THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CANVASS.
(A Purely Imaginary Sketch.)
SCENE—A Portico in Portman Square. Mr. BENJAMIN GULCHER (an ardent Radical Artisan, canvassing the district on behalf of a "pal" of his, who is putting up as a Labour Candidate), discovered on the doorstep.
Mr. Gulcher (to himself—after knocking). Some might think it was on'y waste of time me callin' at a swell 'ouse o' this sort—but them as lives in the 'ighest style is orfen the biggest demmycrats. Yer never know! Or p'raps this Sir NORMAN NASEBY ain't made his mind up yet, and I can tork him over to our way o' thinking. (The doors are suddenly flung open by two young men in a very plain and sombre livery.) Two o' the young 'uns, I s'pose. (Aloud.) 'Ow are yer? Father in, d'yer know?
First Footman (loftily). I don't know anything about your father, I'm sure. Better go down the airey-steps and inquire there.
Mr. G. (annoyed with himself.) It's my mistake. I didn't see yer were on'y flunkeys at first. It's yer Guv'nor I want—the ole man!
First Footman (with cold dignity). If you are illewding to Sir NORMAN, he is not at home.
Mr. G. (indignantly). 'Ow can yer tell me sech a falsehood, when I can see him myself, a-dodgin' about down there in the passage! (Forces his way past the astonished men into the hall, and addresses a stately Butler in plain clothes.) 'Ere, Sir NASEBY, I've come in to 'ave a little tork with you on the quiet like.
The Butler (not displeased). I don't happen to be Sir NORMAN himself, my good man. Sir NORMAN is out.
Mr. G. Out, is he? that's a pity! I wanted to see him on important business. But look 'ere—p'raps his Missus is in—She'll do! (To himself.) I gen'ally git along with the wimmin-folk—some 'ow!
The Butler. I can't say if her Ladyship is at home. If you like to send up your name, I'll inquire.
Mr. G. You tell her Mr. BENJAMIN GULCHER is 'ere, if she'll step down a minnit. She needn't 'urry, yer know, if she's 'aving her dinner or cleanin' herself. (To himself, as the Butler departs noiselessly.) Civil-spoken party that—one o' the lodgers, seemin'ly. Roomy sort o' crib this 'ere. Wonder what they pay a week for it!
Butler (returning). Her Ladyship will see you, if you will step this way.
[Mr. G. is taken up a staircase, and ushered into the presence of Lady NASEBY, who is seated at her writing-table.
Lady N. (still writing). One moment, please. My husband is out just now—but if you will kindly state the nature of your business with him, I daresay I could—(She looks up.) Good Heavens! What could have possessed CLARKSON to show such a person as that in here! (To herself.)
Mr. G. (in his most ingratiating manner). Well, Mum, in the absence of his Lordship, I am sure you'll prove a 'ighly agreerble substitoot!
Lady N. (freezingly). May I ask you to tell me—in two words—what it is you wish to see him about.
Mr. G. Certingly you may, Mum! It's like this 'ere. I want your good Gentleman to promise me his vote and influence for Mr. JOE QUELCH, as we're runnin' for a Labour Candidate this Election.
Lady N. I really cannot answer for my husband's views on political matters, Mr.—a—SQUELCHER; I make it a rule never to interfere.
Mr. G. Jest what my old woman sez. I've learnt her not to argy with me on politics. But, yer see, a deal depends on the way a thing is done, and—(insinuatingly)—a good-lookin' woman liks yourself—(Lady N. gasps out a faint little "Oh!" here)—oh, I'm on'y tellin' yer what yer know already—'ud find it easy enough to get her better 'alf to vote her way, if she chooses. You take him some evenin'—say a Saturday, now—when he's jest 'ad enough to feel 'appy, and coax him into giving his vote to QUELCH. You know 'ow to do it! And he's the right man, mind yer, QUELCH is—the right man!
Lady N. (almost inaudibly). How—how dare you come into my house, and offer me this impertinent advice! How—?
Mr. G. (good-temperedly). Easy there, Lady—no impertinence intended, I'm sure. I shouldn't come in 'ere, intrudin' on the sacred privacy of the British 'Ome, which I'm quite aware an Englishman's 'Ouse is his Castle—and rightly so—if I didn't feel privileged like. I'm canvassing, I am!
Lady N. You are taking a most unpardonable liberty, and, if you have the slightest sense of decency—
Mr. G. (imploringly). Now look 'ere—don't let us 'ave a vulgar row over this! I ain't goin' to lose my temper. Strike—but 'ear me! If we don't think alike, there's no reason why you and me should fall out. I put that to you. It's likely enough you don't know JOE QUELCH?
Lady N. (with temper). I never heard of the man in my life!
Mr. G. (triumphantly). See there, now. That's where canvassing comes in, d'yer see? It's our honly way of combating the hignirance and hapathy of the Upper Classes. Well, I'll tell yer somethink about 'im. QUELCH worked as a lighterman on a barge fourteen years for eighteen bob a-week. Ain't that a Man of the People for yer? And if he gits into Parliment, he'll insist on Labour bein' served fust; he's in favour of Shortened Hours of Labour, Taxation o' Ground Rents, One Man one Vote, Triannual Parliments and Payment o' Members, Compulsory Allotments, Providin' Work by Gov'ment for the Unemployed, Abolition o' the 'Ouse o' Lords, and a Free Breakfast Table. Ah, and he means 'aving it too. That's what JOE is. But look 'ere, why not come and 'ear what he's got to say for yerself? He's 'oldin' a small open-air meetin' in Kipper's Court this evenin', ar-past eight percisely. You come and bring yer 'usban', and I'll guarantee you git a good place close to the cheer. I'll interdooce yer to him arterwards, and he'll answer any questions yer like to arsk him—fair and straight!
Lady N. (feebly). Thank you very much; but—but we are unfortunately dining out this evening, so I'm afraid—
Mr. G. (more in sorrow than in anger). There it is, yer see. Yer afraid. Afraid o' 'earing the truth. Carn't trust yerself to listen to both sides. But I don't despair of yer yet. See 'ere; is it 'Ome Rule that separates us? 'Cos, if so, it needn't. QUELCH don't care no more for 'Ome Rule than that 'ere penwiper do, between you and me! On'y, yer see, he carn't say so at present, d'yer ketch my meanin'? (Lady N. rings the bell in despair.) Oh, thankee, Mum, if you are so kind, I'll take whatever yer goin' to 'ave yerself, I ain't partickler.
