“Not more than ten thousand,” answered Candituft, very blithely.
“That is a large sum, Mr. Candituft,” cried Jericho.
“Well, now, you do surprise me! I cannot disguise it; you do astonish me. I did think you’d wonder at the cheapness. Ten thousand pounds for a seat in Parliament! After all—with your enlarged views—what is it but so much money put out to the interest of your country and yourself? You must recollect, sir, we live in revolutionary times. Now, there is such a cry for purity of election, as it’s called, that the selling price—when a pennyworth is to be had—must go up. It’s in the nature of human things, Mr. Jericho. In its time, sir, I give you my honour, Toadsham has brought double the money. Double the money, sir,” averred Candituft.
“When can the business be arranged? When can I go in?” asked Jericho.
“When the usual forms are over—and in your case, they are only forms—directly, my dear sir.”
“Well, as it will please my wife, and—as you observe, Mr. Candituft—property ought to prop the nation, I don’t think I shall refuse. No: you may book me for Toadsham.”
At this moment Mrs. Jericho entered the room. “Permit me, madam, to congratulate you on the admirable resolution of Mr. Jericho. He has consented”—said Candituft, as though relieved of great anxiety—“he has consented to stand by the country. He will sit for Toadsham.”
“Of course, my dear sir. These are not times”—said Mrs. Jericho—“for property to desert its post. No, sir, we must stand by our institutions. Ar’n’t they beautiful, my dear Solomon?”
“The pride of surrounding nations,” answered Jericho, without moving an eyelid.
“A fiddlestick! I mean the diamonds,” and Mrs. Jericho exhibited a magnificent suite of jewels.