“Well, Winter,” said Octavius Milburn, “I expect there’s business in
this for you.”
Mr Milburn and Mr Winter had met in the act of unlocking their boxes at
the post-office. Elgin had enjoyed postal delivery for several years,
but not so much as to induce men of business to abandon the post-office
box that had been the great convenience succeeding window inquiry.
In time the boxes would go, but the habit of dropping in for your own
noonday mail on the way home to dinner was deep-rooted, and undoubtedly
you got it earlier. Moreover, it takes time to engender confidence in
a postman when he is drawn from your midst, and when you know perfectly
well that he would otherwise be driving the mere watering-cart, or
delivering the mere ice, as he was last year.
“Looks like it,” responded Mr Winter, cheerfully. “The boys have been
round as usual. I told them they’d better try another shop this time,
but they seemed to think the old reliable was good enough to go on
with.”
This exchange, to anyone in Elgin, would have been patently simple. On
that day there was only one serious topic in Elgin, and there could have
been only one reference to business for Walter Winter. The Dominion had
come up the day before with the announcement that Mr Robert Farquharson
who, for an aggregate of eleven years, had represented the Liberals of
South Fox in the Canadian House of Commons, had been compelled under
medical advice to withdraw from public life. The news was unexpected,
and there was rather a feeling among Mr Farquharson’s local support in
Elgin that it shouldn’t have come from Toronto. It will be gathered
that Horace Williams, as he himself acknowledged, was wild. The general
feeling, and to some extent Mr Williams’s, was appeased by the further
information that Mr Farquharson had been obliged to go to Toronto to
see a specialist, whose report he had naturally enough taken to party
headquarters, whence the Dominion would get it, as Mr Williams said, by
telephone or any quicker way there was. Williams, it should be added,
was well ahead with the details, as considerate as was consistent with
public enterprise, of the retiring member’s malady, its duration,
the date of the earliest symptoms, and the growth of anxiety in Mrs
Farquharson, who had finally insisted--and how right she was!--on the
visit to the specialist, upon which she had accompanied Mr Farquharson.
He sent round Rawlins. So that Elgin was in possession of all the facts,
and Walter Winter, who had every pretension to contest the seat again
and every satisfaction that it wouldn’t be against Farquharson,
might naturally be expected to be taken up with them sufficiently to
understand a man who slapped him on the shoulder in the post-office with
the remark I have quoted.
“I guess they know what they’re about,” returned Mr Milburn. “It’s a bad
knock for the Grits, old Farquharson having to drop out. He’s getting up
in years, but he’s got a great hold here. He’ll be a dead loss in votes
to his party. I always said our side wouldn’t have a chance till the old
man was out of the way.”
Mr Winter twisted the watch-chain across his protuberant waistcoat, and
his chin sank in reflective folds above his neck-tie. Above that again
his nose drooped over his moustache, and his eyelids over his eyes,
which sought the floor. Altogether he looked sunk, like an overfed bird,
in deferential contemplation of what Mr Milburn was saying.
“They’ve nobody to touch him, certainly in either ability or
experience,” he replied, looking up to do it, with a handsome air of
concession. “Now that Martin’s dead, and Jim Fawkes come that howler
over Pink River, they’ll have their work cut out for them to find a man.
I hear Fawkes takes it hard, after all he’s done for ‘em, not to get the
nomination, but they won’t hear of it. Quite right, too; he’s let too
many people in over that concession of his to be popular, even among his
friends.”
“I suppose he has. Dropped anything there yourself?--No? Nor I. When a
thing gets to the boom stage I say let it alone, even if there’s gold in
it and you’ve got a School of Mines man to tell you so. Fawkes came out
of it at the small end himself, I expect, but that doesn’t help him any
in the eyes of businessmen.”
“I hear,” said Walter Winter, stroking his nose, “that old man Parsons
has come right over since the bosses at Ottawa have put so much money
on preference trade with the old country. He says he was a Liberal once,
and may be a Liberal again, but he doesn’t see his way to voting to give
his customers blankets cheaper than he can make them, and he’ll wait
till the clouds roll by.”
“He won’t be the only one, either,” said Milburn. “Take my word for
it, they’ll be dead sick and sorry over this imperial craze in a year’s
time, every Government that’s taken it up. The people won’t have it. The
Empire looks nice on the map, but when it comes to practical politics
their bread and butter’s in the home industries. There’s a great
principle at stake, Winter; I must say I envy you standing up for it
under such favourable conditions. Liberals like Young and Windle may
talk big, but when it comes to the ballot-box you’ll have the whole
manufacturing interest of the place behind you, and nobody the wiser.
It’s a great thing to carry the standard on an issue above and beyond
party politics--it’s a purer air, my boy.”
Walter Winter’s nod confirmed the sagacity of this, and appreciated the
highmindedness. It was a parting nod; Mr Winter had too much on hand
that morning to waste time upon Octavius Milburn; but it was full of the
qualities that ensure the success of a man’s relation with his fellows.
Consideration was in it, and understanding, and that kind of geniality
that offers itself on a plain business footing, a commercial heartiness
that has no nonsense about it. He had half a dozen casual chats like
this with Mr Milburn on his way up Main Street, and his manner expanded
in cordiality and respect with each, as if his growing confidence in
himself increased his confidence in his fellow-men. The same assurance
greeted him several times over. Every friend wanted to remind him of
the enemy’s exigency, and to assure him that the enemy’s new policy was
enough by itself to bring him romping in at last; and to every assurance
he presented the same acceptable attitude of desiring for particular
reasons to take special note of such valuable views. At the end he
had neither elicited nor imparted a single opinion of any importance;
nevertheless, he was quite entitled to his glow of satisfaction.
Among Mr Winter’s qualifications for political life was his capacity
to arrive at an estimate of the position of the enemy. He was never
persuaded to his own advantage; he never stepped ahead of the facts.
It was one of the things that made him popular with the other side,
his readiness to do justice to their equipment, to acknowledge their
chances. There is gratification of a special sort in hearing your points
of vantage confessed by the foe; the vanity is soothed by his open
admission that you are worthy of his steel. It makes you a little less
keen somehow, about defeating him. It may be that Mr Winter had an
instinct for this, or perhaps he thought such discourse more profitable,
if less pleasant, than derisive talk in the opposite sense. At all
events, he gained something and lost nothing by it, even in his own
camp, where swagger might be expected to breed admiration. He was
thought a level-headed fellow who didn’t expect miracles; his forecast
in most matters was quoted, and his defeats at the polls had been to
some extent neutralized by his sagacity in computing the returns in
advance.
So that we may safely follow Mr Winter to the conclusion that the
Liberals of South Fox were somewhat put to it to select a successor to
Robert Farquharson who could be depended upon to keep the party credit
exactly where he found it. The need was unexpected, and the two men
who would have stepped most naturally into Farquharson’s shoes were
disqualified as Winter described. The retirement came at a calculating
moment. South Fox still declared itself with pride an unhealthy division
for Conservatives; but new considerations had thrust themselves among
Liberal counsels, and nobody yet knew what the country would say to
them. The place was a “Grit” strong-hold, but its steady growth as an
industrial centre would give a new significance to the figures of the
next returns. The Conservative was the manufacturers’ party, and had
been ever since the veteran Sir John Macdonald declared for a protective
“National Policy,” and placed the plain issue before the country which
divided the industrial and the agricultural interests. A certain number
of millowners--Mr Milburn mentioned Young and Windle--belonged to the
Liberals, as if to illustrate the fact that you inherit your party in
Canada as you inherit your “denomination,” or your nose; it accompanies
you, simply, to the grave. But they were exceptions, and there was no
doubt that the other side had been considerably strengthened by the
addition of two or three thriving and highly capitalized concerns during
the past five years. Upon the top of this had come the possibility of a
great and dramatic change of trade relations with Great Britain, which
the Liberal Government at Ottawa had given every sign of willingness
to adopt--had, indeed, initiated, and were bound by word and letter to
follow up. Though the moment had not yet come, might never come, for
its acceptance or rejection by the country as a whole, there could be
no doubt that every by-election would be concerned with the policy
involved, and that every Liberal candidate must be prepared to stand by
it in so far as the leaders had conceived and pushed it. Party feeling
was by no means unanimous in favour of the change; many Liberals saw
commercial salvation closer in improved trade relations with the United
States. On the other hand, the new policy, clothed as it was in the
attractive sentiment of loyalty, and making for the solidarity of the
British race, might be depended upon to capture votes which had been
hitherto Conservative mainly because these professions were supposed
to be an indissoluble part of Conservatism. It was a thing to split the
vote sufficiently to bring an unusual amount of anxiety and calculation
into Liberal counsels. The other side were in no doubt or difficulty:
Walter Winter was good enough for them, and it was their cheerful
conviction that Walter Winter would put a large number of people wise
on the subject of preference trade bye-and-bye, who at present only knew
enough to vote for it.
The great question was the practicability of the new idea and how much
further it could safely be carried in a loyal Dominion which was just
getting on its industrial legs. It was debated with anxiety at Ottawa,
and made the subject of special instruction to South Fox, where the
by-election would have all the importance of an early test. “It’s a
clear issue,” wrote an influential person at Ottawa to the local party
leaders at Elgin, “we don’t want any tendency to hedge or double.
It’s straight business with us, the thing we want, and it will be till
Wallingham either gets it through over there, or finds he can’t deal
with us. Meanwhile it might be as well to ascertain just how much there
is in it for platform purposes in a safe spot like South Fox, and how
much the fresh opposition will cost us where we can afford it. We can’t
lose the seat, and the returns will be worth anything in their bearing
on the General Election next year. The objection to Carter is that he’s
only half-convinced; he couldn’t talk straight if he wanted to, and
that lecture tour of his in the United States ten years ago pushing
reciprocity with the Americans would make awkward literature.”
The rejection of Carter practically exhausted the list of men available
whose standing in the town and experience of its suffrages brought them
naturally into the field of selection; and at this point Cruickshank
wrote to Farquharson suggesting the dramatic departure involved in the
name of Lorne Murchison. Cruickshank wrote judiciously, leaving the main
arguments in Lorne’s favour to form themselves in Farquharson’s mind,
but countering the objections that would rise there by the suggestion
that after a long period of confidence and steady going, in fact of
the orthodox and expected, the party should profit by the swing of
the pendulum toward novelty and tentative, rather than bring forward a
candidate who would represent, possibly misrepresent, the same beliefs
and intentions on a lower personal level. As there was no first-rate
man of the same sort to succeed Farquharson, Cruickshank suggested the
undesirability of a second-rate man; and he did it so adroitly that the
old fellow found himself in a good deal of sympathy with the idea. He
had small opinion of the lot that was left for selection, and smaller
relish for the prospect of turning his honourable activity over to any
one of them. Force of habit and training made him smile at Cruickshank’s
proposition as impracticable, but he felt its attraction, even while
he dismissed it to an inside pocket. Young Murchison’s name would be so
unlooked-for that if he, Farquharson, could succeed in imposing it
upon the party it would be almost like making a personal choice of his
successor, a grateful idea in abdication. Farquharson wished regretfully
that Lorne had another five years to his credit in the Liberal record of
South Fox. By the time the young fellow had earned them he, the retiring
member, would be quite on the shelf, if in no completer oblivion; he
could not expect much of a voice in any nomination five years hence. He
sighed to think of it.
It was at that point of his meditations that Mr Farquharson met
Squire Ormiston on the steps of the Bank of British North America, an
old-fashioned building with an appearance of dignity and probity, a look
of having been founded long ago upon principles which raised it above
fluctuation, exactly the place in which Mr Farquharson and Squire
Ormiston might be expected to meet. The two men, though politically
opposed, were excellent friends; they greeted cordially.
“So you’re ordered out of politics, Farquharson?” said the squire.
“We’re all sorry for that, you know.”
“I’m afraid so; I’m afraid so. Thanks for your letter--very friendly of
you, squire. I don’t like it--no use pretending I do--but it seems I’ve
got to take a rest if I want to be known as a going concern.”
“A fellow with so much influence in committee ought to have more control
of his nerve centres,” Ormiston told him. The squire belonged to that
order of elderly gentlemen who will have their little joke. “Well, have
you and Bingham and Horace Williams made up your minds who’s to have the
seat?”
Farquharson shook his head. “I only know what I see in the papers,” he
said. “The Dominion is away out with Fawkes, and the Express is about as
lukewarm with Carter as he is with federated trade.”
“Your Government won’t be obliged to you for Carter,” said Mr Ormiston;
“a more slack-kneed, double-jointed scoundrel was never offered a
commission in a respectable cause. He’ll be the first to rat if things
begin to look queer for this new policy of yours and Wallingham’s.”
“He hasn’t got it yet,” Farquharson admitted, “and he won’t with my good
will. So you’re with us for preference trade, Ormiston?”
“It’s a thing I’d like to see. It’s a thing I’m sorry we’re not in a
position to take up practically ourselves. But you won’t get it, you
know. You’ll be defeated by the senior partner. It’s too much of a
doctrine for the people of England. They’re listening to Wallingham
just now because they admire him, but they won’t listen to you. I doubt
whether it will ever come to an issue over there. This time next year
Wallingham will be sucking his thumbs and thinking of something else.
No, it’s not a thing to worry about politically, for it won’t come
through.”
The squire’s words suggested so much relief in that conviction that
Farquharson, sharp on the flair of the experienced nose for waverers,
looked at him observantly.
“I’m not so sure It’s a doctrine with a fine practical application for
them as well as for us, if they can be got to see it, and they’re bound
to see it in time. It’s a thing I never expected to live to believe,
never thought would be practicable until lately, but now I think there’s
a very good chance of it. And, hang it all,” he added, “it may be
unreasonable, but the more I notice the Yankees making propositions to
get us away from it, the more I want to see it come through.”
“I have very much the same feeling,” the squire acknowledged. “I’ve been
turning the matter over a good deal since that last Conference showed
which way the wind was blowing. And the fellows in your Government gave
them a fine lead. But such a proposition was bound to come from your
side. The whole political history of the country shows it. We’re pledged
to take care of the damned industries.”
Farquharson smiled at the note of depression. “Well, we want a bigger
market somewhere,” he said with detachment “and it looks as if we could
get it now Uncle Sam has had a fright. If the question comes to be
fought out at the polls, I don’t see how your party could do better
than go in for a wide scheme of reciprocity with the Americans--in raw
products, of course with a tariff to match theirs on manufactured goods.
That would shut a pretty tight door on British connection though.”
“They’ll not get my vote if they do,” said the squire, thrusting his
hands fiercely into his breeches pockets.
“As you say, it’s most important to put up a man who will show the
constituency all the credit and benefit there is in it, anyhow,”
Farquharson observed. “I’ve had a letter this morning,” he added,
laughing, “from a fellow--one of the bosses, too--who wants us to
nominate young Murchison.”
“The lawyer?”
“That’s the man. He’s too young, of course--not thirty. But he’s well
known in the country districts; I don’t know a man of his age with a
more useful service record. He’s got a lot of friends, and he’s come a
good deal to the front lately through that inter-imperial communications
business--we might do worse. And upon my word, we’re in such a hole--”
“Farquharson,” said old Squire Ormiston, the red creeping over features
that had not lost in three generations the lines of the old breed, “I’ve
voted in the Conservative interest for forty years, and my father before
me. We were Whigs when we settled in Massachusetts, and Whigs when we
pulled up stakes and came North rather than take up arms against the
King; but it seemed decent to support the Government that gave us a
chance again under the flag, and my grandfather changed his politics.
Now, confound it! the flag seems to be with the Whigs again, for
fighting purposes, anyhow; and I don’t seem to have any choice. I’ve
been debating the thing for some time now, and your talk of making
that fine young fellow your candidate settles it. If you can get your
committee to accept young Murchison, you can count on my vote, and I
don’t want to brag, but I think you can count on Moneida too, though
it’s never sent in a Grit majority yet.”
The men were standing on the steps of the bank, and the crisp air
of autumn brought them both an agreeable tingle of enterprise.
Farquharson’s buggy was tied to the nearest maple.
“I’m going over to East Elgin to look at my brick-kilns,” he said. “Get
in with me, will you?”
As they drove up Main Street they encountered Walter Winter, who looked
after them with a deeply considering eye.
“Old Ormiston always had the Imperial bee in his bonnet,” said he.