IS OF A POLITICAL NATURE
GRANNY’S fortnight at Brighton was so successful that it ran to
a month. In the latter part of the period Philip and Mary paid
several flying visits to the metropolis to see if the little flat in
Knightsbridge was coming up to expectations. The furniture also had to
be considered, and a very pleasant occupation it was to collect the
household gods.
Everything in the new house delighted them; the color of the walls,
the light in the pictures, the hang of the curtains, the disposition
of the chairs. It was about the first week in April when they started
housekeeping for themselves. They had found a very warm and cozy little
nest, rather high up perhaps, yet a nest is none the worse for that as
a rule. It overlooked the park in which the birds were building, and in
which Philip, who had turned over an entirely new leaf, used to ride
before breakfast.
Mary’s first cross in her new life was that she couldn’t accompany
him. But she had never been on a horse in her life; and she very much
regretted now that this branch of her education had been neglected.
They must be pals in everything. Wherever he went and whatever he did,
she must be at his side--that is, if he wanted her, and she was quite
sure he did.
As became a very practical-minded young woman, she soon came to grips
with this important subject. It was one day after lunch, while the
world was still seeming a truly magnificent place to be in, and life
still appeared a truly noble and glorious invention.
“Phil-ipp, there is only one cloud so far.”
“What is it, old girl?”
“I want to ride, Phil-ipp, and I don’t know how. I think I shall learn.
Come with me and order a habit, although at a really economical shop,
because I’m not earning no money and I’ve broken all my contracts and
this is going to be a dreadful Expense.”
Philip was delighted and praised her pluck; but, in strict confidence,
young ladies of Newnham and Girton, she didn’t exactly overflow with
that valuable commodity when she made her début a week later at the
school. Her second and third appearances were hardly more inspiring;
indeed, she had never felt so uncomfortable, so nervous, so hopelessly
incompetent in the whole course of a life which had been a brilliant
success so far. But she stuck to her resolve with the whole-hearted
determination that goes with her type of countenance; and ere long
virtue began to reap its reward.
It was a very proud moment when, after several weeks of travail, she
ventured forth into the Row with her Philip, about a quarter-past eight
of a summer’s morning. Philip felt awfully proud of her, for, making
due allowance for a little inward trepidation which was uncommonly well
concealed, she really did very well indeed. She vowed, moreover, though
in no spirit of vainglory, that she meant soon to do much better.
Friends of the Family had shaken their heads, and were shaking them
still, over the Unfortunate Occurrence, but at present the glamour had
shown no signs of wearing thin. Mary had definitely retired from the
theater, except for the promised appearance at Harry Merino’s benefit,
which had yet to take place, but in the most whole-hearted way she was
devoting herself to Philip and his interests. It was her ambition “to
be a pal in everything.” The sitting of a horse was only one instance
of her determination to live up to her ideal.
An Ex-Ambassador had asked her to call in Mount Street. No time was
lost in taking him at his word. Moreover, she chose a day and hour when
the old diplomatist was accessible. And her recent study of the art
of equitation came in uncommonly useful, inasmuch that without much
difficulty she contrived “to keep him up to the bit.” That is to say,
about ten days after her visit Philip received an invitation to lunch
at the Helicon, to meet a chief wire-puller of the party to which the
Ex-Ambassador did not belong. It is not every young married woman of
limited social experience who would have been able to manage it.
To be quite candid, Sir Joseph Huffham, Bart., M. P., was not exactly
overpowered by the sense of Mr. Philip’s ability. To that shrewd and
stern judge of mankind, the son and heir of that old fool Shelmerdine
was very much what one would have expected him to be. Except that he
was not pompous. On the contrary, there was a most agreeable modesty
about the young chap. It was evidently sincere, and as such was
entitled to respect. As far as promise was concerned, though there was
doubtless a good deal of it--a worldly-wise man had said so--whatever
he might attain to in the way of performance would be in the distant
future.
What had Warlock in his mind? was really the question of questions for
Sir Joseph Huffham, Bart., M. P. What Machiavellian subtlety lurked
in the bringing forward of this very dark horse for the purpose of
helping a party in which Warlock was not interested? What private axe
had he to grind? To be sure, there was that little business of the
vacant Thistle, which all the world and his wife had smiled over. Then
there was also the fact that this not particularly bright young man had
disappointed the expectations of two families. What game was the old
Jesuit playing? was the question that Sir Joseph felt constrained to
ask.
Sir Joseph found the question by no means easy to answer, and we must
confess that we share his difficulty. It would be idle, my lords and
gentlemen, for us to pretend to illuminate the official prescience. But
candidly, we feel that the question might have been addressed to young
Mrs. Philip without impropriety, although, of course, Sir Joseph could
not be expected to know that, and he would have thought it ridiculous
had anyone ventured to make the suggestion. Things don’t happen in that
way, he would have said.
Maybe, Sir Joseph; yet perchance in that case you would have affirmed
but half a truth. It takes a pretty bold man these days to say exactly
how things do happen, Monsieur Bergson seems to think.
Still, Sir Joseph certainly thought it was piquant that the son of S.
of P. should desire to help the Party. His qualifications for public
life appeared to be rather obscure, but being the eldest son of his
father he was not without a face value for the enemy.
“And so, Mr. Shelmerdine,” said the illustrious man, smiling over the
club claret, “you think, with your wife’s assistance, you might be able
to win a seat like South-West Blackhampton for the party of progress.”
“My wife is sure she could win it for me,” was the answer of Philip.
It was not, perhaps, the answer to be expected from a champion of the
democracy; and the illustrious man looked rather quizzically across
the table at his host. Were he and his party going to have their legs
pulled in company with Van and the other side? Never trust an Irishman
on principle, was one of Sir Joseph’s axioms; and in this case he
rather felt like living up to it.
All the same, the exigencies of the situation called for a man somewhat
out of the ordinary for South-West Blackhampton. At present that
large and important industrial constituency was represented by a man
of independent mind who owed allegiance to none. The power of his
personality had carried him to the top of the poll in a three-cornered
contest, in spite of the fact that he had an official Rag and an
official Wagger, able men both, against him.
Good, sound, conventional candidates had failed against this Rawhead
and Bloodybones. It was just possible that the husband of a favorite
actress, and a famous footballer to boot, might be successful where his
betters might fail. That, at least, was the local opinion.
“I presume, Mr. Shelmerdine,” said Sir Joseph Huffham, “in the event
of your being adopted as a candidate for South-West Blackhampton, you
would have no objection to signing a--er--” Sir Joseph paused while
he took a type-written document from his pocket-book and adjusted his
pince-nez--“a football league form for the Blackhampton Rovers?”
Mr. Shelmerdine was quite prepared to do that.
“And of playing for them occasionally, I presume, if your services were
called upon?”
Mr. Shelmerdine had no objection to doing that, either, although he was
rather short of practice these days.
“I am informed, Mr. Shelmerdine, that you kicked three goals against
Scotland in an International match.”
With excellent modesty the young man admitted this impeachment.
“Well, I think I am entitled to say, Mr. Shelmerdine,” said Sir Joseph,
who was himself a pretty shrewd Lancastrian, “if you can kick three
goals against Liverpool or Manchester City in an important League
match, you are very likely to be returned at the top of the poll.”
Very simply and seriously, and quite sincerely, Mr. Shelmerdine
promised to do his best in this matter, and that when the time came,
if South-West Blackhampton did him the honor of adopting him as their
candidate, he would go into strict training for the purpose.
Sir Joseph had the reputation of being the possessor of a sense of
humor, and the Ex-Ambassador had a few ideas also upon that recondite
subject; but each of these gentlemen smiled very warily at the other,
as though he was not quite certain whether it would be safe in the
circumstances to allow his mobile fancy to play around that which
had rather the appearance of a jest on the surface. Had they not
mistrusted one another so sorely, they might have been tempted to do
so; but the odd thing was that the prospective candidate for South-West
Blackhampton respected their _bona fides_ so immensely that he remained
a perfect image of gravity.
“I will do my best, sir, to kick three goals against Liverpool or
Manchester City,” said the young man as he shook hands and took his
leave.
“Then I think you may be returned to Parliament,” said the shrewd
Lancastrian cordially; “that is, if you never hold a meeting without
having your wife on the platform; and you let her do most of the
talking, you know.”
It was frankness, certainly, on the part of Sir Joseph Huffham, Bart.,
M. P.; but that illustrious man owed much of his eminence to the fact
that he had a pretty sound working knowledge of things in general.
“I will certainly do that, sir,” said the young man.
Whereupon he thanked Sir Joseph and the Ex-Ambassador with great
sincerity, and went his way along Pall Mall; and as he did this he
was just the happiest young man in all the great Metropolis. It was a
genuine inspiration that Mary should make the speeches. He would attend
to the goal-kicking department all right. He would go into strict
training, knock off tobacco, lead the life of an anchorite. And when he
found himself in Parliament as a full-blown Rag, he would be able to
say that she had done it all.
Hitherto Mr. Philip had not been encumbered with anything so
superfluous as political convictions. He had known in a dim kind
of way that the friends of his youth had been Waggers. Without the
Waggers, he had always been given to understand there would have been
no turn-up with the Boers in South Africa. He had borne a humble part
in that little affair, along with the rest of his friends; and the
best he could say for it was that he had found it rather an overrated
amusement. But without the Waggers, so he understood, there would not
have been fair play for everybody.
However, this was the only good thing he knew about the Waggers. His
father was a Wagger, of course, like everybody else’s father was; but
if you have quarrelled with your father, there is all the less reason
to stick to the same school of political thought. But Mary it was who
had really converted him, and had made him go into Parliament. She
declared herself to be an absolutely ferocious Rag-Tag-and-Bobtail, and
that, of course, in the present state of the domestic firmament, was
quite enough for Mr. Philip.
The Rags, as Mary expounded their faith, were the party of Progress
and the friends of the People. And now that he was enlisted in their
ranks, he felt it behoved him to live up to their exalted principles.
Therefore he gave a shilling to the crossing-sweeper at the bottom of
Saint James’s Street, and, like a true democrat, proceeded on foot to
the little nest in Knightsbridge, instead of going like the son of a
lord in a taxi.
Mary was buried in a delightfully comfortable chair with her toes on
the fender. She was also reading a novel; and out of our love for her
we must really withhold the name of the author.
... No, young ladies of Newnham and Girton, the name of the author was
not Monsieur Anatole France.
“I’ve done it, old girl,” said Mr. Philip, bursting in upon her
and saluting her, of course, in the manner ordained by custom for
newly-married people. “I really think they are going to take me on.”
Strictly speaking, young man, you had not done it. It was Mary who had
done all the doing so far; although, of course, you could hardly be
expected to realize that.
“Oh, how splendid!”
“Yes, old girl; and old Sir Joseph Thingamy--nice old boy--says you are
to attend all the meetings and make most of the speeches, and I’m to
sign a League form for Blackhampton Rovers and kick three goals against
Liverpool, and everything will be as right as rain.”
“Why, of course it will, Phil-ipp, when I’ve got dear old Blackhampton
in my pocket.”
And Mary flung away her novel, and rose with the light of battle in her
eye in order to confirm this startling announcement.
A general election was expected in October. The head office said things
must be put in train at once. Communications had, of course, to pass
between the constituency and Westminster, but within a month Mr. Philip
had received an invitation from the Chief Tribesmen of South-West
Blackhampton to come forth and make the acquaintance with his views.
Then it was that Mr. Philip found himself in a bit of a funk. The fact
was that he hadn’t any views--at least, any views to speak about. Party
of progress; government of the People, by the People, for the People;
greatest good of the greatest number, and so forth. That was all he
knew, and you couldn’t very well make a speech out of that, could you?
With this, however, Mary didn’t quite agree. She seemed to think you
could. She had been reading up the subject lately. Therefore she sat
down at once, pen in hand, and began to collect her ideas upon the
subject.
In common with other ready-witted people, she had the useful faculty
of being fluent on paper. By lunch-time she had covered ten pages of
foolscap, writing on one side of the paper only; and after lunch, when
over the cigarettes and coffee she read the result of her labors aloud
to the future member for South-West Blackhampton, the young man found
it hard to repress his enthusiasm.
“I shall have ’em absolutely stiff,” said he; “that is, if I can
only remember it all. But I say, old girl, what if they begin to ask
questions?”
“Tell them, Phil-ipp, that you believe in Mr. Balsquith; and that
anything he votes for you’ll vote for, because you know that _he_ can’t
go wrong.”
“Yes, that’s all right, old girl, but a chap is expected to have a bit
of a mind of his own, ain’t he?”
“Dear, no--pray _why_ should he have?” And this worldly wise young wife
started on cigarette the second, we are rather sorry to say, because
one should suffice after lunch even for a young married woman. Still,
the circumstances were exceptional.
“Trust Mr. Balsquith, and South-West Blackhampton will trust you. Now
start learning your speech, like a good boy; and you must repeat it to
me word for word every morning from memory, so that you’ll be all right
on the night and absolutely word perfect.”
As an instance of Providence in one of its less atrabilious humors,
it befell that Philip was invited to meet the local committee in the
evening following the one in which Mary was to appear at the Royal
Italian Opera House for the benefit of Harry Merino. Thus they were
able to stay together at the best hotel in Blackhampton, and to feel
that they were killing, as it were, two birds with a single stone.
It was perfectly true that at Blackhampton the name of Mary Caspar
ranked high with the population. It was in the largest type on every
hoarding; her portrait appeared in the window of every other shop; her
wonderful smile that wouldn’t come off was to be seen on countless
picture-postcards; an illustrated interview with the general favorite
was printed in the _Blackhampton Courier_.
When she walked down Market Street to do a little shopping on the
afternoon of her arrival in the borough, she caused almost as much
commotion as if she had been Royalty itself. And in the opinion of her
escort, a very nice-looking, well-grown and well-groomed young man in
white spats and a blue suiting, the last word in neatness, and a bowler
hat, of course the last word of fashion, she was indeed the Queen of
Blackhampton. Moreover, a large percentage of the passers-by concurred
with the nice-looking young man in so thinking.
Yes, she was the acknowledged Queen of Blackhampton; in the eyes of
the passers-by the fact was stated. It was perfectly true that she had
got this constituency in her pocket; and Blackhampton, although hardly
aware of the fact, was mightily proud to be there.
They came in their thousands to welcome her back to that sphere of life
she ought never to have deserted. Their reception almost brought tears
to her eyes, it was so spontaneous, so hearty, and so genuine. The
Royal Italian Opera House could have been filled ten times over; not,
of course, that this was due to Mary alone. Other stars were giving
their services; and Harry Merino, upon whom evil times had fallen, was
as good a comedian as ever colored his nose and delighted the world
with irresistible natural humor.
It was at the Royal at Blackhampton that she had really begun her
great career. Blackhampton had been the making of her, said Mr. Byles,
the famous Lessee and Manager of the Royal, and that great man was
accustomed to deal with hard facts. Blackhampton believed it, anyway;
and Mary believed it also. At least, she confessed as much to Mr.
Byles, while the chest of the lessee grew so large that it seemed that
his watch-chain of twenty-two carat gold must really break from its
moorings.
“Polly, my gal, I’m proud o’ you!”--there was deep emotion in the manly
voice of the Lessee and Manager; and if “the Young Pup” had not been
present, it is most likely that Mr. Byles would have hugged the future
peeress publicly.
Yes, they were very hearty, genuine people at Blackhampton. The
Principal Girl of three Royal pantomimes was to them an imperishable
memory. In the divine order of womanhood the Queen of England ranked
first in their estimation; Mary Caspar ranked second; and the third
place was reserved for the Duchess of Dumbarton, although local opinion
was rather averse from the peerage merely as such.
It was probable that one such as Mr. Philip would find a difficult row
to hoe in Blackhampton. They hadn’t much use for frills as a general
thing. If the young man was going to stand for Blackhampton, it was by
no means clear that those white spats were not an error of judgment.
But the general opinion was that even a future hereditary legislator
might be returned for Blackhampton if he happened to be Mary Caspar’s
husband, and that he signed a league form for the Rovers, and kicked a
few goals against Aston Villa.
He was a nice-looking young gentleman certainly, said feminine
Blackhampton; a little too fine for the district, perhaps, and yet they
were by no means sure of that. Good looks, a good tailor and easy,
natural manners tell even at Blackhampton among the ladies; and even
there, as in more sophisticated places, public opinion is susceptible
to their judgments.
Alderman Slocock, J. P., the leading Rag statesman for twenty miles
around, presided at the meeting of the executive committee at the
Gladstone Club. The proceedings were of a strictly private character;
ladies were not admitted; Mary could not be present; and in consequence
The Pup longed for his coffin even before the proceedings started.
Alderman Slocock made a very long speech from the chair. The
prospective candidate would be given every opportunity to express his
views at length; but before coming to that part of the programme,
Alderman Slocock, a master-hairdresser, with no fewer than twenty-four
shops spread over the district, spoke for nearly an hour.
It was not a very opportune beginning, since the longer the
master-hairdresser went on, the more intense grew Mr. Philip’s desire
for a speedy burial; moreover, the other members of the committee were
growing decidedly restless. But at last came the fateful moment when
the Candidate was called upon to express his views; and then arose the
question for gods and men, would the Candidate be able to remember them?
For three solid weeks, every morning and every night, from memory
had he repeated to Mary his speech. There must be no doubt as to his
ability to cope with this great ordeal. When he entered the Gladstone
Club he would have wagered that he was absolutely word perfect; but as
soon as he got on his legs he was paralyzed with the knowledge that he
couldn’t remember a syllable.
To begin with, his throat was so terribly dry that he was bound to have
recourse to a liquid aid to eloquence before he “could come to the
horses.” But there were broad-minded men and advanced thinkers on the
Executive Committee who rather approved this weakness because it showed
that the Candidate was human like themselves, and they thought none
the worse of him for it. On the other hand, there were representatives
of Little Bethel in this august assembly who deplored the Candidate’s
early recourse to whisky and water.
Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, began the wretched Philip, in a thin, small
voice. Oh, joy! at the instance of those familiar words the speech
suddenly began to flow automatically into his mind. Members of the
Gladstone Club, Electors of Blackhampton--the cunning young minx had
said that this style of address was bound to sound well in the ears of
the Committee--I have followed with the closest attention and I may
say with deep admiration, the speech from Alderman Slocock to which we
have just had the pleasure of listening. I cannot understand how it is,
gentlemen, that having a man like Alderman Slocock in your midst, you
should go outside your fine old city, of which I am sure you must be
awfully proud, to look for a man worthy to represent it in Parliament.
(Loud applause which bucked up the candidate considerably.)
Let us pay no idle compliment to the authoress of the speech, but we
are by no means clear that the young madam did not know more about the
rules of the game than augurs well for the peace of mind of the coming
generation which may have to cope with her sex on the green benches.
Certainly this felicitous opening seemed to put the candidate on good
terms with his audience. Things began to go very well. The voice was
good; the manner, of course, what you would expect from the Twin
Brethren; the matter was sound so far as it went, and very wisely it
did not go further than amiable generalities. He was the son of a lord
undoubtedly, but it was clear that he was much above the average of his
class.
The end of his ordeal was not yet, however. Alderman Slocock had a few
questions to ask.
Would the Candidate be good enough to enlighten the Committee as to the
nature of his views upon the subject of Free Trade?
Sir, I shall be most happy, said the Candidate, smiling graciously.
Gentlemen, my views on the subject of Free Trade are those of Mr.
Balsquith, and it is a matter upon which I trust his judgment
implicitly.
The Committee was much gratified by this statesmanlike reply.
And the question of the House of Lords? said Alderman Slocock. The
Committee would be happy to have the Candidate’s views upon that vexed
subject.
The views of the Candidate in respect of the House of Lords were those
of Mr. Balsquith; that also was a subject upon which he trusted Mr.
Balsquith’s judgment implicitly.
This answer was equally successful; and as it did duty for all the
questions that followed, the Candidate was guilty of nothing that was
likely to efface the highly favorable effect he had already created.
Therefore he was able to return to the best hotel in Blackhampton
reasonably secure in the conviction that he was about to be chosen as
the official representative of the Rags.
Of course he would be, he was promptly informed by Mary, who was
sitting up for him, if he had remembered his words.
“Fact is, old girl,” confided Mr. Philip, “I knew I’d got ’em fixed up
before I’d got half through my bally speech.”
“Why, of course, Phil-ipp, you were bound to have.”
And she was far too good a sportswoman to remind the vainglorious
orator that it was not his speech at all. But don’t let us praise her
too much. For the simple fact was that it pleased her mightily to think
that it really was his speech that had carried the day, and that she
had nothing whatever to do with it. Moreover, she was perfectly willing
for him to believe that it was his speech; and certainly, so high
had success lifted her lord just now that it didn’t really seem very
difficult for him to do so. And for our own poor part, we have never
been able to determine which phenomenon is the more curious: whether
Man should plume himself beyond his deserts at the expense of Woman or
whether Woman should derive a keen pleasure from aiding and abetting
him in the deception.
Howbeit, so deep was the impression that Mr. Philip Shelmerdine’s
signal ability, in combination with his air of manly sincerity and
straightforwardness, made upon the Committee, that no time was lost
in inviting him to stand as a Rag, Tag and Bobtail for South-West
Blackhampton.