‘Why not have given it to me now?’ asked the other.
‘Because three minutes will tell you all that was in it, and better than writing; for I can reply to anything that wants an explanation, and that’s what a letter cannot. First of all, do you know that Mr. Claude Barry, your county member, has asked for the Chiltern, and is going to resign?’
‘No, I have not heard it.’
‘Well, it’s a fact. They are going to make him a second secretary somewhere, and pension him off. He has done his work: he voted an Arms Bill and an Insurrection Act, and he had the influenza when the amnesty petition was presented, and sure no more could be expected from any man.’
‘The question scarcely concerns me; our interest in the county is so small now, we count for very little.’
‘And don’t you know how to make your influence greater?’
‘I cannot say that I do.’
‘Go to the poll yourself, Richard Kearney, and be the member.’
‘You are talking of an impossibility, Mr. Donogan. First of all, we have no fortune, no large estates in the county, with a wide tenantry and plenty of votes; secondly, we have no place amongst the county families, as our old name and good blood might have given us; thirdly, we are of the wrong religion, and, I take it, with as wrong politics; and lastly, we should not know what to do with the prize if we had won it.’
‘Wrong in every one of your propositions—wholly wrong,’ cried the other. ‘The party that will send you in won’t want to be bribed, and they’ll be proud of a man who doesn’t overtop them with his money. You don’t need the big families, for you’ll beat them. Your religion is the right one, for it will give you the Priests; and your politics shall be Repeal, and it will give you the Peasants; and as to not knowing what to do when you’re elected, are you so mighty well off in life that you’ve nothing to wish for?’