lower
Fletcher in his wife's eyes. It was not that he was jealous,--not
jealous according to the ordinary meaning of the word. His wife's
love to himself had been too recently given and too warmly maintained
for such a feeling as that. But there was a rancorous hatred in his
heart against the man, and a conviction that his wife at any rate
esteemed the man whom he hated. And then would he not make his
retreat from the borough with more honour if before he left he could
horsewhip his successful antagonist? We, who know the feeling of
Englishmen generally better than Mr. Lopez did, would say--certainly
not. We would think that such an incident would by no means redound
to the credit of Mr. Lopez. And he himself, probably, at cooler
moments, would have seen the folly of such an idea. But anger about
the borough had driven him mad, and now in his wretchedness the
suggestion had for him a certain charm. The man had outraged all
propriety by writing to his wife. Of course he would be justified
in horsewhipping him. But there were difficulties. A man is not
horsewhipped simply because you wish to horsewhip him.
In the evening, as he was sitting alone, he got a note from Mr.
Sprugeon. "Mr. Sprugeon's compliments. Doesn't Mr. Lopez think an
address to the electors should appear in to-morrow's 'Gazette,'--very
short and easy;--something like the following." Then Mr. Sprugeon
added a very "short and easy letter" to the electors of the borough
of Silverbridge, in which Mr. Lopez was supposed to tell them that
although his canvass promised to him every success, he felt that
he owed it to the borough to retire, lest he should injure the
borough by splitting the Liberal interest with their much respected
fellow-townsman, Mr. Du Boung. In the course of the evening he did
copy that letter, and sent it out to the newspaper office. He must
retire, and it was better for him that he should retire after some
recognised fashion. But he wrote another letter also, and sent it
over to the opposition hotel. The other letter was as follows:--
SIR,--
Before this election began you were guilty of gross
impertinence in writing a letter to my wife,--to her
extreme annoyance and to my most justifiable anger. Any
gentleman would think that the treatment you had already
received at her hands would have served to save her from
such insult, but there are men who will never take a
lesson without a beating. And now, since you have been
here, you have presumed to offer to shake hands with me in
the street, though you ought to have known that I should
not choose to meet you on friendly terms after what has
taken place. I now write to tell you that I shall carry a
horsewhip while I am here, and that if I meet you in the
streets again before I leave the town I shall use it.
FERDINAND LOPEZ.
Mr. Arthur Fletcher.
This letter he sent at once to his enemy, and then sat late into
the night thinking of his threat and of the manner in which he
would follow it up. If he could only get one fair blow at Fletcher
his purpose, he thought, would be achieved. In any matter of
horsewhipping the truth hardly ever gets itself correctly known.
The man who has given the first blow is generally supposed to
have thrashed the other. What might follow, though it might be
inconvenient, must be borne. The man had insulted him by writing to
his wife, and the sympathies of the world, he thought, would be with
him. To give him his due, it must be owned that he had no personal
fear as to the encounter.
That night Arthur Fletcher had gone over to Greshamsbury, and on the
following morning he returned with Mr. Gresham. "For heaven's sake,
look at that!" he said, handing the letter to his friend.
"Did you ever write to his wife?" asked Gresham, when he read it.
"Yes;--I did. All this is dreadful to me;--dreadful. Well;--you know
how it used to be with me. I need not go into all that; need I?"
"Don't say a word more than you think necessary."
"When you asked me to stand for the place I had not heard that he
thought of being a candidate. I wrote and told her so, and told her
also that had I known it before I would not have come here."
"I don't quite see that," said Gresham.
"Perhaps not;--perhaps I was a fool. But we needn't go into that.
At any rate there was no insult to him. I wrote in the simplest
language."
"Looking at it all round I think you had better not have written."
"You wouldn't say so if you saw the letter. I'm sure you wouldn't.
I had known her all my life. My brother is married to her cousin.
Oh heavens! we had been all but engaged. I would have done anything
for her. Was it not natural that I should tell her? As far as the
language was concerned the letter was one to be read at Charing
Cross."
"He says that she was annoyed and insulted."
"Impossible! It was a letter that any man might have written to any
woman."
"Well;--you have got to take care of yourself at any rate. What will
you do?"
"What ought I to do?"
"Go to the police." Mr. Gresham had himself once, when young,
thrashed a man who had offended him and had then thought himself much
aggrieved because the police had been called in. But that had been
twenty years ago, and Mr. Gresham's opinions had been matured and,
perhaps, corrected by age.
"No; I won't do that," said Arthur Fletcher.
"That's what you ought to do."
"I couldn't do that."
"Then take no notice of the letter and carry a fairly big stick. It
should be big enough to hurt him a good deal, but not to do him any
serious damage." At that moment an agent came in with news of the
man's retirement from the contest. "Has he left the town?" asked
Gresham. No;--he had not left the town, nor had he been seen by any
one that morning. "You had better let me go out and get the stick,
before you show yourself," said Gresham. And so the stick was
selected.
As the two walked down the street together, almost the first thing
they saw was Lopez standing at his hotel door with a cutting whip
in his hand. He was at that moment quite alone, but on the opposite
side of the street there was a policeman,--one of the borough
constables,--very slowly making his way along the pavement. His
movement, indeed, was so slow that any one watching him would have
come to the conclusion that that particular part of the High Street
had some attraction for him at that special moment. Alas, alas! How
age will alter the spirit of a man! Twenty years since Frank Gresham
would have thought any one to be a mean miscreant who would have
interposed a policeman between him and his foe. But it is to be
feared that while selecting that stick he had said a word which was
causing the constable to loiter on the pavement!
But Gresham turned no eye to the policeman as he walked on with his
friend, and Fletcher did not see the man. "What an ass he is!" said
Fletcher,--as he got the handle of the stick well into his hand.
Then Lopez advanced to them with his whip raised; but as he did so
the policeman came across the street quickly, but very quietly, and
stood right before him. The man was so thoroughly in the way of the
aggrieved wretch that it was out of the question that he should touch
Fletcher with his whip.
"Do you usually walk about attended by a policeman?" said Lopez, with
all the scorn which he knew how to throw into his voice.
"I didn't know that the man was here," said Fletcher.
"You may tell that to the marines. All the borough shall know what
a coward you are." Then he turned round and addressed the street,
but still under the shadow, as it were, of the policeman's helmet.
"This man who presumes to offer himself as a candidate to represent
Silverbridge in Parliament has insulted my wife. And now, because he
fears that I shall horsewhip him, he goes about the street under the
care of a policeman."
"This is intolerable," said Fletcher, turning to his friend.
"Mr. Lopez," said Gresham. "I am sorry to say that I must give you
in charge;--unless you will undertake to leave the town without
interfering further with Mr. Fletcher either by word or deed."
"I will undertake nothing," said Lopez. "The man has insulted my
wife, and is a coward."
About two o'clock on the afternoon of that day Mr. Lopez appeared
before the Silverbridge bench of magistrates, and was there sworn to
keep the peace to Mr. Fletcher for the next six months. After that he
was allowed to leave the town, and was back in London, with his wife
in Belgrave Mansions, to dinner that evening.
On the day but one after this the ballot was taken, and at eight
o'clock on the evening of that day Arthur Fletcher was declared to be
duly elected. But Mr. Du Boung ran him very hard.
The numbers were--
FLETCHER 315
DU BOUNG 308
Mr. Du Boung's friends during these two last days had not hesitated
to make what use they could on behalf of their own candidate of the
Lopez and Fletcher quarrel. If Mr. Fletcher had insulted the other
man's wife, surely he could not be a proper member for Silverbridge.
And then the row was declared to have been altogether discreditable.
Two strangers had come into this peaceful town and had absolutely
quarrelled with sticks and whips in the street, calling each other
opprobrious names. Would it not be better that they should elect
their own respectable townsman? All this was nearly effective. But,
in spite of all, Arthur Fletcher was at last returned.