CHAPTER XX. AN ELECTION ADDRESS
“Am I behind time, Mr. Massingbred?” said Kate Henderson, as she entered the library, about a week after the events we have last recorded,—“am I behind time?” said she, approaching a table where the young man sat surrounded with a mass of letters and papers.
“Not very much,” said he, rising, and placing a chair for her; “and I take it for granted you came as soon as you could.”
“Yes; I have finished my morning's reading for her Ladyship, noted her letters, answered the official portion of her correspondence, talked the newspaper for Mr. Martin, hummed a singing lesson for Miss Mary, listened to a grand jury story of Mr. Repton; and now, that they are all off to their several destinations, here I am, very much at the service of Mr. Massingbred.”
“Who never needed counsel more than at this moment!” said Jack, running his hands distractedly through his hair. “That 's from my father!” added he, handing her a letter with a portentous-looking seal attached to it.
“What a fine bold hand, and how easy to read!” said she, perusing it. Jack watched her narrowly while she read; but on her calm impassive face not a line nor a lineament betrayed emotion.
“It is, then, an English borough he recommends,” said she, laying it down; “and I suppose, looking to an official career, he is quite right. The 'No Irish need apply' might be inscribed over Downing Street; but is that altogether your view?”
“I scarcely know what I project as yet,” said he. “I have no career!”
“Well, let us plan one,” replied she, crossing her arms on the table, and speaking with increased earnestness. “The Martins have offered you Oughterard—” He nodded, and she went on: “And, as I understand it, very much on your own conditions?”
“That is to say, I'm not to damage the Tories more than I can help, nor to help the Radicals more than I must.”
“Is there any designation for the party you will thus belong to?” asked she.
“I 'm not exactly sure that there is; perhaps they 'd call me a Moderate Whig.”
“That sounds very nice and commonplace, but I don't like it. These are not times for moderation; nor would the part suit you!”
“You think so?”
“I'm certain of it. You have n't got habits of discipline to serve with a regular corps; to do anything, or be anything, you must command a partisan legion—”
“You're right there; I know that,” broke he in.
“I don't mean it as flattery, but rather something a little bordering on the reverse,” said she, fixing her eyes steadfastly on him; “for, after all, there is no great success—I mean, no towering success—to be achieved by such a line; but as I feel that you 'll not work—”
“No; of that be assured!”
“Then there are only secondary rewards to be won.”
“You certainly do not overestimate me!” said Jack, trying to seem perfectly indifferent.
“I have no desire to underrate your abilities,” said she, calmly; “they are very good ones. You have great fluency,—great 'variety,' as Grattan would call it,—an excellent memory, and a most amiable self-possession.”
“By Jove!” said he, reddening slightly, “you enumerate my little gifts with all the accuracy of an appraiser!”
“Then,” resumed she, not heeding his interruption, “you have abundance of what is vulgarly styled 'pluck,' and which is to courage what esprit is to actual wit; and, lastly, you are a proficient in that readiness which the world always accepts for frankness.”
“You were right to say that you intended no flattery!” said he, with an effort to laugh.
“I want to be truthful,” rejoined she, calmly. “No praise of mine—however high it soared, or however lavishly it was squandered—could possibly raise you in your own esteem. The governess may perform the part of the slave in the triumphal chariot, but could not aspire to put the crown on the conqueror!”
“But I have not conquered!” said Jack.
“You may, whenever you enter the lists; you must, indeed, if you only care to do so. Go in for an Irish borough,” said she, with renewed animation. “Arm yourself with all the popular grievances; there is just faction enough left to last your time. Discuss them in your own way, and my word for it, but you 'll succeed. It will be such a boon to the House to hear a gentlemanlike tone on questions which have always been treated in coarser guise. For a while you 'll have no imitators, and can sneer at the gentry and extol the 'people' without a competitor. Now and then, too, you can assail the Treasury benches, where your father is sitting; and nothing will so redound to your character for independence.”
“Why, where, in Heaven's name,” cried Jack, “have you got up all this? What and how do you know anything of party and politics?”
“Have I not been studying 'Hansard' and the files of the 'Times' for the last week by your directions? Have I not read lives of all the illustrious prosers you gave me to look through? And is it very wonderful if I have learned some of the secrets of this success, or that I should 'get up' my 'politics' as rapidly as you can your 'principles'?”
“I wish I was even sure that I had done so,” said Jack, laughing; “for this same address is puzzling me sadly! Now here, for instance,” and he read aloud: “'While steadfastly upholding the rights of property, determined to maintain in all their integrity the more sacred rights of conscience—'Now just tell me, what do you understand by that?”
“That rents must be paid,—occasionally, at least; but that you hope to pull down the Established Church!”
“Well, come,” said he, “the thing will perhaps do!”
“I don't much like all this about 'the Palladium of the British Constitution, and the unbroken bulwark of our dearest liberties.' We are in Ireland, remember, where we care no more for your Palladium—if we ever knew what it meant—than we do for the 'Grand Lama.' A slight dash of what is called 'nationality' would be better; very vague, very shadowy, of course. Bear in mind what Lady Dorothea told us last night about the charm of the king's bow. Everybody thought it specially meant for himself; it strikes me that something of this sort should pervade an election address.”
“I wish to Heaven you 'd write it, then,” said Jack, placing a pen in her fingers.
“Something in this fashion,” said she, while her hands traced the lines rapidly on the paper:—
“'Finding that a new era is about to dawn in the political state of Ireland, when the consequences of late legislation will engender new conditions and relations, I present myself before you to solicit the honor of your suffrages, a perfect stranger to your town, but no stranger to the wants and necessities of that nationality which now, for the first time for centuries, is about to receive its due development.'
“Or this, if you prefer it,” said she, writing away rapidly as before:—
“'The presumption of aspiring to your representation will, perhaps, be compensated when I come before you deeply impressed with the wrongs which centuries of legislation have enacted, and which, stranger as I am in Ireland, have arrested my attention and engaged my sympathies, impelling me to enter upon a public career; and, if favored by your approval, to devote whatever energy and capacity I may possess to your great and good cause.'”
“I like the first best,” said Jack. “The new era and the results of the Relief Bill will be such appetizing suggestions. There must be an allusion to the Martins and their support.”
“Rather, however, as though you had brought over Martin to your views, than that he had selected you to represent his. In this wise:” and again she wrote,—
“'It is with a just pride that I announce to you that in these professions I am strengthened by the cordial approval and support of one who, in his rank and station, and natural influence, is second to none in this great county; and who, whatever misconceptions have hitherto prevailed as to his views, is, heart and soul, a true patriot and an Irishman!'
“It will puzzle him sorely to guess what line he should adopt to realize all this, and he'll have to come to you for his politics!”
“You have caught up the cant of this peculiar literature perfectly,” said Massingbred, as he pored over the papers she had just penned.
“Dear me!” cried she, in a weary tone, “my great difficulty will be to discard its evil influence, and even write a common note like a reasonable being again.”
“But come, confess frankly: you think that a political career is the only one worth embracing, and that any other life offers no reward worthy the name?”
“I think you mistake me,” said she. “It is the social position consequent upon success in a political life that I value,—the eminence it confers in the very highest and greatest circles. If I regarded the matter otherwise, I'd not be indifferent as to the line to follow—I 'd have great convictions, and hold them,—I mean, if I were you.”
“Then of course you consider me as one who has none such?”
“To be sure I do. Men of your measures of ability can no more burden themselves with principles than a thoroughbred hackney can carry extra weight,—they 've quite enough to do to make their running without.”
“Well, I shall certainly not be spoiled by flattery, at least from you,” said Jack, laughing.
“They who know you less will make up for it all, depend upon it,” said she, quietly. “Don't fancy, Mr. Massingbred,” added she, with more earnestness of manner,—“don't fancy that I 'm insensible to the impertinences I have dared to address to you, or that I venture upon them without pain; but when I perceived that you would admit me to the liberty of criticising your conduct, character, and manners, I thought that I might render you good service by saying what better taste and better breeding would shrink from, and the only cost be the dislike of myself.”
“You took a very bad way to accomplish the latter,” said Jack, fervently.
“I did n't give it much consideration,” said she, haughtily. “It was very little matter what opinion you entertained of 'the governess.'”
“I should like to convince you that you were wrong,” said he, looking fixedly at her.
“You'd find your task harder than you suspect, sir,” said she, coldly. “There is a sense of pride about the humbleness of a station such as mine, as all the elevation of one in yours could never fathom. And,” added she, in a still more determined tone, “there is but one condition on which this intercourse of ours can continue, which is, that this topic be never resumed between us. The gulf that separates your position in life from mine is the security for mutual frankness; to attempt to span it over by deception would be to build a bridge that must break down the first moment of its trial. Enough of this! I'll take these,” said she, gathering up the papers, “and copy them out clearly. They ought to be with the printer to-morrow; and, indeed, you should not defer your canvass.”
Massingbred made no answer, but sat with his head buried between his hands.
“I'd have you to visit the 'dear constituency' at once, Mr. Massingbred,” said she, with a slight touch of scorn in her voice. “They are not well bred enough to bear a slight!” And with this she left the room.
“I should like excessively to know the secret of this interest in my behalf,” said Jack, as he arose and slowly walked the room. “It is not, unquestionably, from any high estimate of my capacity; as little is it anything bordering on regard; and yet,” added he, after a pause, “there are moments when I half fancy she could care for me,—at least I know well that I could for her, Confound it!” cried he, passionately, “what a terrible barrier social station throws up! If she were even some country squire's daughter,—portionless as she is,—the notion would not be so absurd; but 'the governess!' and 'the steward!' what frightful figures to conjure up. No, no; that's impossible. One might do such a folly by retiring from the world forever, but that would be exactly to defeat the whole object of such a match. She is essentially intended for 'the world;' every gift and grace she possesses are such as only have their fitting exercise where the game of life is played by the highest, and for the heaviest stakes! But it is not to be thought of!”
“Have I found you at last?” cried Repton, entering the room. “They say the writ will be here on Monday, so that we 've not an hour to lose. Let us drive over to Oughterard at once, see the editor of the 'Intelligence,' call on Priest Rafferty, and that other fellow—the father of our young friend here.”
“Mr. Nelligan,” said Jack. “But I can't well visit him—there have been some rather unpleasant passages between us.”
“Ah! you told me something about it. He wanted you to fill a bail-bond, or do something or other, rather than shoot me. An unreasonable old rascal! Never mind; we shall come before him now in another character, and you 'll see that he'll be more tractable.”
“The matter is graver than this,” said Jack, musingly; “and our difference is serious enough to make intercourse impossible.”
“You shall tell me all about it as we drive along,—that is, if it be brief and easy to follow, for my head is so full of election matters I don't desire a new element of complication. Step in now, and let us away.” And with this he hurried Massingbred to the door, where a pony-phaeton was in waiting for them.
Once on the road, Repton changed the conversation from the domain of politics, and talked entirely of the host and his family. There was a sort of constitutional frankness and familiarity about the old lawyer which all the astute habits and instincts of his profession had never mastered. Like a great many acute men, his passion for shrewd observation and keen remark overbore the prudent reserve that belongs to less animated talkers, and so he now scrupled not to dis-cuss Martin and his affairs to one who but a few days back had been a complete stranger amongst them.
At first Jack heard him without much interest, but, as he continued, the subject attracted all his attention, full as it was of views of life and the world perfectly new and strange to him.
To Massingbred's great astonishment, he learned that vast as the estates, and large as was the fortune of the Martins, that they were deeply encumbered with bond-debts and mortgages. The wasteful habits of the gentry generally, combined with great facilities for obtaining money at any emergency, had led to this universal indebtedness; and, in fact, as the lawyer expressed it, an old estate was supposed to be the victim of debt, as an elderly gentleman was liable to gout; nobody presuming to think that the tenure, in either case, was a whit the more precarious on account of the casualty.
“Now,” said Repton, as they reached a point of the road from which a view of the country could be obtained for miles on every side—“now, as far as you can see belongs to Martin. Beyond that mountain yonder, too, there is a large tract—not very productive, it is true—extending to the sea. The fine waving surface to your left is all tillage land; and the islands in the bay are his. It is really a princely estate, with even greater hidden resources than those palpable and open to view. But, were I to show it to you on a map, and point out at the same time every spot on which some moneylender has a claim—how much has been advanced upon this—what sums have been lent upon that—you 'd be more amazed at the careless ease of the proprietor than you now are at the extent of his fortune.”
“But he is spending immensely in improving and developing the property,” said Jack.
“Of course he is, sir. That new-fangled notion of 'gentleman-farming '—which has come to us from countries where there are no gentlemen—won't suit Ireland, at least in the present generation. What we want here is, not to make more money, but to learn how to spend less; and although the first very often teaches the last, it is a hard way for an Irishman to acquire his knowledge. There's your borough, sir,—that little spot in the valley yonder is Oughterard. Do you feel, as you behold it, as though it were to be the mainspring of a great career? Is there an instinctive throb within that says, 'The honorable member for Oughterard will be a great name in the “Collective Wisdom “'?”
“I can scarcely say yes to that appeal,” said Jack, smiling; “though, if what you have just told me of the mediocrity of public men be true—”
“Can you doubt it? You have them all before you,—their lives, their sayings, and their doings. Show me one in the whole mass who has originated a new idea in politics, or developed a new resource in the nation. Do they exhibit the common inventiveness displayed in almost every other walk of life, or do they even dress up their common platitudes in any other garb than the cast-off clothes of their predecessors? Mediocrity is a flattery when applied to them. But what's this coming along behind us, with such clattering of hoofs?”
“A tandem, I think,” said Jack, looking backward, “and very well handled, too.”
“Oh, that illustrious attorney, Mr. Scanlan, I 've no doubt. Let us draw up till he passes.” And so saying, Repton moved to one side of the road, giving a wide space for the other to proceed on his way. Mr. Scanlan, however, had subdued his nags, by a low, soft whistle, to a half-trot, when, giving the reins to his servant, he descended and advanced to the carriage. “I've been in pursuit of you, gentlemen,” said he, touching his hat courteously, “for the last four miles, and I assure you you 've given me a breathing heat of it. Mr. Martin requested me to hand you this note, sir,” added he, addressing Repton, “which demands immediate attention.”
The note was marked “Instantaneous,” and “Strictly private,” on the cover, and Repton opened it at once. Its contents were as follows,—
“Dear Rep.,—The post has just arrived, with intelligence
that Harry is coming home,—may be here within a week or
so,—so that we must not go on with our present plans for
the borough, as H., of course, will stand. Come back,
therefore, at once, and let as talk over the matter
together.
“Yours, in haste,
“G. M.”
“You know what this contains, perhaps?” said Repton, in a whisper to Scanlan. He nodded an assent, and the old lawyer re-read the note. “I don't see my way here quite clearly,” added he, in the same subdued voice, to Scanlan.
“I'll stroll on and stretch my legs a bit,” said Jack, springing out of the pony phaeton, and seeing that the others had some private matter of discussion; and Scanlan now drew nigh, while Repton informed him what the note contained.
“It's a little too late for this now,” said Scanlan, gravely.
“How do you mean too late?” asked Repton.
“Why, that Massingbred stands well with the people in the borough. They think that he 'll be more their man than Martin's, and, indeed, they 're so confident of it, I half suspect he has told them so.”
“But there has been no canvass as yet,—his address isn't even printed.”
“There has been a correspondence, however,” said Scanlan, with a knowing wink. “Take my word for it, Mr. Repton, he 's a deep fellow.”
“Are you quite sure of this?—can you pledge yourself to its truth?”
“I only know that Father Rafferty said the night before last he was satisfied with him, and the one difficulty was about old Nelligan, who somehow is greatly incensed against Massingbred.”
“He 'd have no chance in the borough without us,” said Repton, confidently.
“If old Dan would consent to spend the money, he'd be the member in spite of us,” rejoined Scanlan.
“I'll not dispute local knowledge with you, sir,” said Repton, peevishly. “Let us turn back at once. Where's Mr. Massingbred? I saw him standing on the hill yonder a few minutes ago; maybe, he 's strolling along the road in front.” Repton moved forward to a rising spot of ground, from whence a wide view extended for a distance on every side, but no trace of Massingbred could be discovered. “What can have become of him?—has he turned towards Cro' Martin?” asked Repton.
“There he is,” cried Scanlan, suddenly; “there he is, walking with Magennis. They're taking the short cut over the hills to Oughterard—that's unfortunate, too!”
“How so?”
“Why, before they're in the town they'll be as thick as two pickpockets—see how they 're talking! I think, if I was to drive on, I'd catch them before they entered the town.”
“Do so, then, Scanlan. Say that a sudden message from Mr. Martin recalled me, but that you'll drive him back with you to Cro' Martin.”
“Am I to allude to the contents of the note, sir?”
“I think not; I opine it's best not to speak of it. Say, however, that something of importance has occurred at Cro' Martin, and suggest to him that the sooner he returns thither the better.”
There was an amount of vacillation and uncertainty about Repton's manner as he uttered these few words that showed not only how gravely he regarded the crisis, but how totally unprepared he found himself for the emergency. Not so Scanlan, who took his seat once more on his lofty “buggy,” and was soon spinning along the road at a pace of full twelve miles the hour.
As Repton drove back to Cro' Martin, he thought once, and not without humiliation, of his late lessons in statecraft to young Massingbred. “To fancy that I was instilling all these precepts at the very moment that he was countermining us. The young villain is a worthy son of his father! And how he will laugh at me, and make others laugh too! It will never do to drive him into opposition to us. Martin must consent to make the best of it, now, and accept him as his member,—for the present, at least. With time and good opportunity we can manage to trip up his heels, but, for the moment, there's no help for it.” And with these not very consoling reflections he entered once more the grounds of Cro' Martin Castle.
Let us now turn to Massingbred, as, accompanied by Magennis, he walked at a rapid pace towards Oughterard. It needed but a glance at the figures, and the rate at which they moved, to see that these two men were bent upon an object.
“Don't you see the town now before you?” said Magennis. “It's not much above two miles, and by the road it is every step of six, or six and a half; and if we walk as we're doing now, we'll be there at least twenty minutes before them.”
“But what will Repton think of my leaving him in this fashion?”
“That it was a bit of your usual eccentricity,—no more,” said the other, laughing.
“You are quite certain of what you've just told me?” asked Jack, after a pause.
“I tell you that you shall have it from Hosey's own lips. He showed the post-mark on the back of the letter to Father Rafferty, and it was 'Cape Town, August 24.' Now, as Hosey knows young Martin's writing as well as any man, what doubt can there be about it?”
“By that calculation,” said Jack, thoughtfully, “he might be here within the present month!”
“Exactly what Father Neal said.”
“A shrewd fellow that same Hosey must be to put things together in this fashion,” said Jack. “Such a head as he has on his shoulders might n't be a bad counsellor at this moment.”
“Just come and talk to him a bit,” rejoined Magennis; “say you want to be trimmed about the whiskers, and he'll be a proud man to have you under his hand.”
“And the committee are satisfied with my letter?” asked Jack.
“They are, and they are not; but, on the whole, they think it's a step in the right direction to get anything out of the Martins, and, as Father Neal remarks, 'where we can pass with our head, we can put our whole body through.'”
“But what 's to be done about Nelligan? The breach with him is, I suspect, irreparable.”
“Why, it was Nelligan himself moved the first resolution in the committee, that your address be accepted as embodying the views—he said the present views—of the liberal electors.”
“You amaze me!” cried Massingbred; “and Joe, where was he?”
“Joe is off to Dublin; there 's some examination or other he must attend. But old Dan is your friend, rely upon that.”
“This is inexplicable,” muttered Jack to himself.
“We 'll go there, straight, the moment we get into the town. He 'll take it as a great compliment; and you can talk to him frankly and openly, for old Dan is a man to be trusted.”
“I wish I could guess at how this reconciliation has been effected,” muttered Jack.
“It was your letter did it, I think.”
“But I never wrote one.”
“Well, somebody else did, perhaps; at all events, Dan had an open letter in his hand when he addressed the committee, and said, 'After reading this, gentlemen,' said he, 'I can only say that I 'll not oppose Mr. Massingbred; and if the free and independent men of Oughterard ask me who is the man to represent them, I'll answer, he 's your man! And what's more, there 's my name down for two hundred pounds for the election, if it ever comes to be a contest!'”
“This is all very good, but very strange news,” cried Jack.
“Well, I can explain nothing of the mystery, if there be one. I only know what I heard and saw myself.”
“Let us go to his house, at all events,” said Massingbred, who now suffered his companion to rattle on about the state of parties and politics in Oughterard, little heeding his remarks, and only bent on following out his own thoughts. “Give whom the slip?” asked he, suddenly catching at the last words of some observation of Magennis.
“The Martins, of course,” resumed the other; “for, as Father Neal says, 'if we can secure the borough for you, you can well afford to stand by us; but if you were only Martin's member, he 'd drop you whenever it suited him.'”
“As to-morrow, for instance, if his son should make his appearance!”
“Just so; and that's the very reason for not losing a minute about getting the Martins in for the cost. What can they say, after choosing you and putting you forward?”
“They might make a personal appeal to me,—a distinct request to give place to the son.”
“And would n't you pay great attention to it?” said Magennis, in mockery.
“I 'm not so very sure I 'd refuse,” said Massingbred, slowly.
“Faith, then, you 'd better be candid enough to tell the electors so 'at once.' Look now, Mr. Massingbred,” said he, coming to a dead halt, and standing directly in front of him; “we don't go the same road, not one step, till I hear from you, distinctly and plainly, what you mean to do.”
“This is somewhat of a peremptory proceeding,” replied Jack. “I think it would not be very unreasonable to allow a man in my situation a little time for reflection.”
“Reflect upon what?” cried Magennis. “Is it what politics you 'd be? If that's what you mean, I think you 'd better say nothing about it.”
“Come, come, Mac, you are not quite fair in this business; there are difficulties,—there are embarrassments very often in the way of doing things which we have made up our minds to do. Now, if I were perfectly certain that the liberal interest here could succeed in spite of Martin—”
“So it will.”
“You're sure of that?”
“I 'll show it to you on paper. We 'd rather have Martin with us and no contest, because it's cheaper; but if it must come to money, we 'll do it.”
“Satisfy me on that point, and I'm with you; there's my hand on't!”
And Magennis grasped him in his own strong fingers to ratify the contract.
While “Mac” went on to give some insight into the views and wishes of his party, they reached the town and entered the main street, and held their way towards old Nelligan's shop.
“That's Father Neal's pony at the door,” said Mac, as they approached the shop; “so we'll find them both together.”
“I scarcely think I can enter here,” said Massingbred, “after what passed last between us. We surely did not part as friends.”
“How little you know about us at all!” said Mac. “Old Dan bears you no malice, I 'd lay fifty pounds on it! But, if you like, I 'll just step in and take soundings.”
“Do so, then,” said Massingbred, not sorry to have even a few moments to himself for quiet thought and consideration. He was still standing, and deeply engrossed by his reflections, when he was aroused by hearing his name called aloud, and, on looking up, perceived Magennis beckoning to him from a window overhead. In obedience to the signal, Jack turned and entered the shop, where his friend quickly joined him. “Old Dan is in his bed, with a heavy cold and a rheumatism, but he 'll see you; and Father Neal's with him, and Hayes, besides.” And with this information he hurried Jack up the stairs, and led him into a darkened room, where the figures of the priest and old Hayes were dimly discernible. Before Massingbred had well crossed the door-sill, Nelligan called out, “Your servant, Mr. Massingbred. I 'm more than pleased with your explanation. Let me shake your hand once more.”
“I'm not quite sure that I understand you,” said Jack, in a low voice; but before he could continue, the priest advanced to greet him, followed by old Peter.
“Wasn't I in luck to catch him on the road this morning?” said Magennis; “he was coming in with the old Counsellor, and just got out to walk up a hill—”
“Remember,” said Jack, “that I have few minutes to spare, for I must be in waiting about the market-place when he drives in.”
“We must have a conference, though,” said Father Neal; “there 's much to be settled. First of all, are we to coalesce for the representation?”
“No, no, no!” cried Nelligan. “We 'll have it our own way. If Mr. Massingbred will be our Member, we want no help from the Martins.”
“There 's five pounds, and I 'll make it guineas if you like,” said old Hayes, putting a note upon the table; “but the devil a Whig or Tory will ever get more out of Peter Hayes!”
A very good-natured laugh from the others showed how little umbrage the frank avowal excited.
“We 'll not want for money, Peter, make your mind easy about that,” said Dan. “When can you meet the committee, Mr. Massingbred? Could you say to-night?”
“Better to-morrow morning. I must return to Cro' Martin this evening.”
“Certainly,—of course,” said Father Neal, blandly. “You 'll have to come to an understanding with Mr. Martin about the borough, declare what your principles are, and how, upon very mature consideration, you find you can't agree with the opinions of himself and his party.”
Magennis winked significantly at Jack, as though to say, “Listen to him; he 's the man to instruct and direct you;” and the priest resumed:—
“Go on to explain that your only utility in the House could arise from your being the exponent of what you feel to be the truth about Ireland, the crying evils of the Established Church, and the present tenure of land! When you throw these two shells in, sir, the town will be on fire. He 'll reply that under these circumstances there 's no more question about your standing for the borough; you'll say nothing,—not a word, not a syllable; you only smile. If Repton 's by—and he 's likely to be—he 'll get hot, and ask you what you mean by that—”
“There 's Scanlan just driving round the corner,” said Magennis, in a whisper; and Massingbred arose at once and drew nigh to the bedside.
“Could I say one word to you alone, Mr. Nelligan?” said he, in a low voice.
“Of course,” said he. And whispering the priest to take the others into an adjoining room, old Nelligan motioned Jack to sit down beside him.
“You said, as I came in,” said Jack, “that you were satisfied with my explanation—”
“To be sure I was,” broke in Dan. “All I wanted to know was, that you acted under a misconception. That being once explained, there was no offence on either side. Now, Catty Henderson's letter to my wife put the thing straight at once; she showed that your conduct at Cro' Martin arose out of a notion that Joe had slighted you.”
“Have you got this letter?” asked Jack, eagerly.
“Indeed, then, I have not; his mother forwarded it to Joe by the same post; but, as I tell you I 'm satisfied, there 's an end of it.”
“Scanlan 's asking for you below stairs,” said Magennis, putting in his head; “and I hear them saying that they didn't see you in town.”
“All right,” said Jack; “so I'll just slip out by the garden gate and meet him in the market-square.” And with a hurried leave-taking Jack withdrew, his mind very far from that state of tranquil composure in which it was his pride to affect that he invariably revelled.
“There they go!” cried Father Neal, shortly after, as Scanlan drove rapidly by, with Massingbred beside him. “Maybe Master Maurice won't abuse us all round before he turns in at the gate of Cro' Martin!”
“Massingbred is too cute to mind him,” said Magennis.
“Ah, Tom, there 's one appeal men of his stamp are never deaf to. You may say fifty things that won't shock them in religion or morals or good taste; but only utter the one word 'vulgar,' and their indignation rises at once. That's what Scanlan will do, take my word for it He 'll call us a low set of fellows, that have no position in society,—no acceptance anywhere.”
“But Massingbred is a gentleman born, and he won't be led astray by such a consideration.”
“It is exactly for that very reason that he will,” said the priest, stoutly. “It's a strange fact, but there 's no manner of man rates social advantages so high as he that has them by right, and without any struggle for them.”
“Well,” said old Hayes, slowly, “if I once thought that of him, the devil a vote of mine he 'd get, no matter what his principles were.”
“And there you 're wrong, Peter,” said Nelligan. “Matters of good manners and breeding need never be discussed between us. Mr. Massingbred will have his station; we'll have ours. There 's a long and weary road before us ere we come to think of our social condition. There 's many a cruel statute to be abolished, many a hard grievance to be redressed.”
“And besides that,” said Father Neal, with a shrewd twinkle in his eye, “while we 're doing the one we 'll be helping on the other. Political influence always did, and always will, include rank and station in the world. When English Ministers find their best ally in the Irish Priest, there will be no more sneers at his brogue nor his boots. Men of family and fortune won't shrink from their contact, and maybe you 'll see the day yet when coaches and chariots will drive up to the chapel, and ladies in satin and velvet step out to hear Mass.”
A prophetic view of the Millennium itself could not have astonished old Peter Hayes more completely than did this marvellous suggestion of Father Neal; and he moved away muttering a “Heaven grant it!” between his teeth.
“Where's the next meeting of the committee to be?” asked Nelligan.
“In the Chapel House, to-morrow, at eleven. And that reminds me I 've not sent out the summonses.” And so saying, Father Neal hastily took leave of his friends and left the room.
Let us take a glance at Mr. Maurice Scanlan, as, with an extra box-coat ingeniously wrapped around his lower man, he discoursed pleasantly to his companion while he “tooled” along towards Cro' Martin. Not a word of politics, not a syllable on the subject of party, escaped him as he talked. His conversation was entirely of sporting matters: the odds against Leander, the last bettings on “Firebrand,” whether Spicy Bill was really in bad training, as the knowing ones said, and if the course wouldn't “puzzle the young ones” if the wet weather were to continue.
Massingbred was sufficiently well versed in these classic themes to be an amusing and even instructive companion, and communicated many a sly piece of intelligence that would have been deemed priceless in “Bell's Life;” and Scanlan quickly conceived a high estimate for one who had graduated at Newmarket, and taken honors at Goodwood.
“After the kind of life you 've led in England, I wonder how you endure this country at all,” said Maurice, with real sincerity of voice and manner.
“I like it,” said Jack; “the whole thing is new to me, and vastly amusing. I don't mean to say I 'd willingly pass a lifetime in this fashion, but for a few weeks—”
“Just so; to give you a better relish for the real thing when you go back again,” said Maurice.
“What a neat stepper that leader is!” said Jack, to change the topic from himself and his own affairs. “She's a well-bred one; that's clear.”
“Nearly full-bred; the least bit of cocktail in the world. She's out of Crescent, that ran a very good third for the Oaks.”
“A strong horse, and a very honest one,” said Jack.
“Well, I bought that little mare from young Mr. Martin—the Captain—when he was ordered out to India; I put her in training, and ran her at the Curragh in three weeks, and won, too, the St. Lawrence Handicap.”
“Is Captain Martin a sporting character?” asked Jack, carelessly.
“He is and he is not,” said Scanlan, half querulously. “He likes a safe thing,—do you understand?” and he gave a most significant wink as he spoke.
“Oh, then he's close about money matters?” said Massingbred.
“Not exactly that. He 's wasteful and spendthrift, but he'd go to the world's end to do a knowing thing; you 've seen men of that kind?”
“Scores of them,” replied Jack; “and they were always the easiest fellows to be duped!”
“Exactly my own experience,” said Scanlan, delighted to find his opinions confirmed in such a quarter. “Now, young Martin would give five hundred pounds for a horse to win a fifty pound cup. Don't you know what I mean?”
“Perfectly,” said Massingbred, with an approving smile.
“Nobody knows the sums he has drawn since he went away,” exclaimed Scanlan, who was momentarily growing more and more confidential.
“There 's a deal of high play in India; perhaps he gambles,” said Jack, carelessly.
A significant wink and nod gave the answer.
“Well, well,” added he, after a pause, “he 'll not mend matters by coming back again.”
“And is he about to visit England?” asked Massingbred, in the same easy tone.
“So they say,” replied Scanlan, with an effort at the easy indifference of the other.
“On leave, perhaps?” said Jack, indolently.
“That 's more than I know,” replied he, and relapsed into a thoughtful silence, during which Massingbred continued to scan his features with a sly, downcast glance peculiar to himself.
“You've never been in Leicestershire, Mr. Scanlan?” said he, when he had fully satisfied himself with his examination. “Well, then, come over there in the spring—say about March next—and pay me a visit. I 've got a sort of hunting-box there, with a neat stable, and by that time I hope to raise funds for a couple of nags.”
“Trust me for the horseflesh, sir. I know where to mount you this very minute. You 're not much above eleven stone?”
“Eleven-eight,—at least, so I used to be. Is it a bargain? Will you come?”
“There's my hand on't,” said the attorney, overjoyed at the prospect.
“Mackworth, and Lord Harry Coverdale, and Sir Went-worth Danby, and a few more, are all my neighbors. Capital fellows, whom you 'll be delighted with. Just the sort of men to suit you,—up to everything that means sport.”
“Exactly what I like!” cried Maurice, in ecstasy.
“We'll arrange it all this evening, then,” said Jack. “Just drop into my room after they 're all gone to bed, and we'll have a talk over it. You don't know my father, do you?”
“I haven't that honor,” said Scanlan, with an accent of real deference in his voice.
“Another kind of person from these I've mentioned,” said Jack, slowly.
“So I should suppose, sir,” said Scanlan, a tone of respect involuntarily attaching itself to him as he addressed the son of a Secretary of State.
“Not that he doesn't like field sports, and all the enjoyments of a country life. But, you know, he's an old official—a Downing Street veteran—who really relishes public business, just as you and I would a coursing-match, or a heavy pool at Crocky's.”
Scanlan nodded as if in perfect assent.
“While I say this, it's only fair to add that he has most excellent qualities, and is a stanch friend when he takes any one up. I suspect you 'd like him. I know he 'd like your—”
“I 'm greatly flattered. I don't deserve—”
“You see,” said Jack, not heeding the interruption, and assuming the low accents of a confidential communication—“You see, he and I have not been on the very best of terms for some time back; I 've done some silly things—spent a little more money than he liked—and, what was still worse in his eyes, refused a first-rate Government appointment—a really good thing, and such as one does n't meet with every day—and now, the only road back to his favor will be for me to come out strongly in some shape, either as a college prizeman or in public life. I despise the former. It's all very well for fellows like Nelligan—it's their natural 'beat,'—but for a man like me, one who has seen the world,—the real world,—these are nothing more than schoolboy distinctions,—the silver medal he brings home of a Saturday, and makes him the wonder of his sisters for twenty-four hours. I'll have to strike out a line of my own!”
“No fear of you, sir,—devil a bit!” said Maurice, with a sententious shake of the head. “Here we are now at Cro' Martin, and then there's the first dinner-bell ringing.”
“We shall be late, perhaps,” said Jack.
“You'll be in good time. As for me, I haven't been asked to dinner, so that when I drop you I 'll go down to the village.”
“Well, then, I 'll walk over and see you in the evening,” said Massingbred. “It seems to me—I don't know whether you are of the same opinion, though—but it seems strongly to me that you and I ought to be allies.”
“If I thought I was worthy—”
“Come, come, Scanlan, no modesty, old boy. You know you 're a devilish clever fellow, and you no more intend to pass your life cruising after petty-session practice in Galway, than I do to settle down here as under-gardener.”
“They 're all looking at us, sir, from the drawing-room window,” said Scanlan, in a cautious voice; “don't let us appear too confidential.” And at the same instant he extended his whip as though to point attention to some distant object, and seem as if he were describing the scenery.
“Shrewd dog it is,” muttered Massingbred in soliloquy, but taking good care to be overheard. “I 'll beat up your quarters, Scanlan, in a couple of hours or so,” said Massingbred, as he descended from the lofty “drag.”
Somewhat, but not very much, later than the time appointed, Jack Massingbred appeared in the small chamber of the “Crueskeen,”—the humble hostel on the roadside adjoining the demesne of Cro' Martin. Maurice Scanlan had made every preparation which the fluid resources of the house admitted to receive his guest, but they were not destined to be put in requisition.
“I have only come lest you should accuse me of forgetting you, Scanlan,” said Massingbred, as he stood in the doorway without removing his hat. “I 'm off to Oughter-ard, having made my adieux at Cro' Martin.”
“Left Cro' Martin, and for good!” exclaimed Scanlan.
“If that means forever, I suspect you 're right,” replied Jack; “but you 'll have the whole story in the morning when you go up there, and doubtless more impartially than I should tell it. And now, good-bye for a brief space. We shall meet soon.” And, without waiting for an answer, he nodded familiarly, stepped briskly to the door, where a post-chaise awaited him, and was gone, before Scanlan had even half recovered from his astonishment and surprise.