“Nobody denies it; but Croker’s practical, vigorous views–”
“You mean his ‘sanguine despondency,’ his delight in describing England as bankrupt and ruined by Reform.”
“I mean nothing of the kind, Edgar; but–”
“Did the Bill pass the Commons, Father?” asked Kate.
“It did; although in fifteen days Peel spoke forty-eight times against it, and Croker fifty-seven times, and Wetherell fifty-eight times. But all they could say was just so many lost words.”
“Think of such men disputing the right of Manchester, Leeds, and Birmingham to be represented in the House of Commons! What do you say to that, Mother?”
“I only hope father wasn’t in such a stupid bit of business, Edgar.” And the Squire drank a glass of ale, and pretended not to hear.
“But,” continued Edgar, “we never lost heart; for all over the country, and in every quarter of London, they were holding meetings urging us not to give way,–not to give way an inch. We were fighting for all England; and, as Lord Althorp said, we were ready to keep Parliament sitting till next December, or even to next December twelvemonth.”
“I’ll warrant you!” interrupted the Squire. “Well, Edgar, you passed your Bill in a fine uproar of triumph; all London in the street, shouting thanks to Althorp and the others–Edgar Atheling among them.” Then the Squire paused and looked at his son, and Mrs. Atheling asked, impatiently,–
“What then, John?”