“As I jogged along the road on the following day, one only passage of the preceding night kept continually recurring to my mind. Whether it was that his Grace spoke the words with a peculiar emphasis, or that this last blow on the drum had erased all memory of previous sounds; but so it was,—I continued to repeat as I went, ‘Whether in office or out, we have always our influence.’
“This sentence became my guiding star wherever I went. It supported me in every casualty and under every misfortune. Wet through with rain, late for a coach, soaked in a damp bed, half starved by a bad dinner, overcharged in an inn, upset on the road, without hope, without an ‘order,’ I had only to fall back upon my talisman, and rarely had to mutter it twice, ere visions of official wealth and power floated before me, and imagination conjured up gorgeous dreams of bliss, bright enough to dispel the darkest gloom of evil fortune; and as poets dream of fairy forms skipping from the bells of flowers by moonlight, and light-footed elves disporting in the deep cells of water-lilies or sailing along some glittering stream, the boat a plantain-leaf, so did I revel in imaginary festivals, surrounded by peers and marquises, and thought I was hobnobbing with ‘the Duke,’ or dancing a cotillon with Lord Brougham at Windsor.
“I began to doubt if a highly imaginative temperament, a richly endowed fancy, a mind glowing with bright and glittering conceptions, an organization strongly poetical, be gifts suited to the career and habits of a commercial traveller. The base and grovelling tastes of manufacturing districts, the low tone of country shopkeepers, the mean and narrow-minded habits of people in the hardware line, distress and irritate a man with tastes and aspirations above smoke-jacks and saucepans. He may, it is true, sometimes undervalue them; they never, by any chance, can understand him. Thus was it from the hour I made the Duke’s acquaintance,—business went ill with me; the very philosophy that supported me under all my trial seemed only to offend them; and more than once I was insulted, because I said at parting, ‘Never mind,—in office or out, we have always our influence.’ The end of it was, I lost my situation; my employers coolly said that my brain did n’t seem all right, and they sent me about my business,—a pleasant phrase that,—for when a man is turned adrift upon the world, without an object or an occupation, with nowhere to go to, nothing to do, and, mayhap, nothing to eat, he is then said to be sent about his business. Can it mean that his only business then is to drown himself? Such were not my thoughts, assuredly. I made my late master a low bow, and, muttering my old refrain ‘In office or out,’ etc., took my leave and walked off. For a day or two I hunted the coffee-houses to read all the newspapers, and discover, if I could, what government situations were then vacant; for I knew that the great secret in these matters is always to ask for some definite post or employment, because the refusal, if you meet it, suggests the impression of disappointment, and, although they won’t make you a Treasury Lord, there ‘s no saying but they may appoint you a Tide-waiter. I fell upon evil days,—excepting a Consul for Timbuctoo, and a Lord Lieutenant for Ireland, there was nothing wanting,—the latter actually, as the ‘Times’ said, was going a-begging. In the corner of the paper, however, almost hidden from view, I discovered that a collector of customs—I forget where exactly—had been eaten by a crocodile, and his post was in the gift of the Colonial Office. ‘Come, here’s the very thing for me,’ thought I. ‘” In office or out”—now for it;’ and with that I hurried to my lodgings to dress for my interview with his Grace of Devonshire.
“There is a strange flutter of expectancy, doubt, and pleasure in the preparation one makes to visit a person whose exalted sphere and higher rank have made him a patron to you. It is like the sensation felt on entering a large shop with your book of patterns, anxious and fearful whether you may leave without an order. Such in great part were my feelings as I drove along towards Devonshire House; and although pretty certain of the cordial reception that awaited me, I did not exactly like the notion of descending to ask a favor.
“Every stroke of the great knocker was answered by a throb at my own side, if not as loud, at least as moving, for my summons was left unanswered for full ten minutes. Then, when I was meditating on the propriety of a second appeal, the door was opened and a very sleepy-looking footman asked me, rather gruffly, what I wanted.
“‘To see his Grace; he is at home, is n’t he?’
“‘Yes, he is at home, but you cannot see him at this hour; he’s at breakfast.’
“‘No matter,’ said I, with the easy confidence our former friendship inspired; ‘just step up and say Mr. Baggs, of the Northern Circuit,—Baggs, do you mind?’
“‘I should like to see myself give such a message,’ replied the fellow, with an insolent drawl; ‘leave your name here, and come back for your answer.’
“‘Take this, scullion,’ said I, haughtily, drawing forth my card, which I did n’t fancy producing at first, because it set forth as how I was commercial traveller in the long hose and flannel way, for a house in Glasgow. ‘Say he is the gentleman his Grace dined with at Chesterfield in March last.’