ANOTHER TRIUMPH FOR FREE TRADE
THINGS had to go forward at Blackhampton in spite of the Ukase, and
forward they went right merrily. The adoption of Philip was a fine
stroke on the part of the Rags, because the Blackhampton Rovers had a
following of about thirty thousand persons weekly, and one and all of
these acclaimed it as quite the right policy. The famous inside right
had had in his day--which was not so very far off either--only one
superior in that responsible position, and he was Steve Bloomer. If the
Rag candidate could only reproduce his form on a great occasion, he was
bound to go straight to the top of the poll.
A general election was expected in the autumn. Philip and Mary spent
August at Trouville in order to prepare for the fray. Philip trained
on the sands, and Mary composed speeches while she listened to the
seductive strains of Monsieur Marly’s Marine Orchestra. And then, when
this delightful month was over, they went to Blackhampton in fighting
trim; hired a house for three months on its outskirts, and set to work
in grim earnest.
In a very short time they were the two most popular people in this
rather unalluring city. It was democratic to the core; and the fact
that the Rag candidate was the son of Mr. Vandeleur’s very last
creation was made a cardinal point by his opponents. But, as the
candidate said with simple pathos at every meeting--Gentlemen, it is
not fair to hold me responsible for my father. No man ought to be held
responsible for his father. I am doing my level best to live down my
father, gentlemen, and in so doing I look confidently for the support
of every follower of the Rovers in this room, for they, I know, are
good sportsmen.
Whereupon the good sportsmen in question invariably roared themselves
hoarse.
And then the Candidate would proceed: Gentlemen, I am not much use at
a speech. But I’ll just say this. I hope we shall beat the Villa on
Saturday. (Uproar.) It won’t be for want of trying, anyhow. (Uproar.)
And if we do manage to beat ’em, and I think we shall--(cries of “Good
lad!”)--I hope you will be kind enough to forgive my oratory (cries of
“Rather!” and loud cheering).
And now, gentlemen, I am going to ask my wife, who is a far better
speaker than I am, to say a few words. There is no need for me to make
you known to one another, because she tells me you are all old friends
of hers. (Loud cheers, and cries of “Sing us a song, Mary!”)
Mary, looking like a picture-postcard, would then sit down to the
piano, which with great foresight had been provided by the Executive
Committee, and proceed to sing that famous ballad from _Iolanthe_
about good Queen Bess’s glorious days when the House of Lords did
nothing in particular, and did it very well. That was pretty well for
a beginning; and the audience would be so delighted with this effort
that she was not allowed to get to her speech until she had sung all
the old favorites that had made her so famous. And then, when she had
sung all her songs, the Chairman, Mr. Alderman Slocock, would interpose
and say that it was really not fair to insist on her making a speech,
because if they did she might have no voice left the following evening
for the great meeting at the Corn Exchange. And this course having been
commended by the meeting as a rare example of political foresight, the
proceedings terminated with the usual vote of confidence, in which
there was not a single dissentient voice.
Aston Villa were beaten handsomely on the following Saturday; and,
although the Candidate only managed to kick one goal, he showed so
much of his old form that it was clear already that another striking
blow had been delivered against the House of Lords. In fact, that
tottering institution had not a look in, really. Its meetings were
very tame affairs by comparison, even if the standard of speech-making
was thought by some people to be higher. But little or no interest was
taken in them; while at those of the unfilial young man, who was going
to take away his father’s Veto, there wasn’t even standing room an hour
before the proceedings began.
Undoubtedly it was going to be a signal triumph for the People’s Cause.
The Candidate combined so well with the rest of the Rovers’ forwards
that the Wolverhampton Wanderers were beaten on their own ground, and
Manchester City were simply annihilated. “Deeds not Words” flamed
forth in the Rag colors, a vivid orange, from every hoarding. If the
Candidate only kept up his form, said those who knew (and there was
a surprising amount of omniscience in Blackhampton just now), the
Rovers were bound to win the Cup and Mr. Balsquith would make him Home
Secretary immediately.
In spite of all the adulation he received, the Candidate remained very
simple and modest about it all. Even after he had scored two goals
against Sheffield Wednesday, he never attempted any particular flight
of oratory. The Missus could do all that so much better. No doubt she
could have done, but South-West Blackhampton was far too wise in its
day and generation to give her the chance. Let her attend to the
piano. That, in the opinion of South-West Blackhampton, was so much
more important.
The dissolution of Parliament occurred in the middle of November. A
crowded and glorious fortnight followed. Notts Forest were beaten;
a draw was made with Sunderland; and on the very eve of the poll
Tottenham Hotspur received a most crushing reverse.
For the second time in its ignoble history, Protection was not only
dead but damned.
It was all over bar the shouting, even before the fateful day had
dawned. The Flag-Waggers could hardly raise a waggle; the sitting
member realized already that he had lost his seat. Blackhampton went
solidly for the Rags, and the best inside right in England--never mind
Steve Bloomer!--was hoisted with a noble majority to the top of the
poll.
Unparalleled scenes were enacted in Market Square. The horses were
taken out of the New Member’s carriage, and he and his charming wife
were drawn in triumph through the principal streets.
A deputation with Alderman Slocock at its head waited on the New Member
at his committee room the morning after the declaration of the poll.
The Rovers hoped in all humility that their famous inside right would
not desert them now.
Desert the Rovers! Nothing was further from the New Member’s
intention. Certainly he would play for them for the rest of the season
if only they were good enough to choose him. And the deputation
withdrew, after further congratulations upon his deserved success, and
having further acclaimed him as a true sportsman.
Some members of Parliament might have been rather bored by having to
play every week for the Blackhampton Rovers, but that was not the case
with Philip. He had renewed his youth; never in his life had he more
thoroughly enjoyed this manly game. Besides, he had all Blackhampton
for his friends. He was a really great man in Blackhampton, and even
self-effacing people like to know that places exist where their merits
are appreciated.
Nevertheless, when the news reached Grosvenor Square that the Rags had
gained a seat at Blackhampton, and that the turnover of votes had been
tremendous, surprise was mingled with consternation.
“It wasn’t as if the fellow had any brains,” said Father to everybody.
Mother, however, informed the world privately that she always thought
dear Phil-ipp had been underrated by his father. It was very wrong, of
course, to stand as a Rag, but no young man wholly devoid of ability
could possibly have gained a seat like South-West Blackhampton with
such an enormous majority.
Still, Grosvenor Square was quite at a loss to understand it. But one
thing was clear. The breach was widened by this painful incident; at
least, Father, in his blindness, thought so. Had failure been the
portion of this wicked revolt, forgiveness would have been easier. Its
dazzling success seemed to put forgiveness out of the question.
Mother, perhaps, was inclined to weaken a bit. After all, did it really
matter so much? And was it not better than leading an idle and useless
life? However misplaced the ambition, surely it was an evidence of that
dormant ability, which in her heart she had always known to be there,
since her family was never without it.
Father, however, was adamant. It was an open flout. Moreover, it had
rendered him ridiculous in the Inner Circle, which, however, so far
from viewing the matter with exaggerated grief was rather inclined to
see in it a joke of a high order. Why this should have been the case
Father had no means of knowing. To one of his own staunch principles it
was certainly no laughing matter.
As time passed, the maternal heart of Mother was disposed to relent,
but Father, alas! would not hear of compromise. He felt too keenly this
double act of filial disloyalty. It was rather absurd to view things
in this light, said the friends of both parties, but the Proconsul was
adamant.
He went his way, and Philip and Mary went theirs. In spite of their
wrong-doing the guilty pair contrived to be extremely happy in the
little nest at Knightsbridge. But Father, alas! grew exceedingly
miserable.
Even Mother had come to agree with the world, that Father was not
behaving with his usual wisdom. Mrs. Philip was really less Bohemian
than Mother had feared, in spite of the incident of the potato. If she
were duly encouraged, she might have the makings of a good wife.
Indeed, by the time the Guilty Pair had been married a little more than
a year, Mrs. Philip certainly fulfilled one of the important duties
incident to the degree in life to which it had pleased Providence to
call her. As a matter of fact, she overdid it a little, in the opinion
of persons qualified to speak with authority. She presented Philip with
Twins.
Alas! even when the glad news was borne to Father, he remained firm
in his attitude. He still played the part of Achilles sulking in his
tent, although it was openly said by all right-minded people that such
conduct was entirely unworthy of a great Proconsul.
One thing was clear, however, now that this joyful event had occurred.
The little nest in Knightsbridge was no longer adequate. A move was
therefore made to a more commodious abode in Pont Street.
Philip was almost ridiculously proud to be a father. He went up and
down the metropolis in a way that must have been intolerable to those
who do not love the human race. He had “had his leg pulled” pretty
severely over his return for South-West Blackhampton, but that was
nothing in comparison with what he had now to endure.
“What are you going to call ’em, Shel, old boy?” was the greeting of
all and sundry.
Two lusty men they were, whose lungs thus early in life did infinite
credit to both parents.
To the credit of Mother, be it said, the Twins proved altogether too
much for her. She hauled down her flag completely, and even went to
the length of consenting to meet the goddaughter of Edward Bean in
consultation. There had been faults on both sides, perhaps. Still, the
goddaughter of Edward Bean, whose eyesight, to be sure, was not what it
used to be, was only able to see faults on one side.
Nevertheless, the lion lay down with the lamb; and Mother herself took
charge of the removal to Pont Street. Moreover, she even went to the
length of choosing a desirable residence; and insisted on furnishing
it in part with a dole from the privy purse. Yet, while Mother was
behaving in this rational and sensible manner and was thus laying up a
store of happiness for herself, Father declined to be comforted, and
every day made himself more unhappy.
Tragedy began to hover around the pillows of the great Proconsul.
His appetite declined; his clothes no longer fitted him; no longer
did he seem to care about public business as of yore. Instead of the
succession being doubly secure, the Family might have been threatened
with extinction.